Category Archives: honesty

Discovering what is hidden

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Admittedly, I am going through withdrawal.  I have not gone on a cleanse nor have I given up an addiction but I find myself recently emancipated from certain friends who truly know my soul and I feel somewhat lost.

Cultivating a friendship from a distance becomes easier as more time passes.  The initial shock of distress subsides and the feeling of isolation is adapted to and accepted.  But when that friendship is reanimated at a one-on-one level it makes the strain of separation that much more painful when those friends have to leave again.

I had effortlessly assimilated to a quiet lifestyle and one that I enjoy very much.  I had been very content to come home to an idyllic piece of property in a secluded location that I share only with my dog.  I had become ensconced in a life of post-work anonymity.   And then the axis of my world shifted.

After decades of being complacent, I found my mind wandering.  After years of feeling satiated, I found myself yearning for something I had not known I was seeking.  The thought of a different lifestyle became abundantly clear and my mind was in turmoil.

I have not invited any of these conceptions into the realm of my existence at this point, but knowing I have the opportunity to entertain these strange thoughts is exciting.  Having the ability to welcome these curious ideas into my life is liberating.  And just thinking that there is another chapter of my life possibly waiting to be written is extremely enticing.

“We are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others that in the end we become disguised to ourselves.” ~ Francios de La Rochefoucauld

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I want to think I have not lost myself in the process only to discover I have missed out on writing that new chapter.  I wish to believe that the well of ink still exists and will allow me to continue creating the story that is my life.  And I will never know if that story continues here or exists in another place until I become brave enough to turn that next page.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life is about the simple things

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“If I am what I have and if I lose what I have, who then am I?” ~ Erich Fromm

I sold my gazebo in the spring.  It was a beautiful structure but grossly underutilized.  Now when I look out across my lawn I see nothing but nature.  Apart from what looks like a crop circle where the gazebo once stood, it is simple, it is unencumbered and it now more honestly represents the way I live my life.

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I am not the sum of my belongings.  I appreciate the eclectic and not the expensive.  I am more comfortable in second-hand jeans and a sweatshirt than I am in a designer dress.  I do not own a coordinating set of anything.  My furniture blends but it doesn’t match and the colors inside of my house reflect the colors outside of my house.  Greens and browns soothe me and that will never change.  It is how I grew up, it is how I live and it is how I thrive.

Life, for me, is about the simple things.  I am not inundated by random possessions, I am not overwhelmed by clutter and I am not constricted by a collection of things that are meant to impress anyone other than myself.

I tend to be a homebody and spend more time with my dog after work than I do in public places.  I like to think I am not anti-social but merely selectively social.

Finding happiness in the simple things brings me a sense of peace.  I am not constantly striving to keep up with any trends other than my own.  I am not seeking a status that I never initially wanted and I live by my own rules.

Happiness has a unique definition to each person who has the luxury of finding that elusive feeling.  Mine is a rudimentary definition, explained with simple words and carried out in the most uncomplicated way.  I live honestly, I live sincerely and I live knowing that I will never be defined by what I have, but rather by who I am.

What is close enough?

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I have admitted before that my guilty pleasure is anything to do with “The Bachelor”, “The Bachelorette” or “Bachelor in Paradise”.  The shows are a ridiculous waste of time but time that allows me to indulge in absurd adult behavior caught on film and edited in a fashion that allows the viewers to quickly form opinions, not necessarily their own, about the participants on “reality television” but leave reality completely behind.

After the most recent publicly humiliating break-up, a female contestant was asked if she was in love with the man who broke her heart.  Her inane response, through a shower of tears, was, “No, but it was close enough.”.

That line stuck with me for a long time after the show ended.  Through a furrowed brow, I frequently went back to that line and mulled over how sad a life she must lead if she is merely willing to settle for close enough.  I know I am giving too much attention to a line on a television show that was edited for its shock value but it made me think about how many people suffer from the same yearning of just wanting to believe they have found that special person.

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This past weekend I was privileged to witness, and be part of, a ceremony that was leaps and bounds past close enough.  Two people, who are a perfect fit, pledged their love to each other in front of family and friends this past Saturday.  Their connection to each other redefines the opposite of close enough.  Their body language sounds louder than an orchestra.  Their eye contact portrays more emotion than a well-directed Hollywood romance.  And their genuine affection and care for each other is as conspicuous as snow in July.

Although I have a few more years under my belt, this past weekend they taught me a life lesson about what it is to truly find the person you were meant to be with.  There is no close enough.  There is no settling.  Love has one definition and there is no room for interpretation.  Love has no voice, only actions.  Anyone can say ‘I love you’ but it is the person that is willing to show you that love who will truly capture your heart.

Robert Heinlein said it and I quoted him in my toast to the happy couple ~ “Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.”

They have found that love.  And I can only hope that everyone has, or one day will have, the great fortune of finding a love that is close enough to the that bond these two share.

 

 

 

 

 

The prodigious exultation of being a word-nerd

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Blogging has allowed me to become a true, and very contented, word snob.  I have always loved words.  As a teenager, I kept a duo-tang (who remembers those?) filled with lined paper and would make note of all the unfamiliar words I came across while devouring all the books I used to read.  Those words that eluded my pubescent mind became a staple of my vocabulary once I had defined them and cemented them into the library of my brain.  They circled my imagination and urged my cerebrum to come out to play.  They tickled my tongue and they began to flow like blood in my veins.

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(look at how lovely my penmanship was in high school)

I assiduously began to incorporate those words into as many scenarios as I could.  My teachers were duly impressed.  My fellow students merely looked at me like I had three heads.  My flamboyant wordiness was an ephemeral fantasy and I had to tone down my elevated rhetoric to become a conventional high-school student filled with angst rather than synonyms.

Today I still continue to incorporate those words into my daily conversations, not to sound more intelligent but, because I enjoy the way those words sound when I say them aloud.  I relish being able to use the phrase ‘alarmingly verbose’ instead of just saying “he talked a lot”.  I enjoy describing winter as arduous and not just “shitty”, although shitty can truly encapsulate the past winter months and potentially the ones to come.  And I will forever want to be mystified by language and not speak simply to communicate.  I want to thrive in my love for words.

My enthusiasm for articulate phrases has never waned.  It has followed me throughout my journey.  It has haunted my sleep and clandestinely pursued me during my conscious hours.  May those words forever churn in the maelstrom of my imagination and may I always be able to maintain my romance with the language of expression.

 

I don’t have a can of spinach but I yam what I yam

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I am

I loved the book “The Help” and was equally impressed by how its story was portrayed on the big screen.  And through all the ups and downs of the characters and plot lines, there is one moment that is the stand-out scene for me.  After being spanked by her mother for doing something she mistakenly did for the right reason but in the wrong place, a little girl is then comforted by her nanny.  That nanny’s words to a precious young child still ring in my ears and have done so since the first time I saw the film – “Remember, you is kind, you is smart and you is important”.

When I saw the above picture, I immediately thought of that string of words spoken so beautifully to a child in need of a kind word.  I wondered how many of us would be able to say the same sentence to ourselves but replace ‘you is’ by ‘I am’.  And if we did say it out loud, would we really believe what we are saying?

I am kind.  I am smart.  I am important.  Those are powerful words and they should be allowed to shape my reality.  I have always believed I am kind, but the old me would have had a very tough time agreeing that I was smart and that I was important.  The inability for me to be able to put that “I am” before a number of adjectives truly did shape my young reality.

But thankfully the paradigm of my reality shifted and I found a new confidence to believe those words.  I am kind.  I am smart.  I am important.  I am many other things that I have found the freedom to believe about myself without letting outside influences impact the reflection I see in the mirror.

Be a powerful voice for yourself.  Be willing to admit your strengths and embrace them.  Be proud of those things that make you who you are.  I yam.

It’s not narcissism if someone else writes it

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He wandered in from the past like a daydream.

The words in his email hung in my reality like a cartoon balloon.

I had spent months trying to track him down,

hunting him like he was an endangered species,

 trying to bring him back into the safety of our tribe.

But he was in the wind.

He left no scent of his trail and he had found refuge in his own world.

 After leaving the chase behind,

we became the hunted and he, in turn, became the hunter.

There is a muted sound that is made

when two worlds collide.

It is the sound of making right what was wrong,

of discovering things you hadn’t realized were lost,

of filling a space you had forgotten was empty.

 And even after all the time that has elapsed,

some days it feels like he never even left.

He is that consummate friend you know will always be there,

even if it is twenty-five years later.

He is the man who any mother would be proud of,

(and other mothers would have a crush on).

He is a man I am honored to call my friend.

It is not often you can find another heart on a sleeve

that recognizes that placement as a strength and not a weakness.

He is a kindred spirit, a confidant,

and he is a friend I will not let disappear again.

A post about the a-hole at the liquor store

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For those who follow my blog or know me personally, you know I live in a small town.  Our liquor store is an over-sized log cabin that can be accessed by land or by water.  Because we host a large percentage of the city’s population in the summer, our LCBO is a bustling metropolis at the slowest of times.  Cars line the two-lane black top to be able to pull off the road into the parking lot for their chance at a desired parking spot.  For those unlucky enough to be a few minutes too late, we wait in line for the next available spot.

Today I was first in that wait line.  I pulled into the lot, waited patiently on the side of the entrance, and watched a few happy customers as they left the store with their familiar brown bags.  As I was looking at their contented faces heading towards their BMW’s and Lexi (Muskoka plural for Lexus’), a beat up pick up truck, paying no heed to the rule of the line-up, ignored me patiently waiting for a spot as if I were invisible, passed my on my driver’s side and decided to create its own “parking spot”, conveniently blocking a total of four vehicles from exiting their soon-to-be-vacant actual parking spots.

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The driver of the truck got out, acknowledged my car waiting to park, also acknowledged the woman in the Lexus trying to exit her space, shrugged and made his way into the store.  I’ve seen my share of selfish moves since Toronto moved North for the summer but this one truly angered me.  This guy saw me waiting for a spot, saw the Lexus driver (and, potentially, two other cars) waiting to exit and blatantly sauntered across the macadam into the store as if the rest of the world did not even exist.  I was speechless, apart from a few well-placed expletives.

I am a patient person.  If you are in a rush, I am the first to let you go ahead of me to help you in your quest.  But if your quest is to be the most arrogant and uncaring person in town, count me out.   I only wish I had the foresight to take down  your license plate number so I could rat you out in a more personal way.

Thanks WordPress….do you have any tissues?

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My third year anniversary on WordPress is rapidly approaching.  Since my timid foray into blogging, I have truly come into my own and really love this journey I am on.  I have discovered so much about myself and thrown myself into an outlet where I find I can be really honest about my feelings and opinions.

Over the course of my presence here, WordPress has made many changes and upgrades to their program.  The cause for my tears and subsequent request for tissues is the addition of “related posts” at the bottom of our existing posts.  This subtle link at the bottom of my posts has caused me to click on one of my previous posts about my mom and my tears didn’t even have the option of staying or flowing – they started at full force and kept coming.

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Once I cleared the blurry vision and was able to control myself, I realized what a great extension to my blog that this little tear-inducing gem had become.  If readers are interested in the blog post that day, they can click on the links to previous posts they may have missed and be able to follow my earlier thought processes that may have some relevance to the entry I had recently posted.

I appreciate that WordPress is bringing my past into my present.  They are connecting the dots of my artistic as well as my emotional journey and allowing others to participate in the history of my blogging adventure as well as the most recent part of my writing experience.

Tissues are available at the door.

 

 

 

To covet or not to covet, that is the question

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I remember the word covet securely fastening itself in my brain after I watched The Silence Of The Lambs.  I had always admired the word as part of the English language but never truly gave it the power it so richly deserved.  For having a mere five letters, the word yields much more of an impact than meets the eye.  With the pun intended in that last sentence, I began to realize how it easy it could be to covet something that was so far removed from my reality, yet so much of a presence in my daily thoughts.  I could always see what it was that I wanted.

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Signs and portents of the things we covet will surely present themselves in a myriad of ways and those glowing neon reminders will only serve to keep that item at the forefront of our brains.  Though we may not have access to the object of our attention on a daily basis, the wish plants a small seed in our brain that sprouts and grows every time we give it a moment of thought.  That lingering speculation permeates the moments of our day and the spark of what could be fuels the evolution of our fascination.

By giving ourselves permission to covet, we allow ourselves the opportunity to keep our desires alive, to live with passion.  And, even if those dreams never come to fruition, we were privately granted the right to give that fantasy a breath of life, if only for a few fleeting moments.  There is no legitimate way of telling our heart it was wrong.  It will beat the way it wants to beat and we are powerless to its incessant drumming.

I am intimidated by the fear of not following my desires, of never having opened the door to possibility and thus never being able to define what is truly important to me.  Coveting those things, identifying the wants that truly envelop me but knowing they may be the things that I can never have, affects my world on a scale beyond my comprehension.  But those impervious wants, those things I covet,  allow me to begin to sketch the blueprints of what it is that I truly desire.  The idea that I may eventually attain those things satiates my thirsts and attempts to quench that desire.

To covet is to wish.  To wish is to dream.  To dream is to live.