Second hands tick,
the incessant sound of time passing
yet, time seems to stand still.
What feels like a year,
is simply a collection of days,
falling into a pattern of weeks.
The metronome of life
chimes steadily in my head,
gently reminding me
how slowly time can pass.
But time marches on
and, even though it feels like an eternity,
the perpetual movement of time
always pushes forward.
~~
My dad was a staunch believer in always giving 100 percent effort. His mantra played over and over in my head every time I wrote a test in school and every time I had to put any form of exertion into a task.
Somewhere along my journey through this life, that chant of success began to increase in volume and unwittingly seeped into every other aspect of my life. Sometimes it felt good and other times it felt more like punishment.
I began to take most things to a new level. And going overboard on simple achievements was just the beginning. Realizing I couldn’t attain perfection led me into a pattern of over-eating.
When the over-eating became much more noticeable, I began to over-analyze and over-think everything about the problem instead of just recognizing it for what it was and dealing with it head on.
Of all the things I do with the utmost intensity, over-thinking is the worst of them. I cannot seem to let what will be just be. My brain configures numerous scenarios, all with different outcomes, and will not stop when it should be satisfied. There is always another possibility. This is a fantastic gift to have when I am writing fiction but, when it comes to creating plot lines based on my reality, it is a detriment to normal productivity.
I expend a great effort each day to quell those thoughts. I could take an issue so benign and have it twisted into something so distorted from its original form that it becomes a gnarled version of what it once was and something so far removed from what it ever should be. If I could ever transfer these thoughts to pages of a novel, it would be quite the story.
For now, I will wait out the current situation that has me over-thinking. I will listen to those little voices as they churn out ending after ending but when I reach the point that I eventually find out what will really happen, the wait will be over.
My curiosity ignites.
My burning question is nourished
purely by the fuel of my deep desire
to know,
to experience,
to feel the brush of romance
on the canvas that is my skin.
My heart burns
with a yearning
to find you.
~~
sky of mottled grey
snow flakes flying through the air
wind that hurts my face
I’ll admit I stole my subject line from a Maxwell House commercial but it is an adage that resonates with me. One of my goals for the year 2016 was to start every day with a positive attitude. It’s going to end as well as it began – successfully optimistic. Some days are more difficult than others to maintain that joyful outlook but, even under the stress that lurks in the dark corners, I still look for and embrace that light of optimism.
It’s really not difficult waking content and rising to meet the morning when the light streams through my curtain-free window and falls on the face of my dog. She is notably glad to see me come back into consciousness and her smile is the first breath of happiness I inhale each morning. The smell of Hazelnut Vanilla coffee brewing is a vital, but distant, second.
Attitudes are contagious and energy can be vicariously passed, similar to an unseen as a spirit moving through the shadows, and the vital force it leaves behind is just as palpable. It is constantly but invisibly lingering in the air and the mood that is portrayed is unconsciously absorbed by others. I know how much a person with a negative energy can affect me and I want to achieve the polar opposite.
Wouldn’t it be great to feel that optimism and zest for life is contagious and it is passed unwittingly to the people you interact with on a daily basis? They may not even realize the source of their uplifted spirit but their newly found smile has the potential to create a ripple effect.
Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference. ~Winston Churchill
My drive to work each day is relatively stress-free compared to most commuters. I have a 10-minute journey through a small, quaint little town and the traffic in the winter is minimal at best barring any unforeseen wildlife charging through an invisible cross-walk.
This relaxing drive affords me the time to look around and absorb the nuances that make me appreciate the fact that this town is my home. Like all towns, Port Carling is steeped in rich history and tradition and we are proud to boast those memories in our Museum as well as through unique artist renderings. In 2005, “The Wall” was unveiled and, at the time, it was the largest historic photo mosaic mural in the world.
(image credit: muskokalakes.ca)
This tribute to history contains 9,028 individual photos that bring to life the 1922 RMS Sagamo going through the locks in Port Carling. These photos span a century from 1860 to 1960 and yesterday, for some reason, this mosaic really struck a chord deep within me. I have passed it every day on my way to work and never took the time to truly comprehend how snapshots of occurrences in our lives can create such a grand picture of our past.
So many little pieces of our history are used to make up our most significant memories. Stopping to look at this wall made me think of all the snippets that have etched themselves into my brain and have begun to create the mosaic of my life. Some of those fragments in time are dripping with vibrant colors of happiness and others are mottled with the greys of anguish and grief, but all of those hues combine to create the spectral portrait of my life.
If you were to create an emblematic picture of your journey, what would your mosaic look like?
I was in a funk, a genuine textbook-defined funk, and I had given myself permission to wallow in it. I disregarded my routinely sage advice to take it one breath at a time. I blatantly ignored my history of dealing with things head on and I became a turtle, pulling my head into my shell and hoping the scenery would somehow look different the next time my face emerged from that shell.
But each time I gave myself the slightest courage to see if the landscape of my reality had changed, my eyes blurred and my vision became marred by a new set of tears. I promptly pulled myself back in to my shell.
Friends and family picked up on the noticeable difference in the cadence of my voice. I became lost in a miserable state of unhappiness and my writing began to reflect my mood. Fellow bloggers also left encouraging messages in the comments of my blogs but, although I knew I was being irrational, I couldn’t stop crying.
Life has a funny way of interjecting when it needs to bring something to your attention. My funk may have been based on something that could be defined as trivial in the grand scheme of things, but it really affected me to the point of becoming consumed with pessimistic thoughts that I can usually push aside with ease.
I knew I couldn’t change the cards I had been dealt, but one particular comment from a fellow blogger really made me rethink how my hand could play out. I read it a few times until I was able to fully process the message and understand its true significance.
In my melancholy, I had forgotten to give equal value to the potential of a positive outcome as opposed to focusing solely on the negative. I had all but conceded to the loss without allowing myself a chance for a win.
One comment, from someone I have never met in person, changed my outlook. I am no longer dwelling on what could be an unfavorable outcome but giving every hope that something fantastic may be just around the corner. Since I cannot predict the future, I can only wait to see what the outcome will be but at least, now, I wait with much more hope than I had before.
The glow burned my eyes but I couldn’t take my gaze from its mesmerizing emanation. It stood like a sentinel, guarding my emotion. Although it was a single flame, that lone candle represented the one person I wished was here with me.
If the pungent stench hadn’t first assaulted my senses, the tiny footprints in the remnants of snow on my deck would have led me to believe that a small feline intruder had been in my entrance way and left its fluidic calling card.
I am no stranger to the repugnant smell of cat pee. I have suffered before and was doing it again as the essence of the foul beast breached the sanctity of my nasal passages and made its way into my throat. Before my morning vision had even the slightest chance of coming into focus the very solemnity of my home, as well as my olfactory nerves, had been violated by my neighbor’s cat.
Now, before you judge me on the basis of these words, I do not dislike cats. I appreciate their ability to be detached yet affectionate. I admire their commitment to their sense of self. And I applaud their propensity to be indifferent and intrigued at the same time.
That being said, I do take offence to a four-legged creature of the non-canine variety befouling a room in which it has no business being present. Cats do not, and will not, live in my home. Allergic reactions aside, I have a colored past with these anciently domesticated beings and, in putting my differences aside, I have come to the realization that we make better strangers than friends.
I have repeatedly admonished my dog for wanting to run into the neighbor’s yard when she sees this territorial interloper, but I have since rethought my initial position. My dog is merely protecting the rightful place that is her shelter. She is simply defending her home against enemies, feral or domestic. And she is attempting to preserve my nose from the offensive fragrance of future feline fearlessness.
I generally have a good handle on my emotions but circumstances of late have made that handle much more difficult to grasp. I feel like I have boarded a train that has sped into a murky tunnel and I have no idea what awaits me on the other side. Perhaps that is the most difficult part for me since I usually have a well thought out plan and I feel, now, like I am slightly clueless.
Alice had the benefit of being able to see beyond the glass into the world she was able to observe. Her situation gave her the advantage of knowing what awaited her on the other side and any foresight into a situation is welcomed knowledge.
It is difficult, having moved forward into that mirror, feeling gravity pulling me in the rest of the way and, blindly assuming that the other side will be as beautiful as it is in my dreams.
I can only continue through that looking glass and hope that my intuition and my gut are leading me the right way and that the fate I am wishing for awaits me on the other side.
”Alice through the Looking Glass” Sculpture located in Guildford’s Castle Grounds.
polysyllabic profundities 