Category Archives: honesty

A heaping dose of perspective

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Picture 260

(It doesn’t look like this now, but it will soon)

The Heaven’s have aligned and I am back home after twelve days of living in a hotel room with my puppy dog.  I can’t even find the words to describe how it feels to be home – and that is a first for me!

I ran the gamut of emotions while I was under that temporary roof.  I was grateful to have that roof over my head and friends who cared enough to offer me a plethora of living options, but my frustration was undeniable.  I’m sure the bureaucratic red tape at a certain energy company tangled the process and elongated my hotel stay by at least five days.  But, I digress.

I flipped the breaker myself earlier today and was warmed by the glow of light coming from my windows.  In the days preceding I had been stopping by to check the progress of the work and my house sat lifeless on my property.  No light emanated from my windows and it sat as a cold, empty shell where there once was life.

There is still a noticeable chill in the air, inside, but I am home.  All of my electronics work and nothing else was damaged in the ordeal.  The only thing I had to do was call Bell to help download the guide for my satellite to get it working again.  The lovely woman I spoke to was in the Philippines.  I’m sure you have all seen the news of the devastation in the Philippines and, while she was personally unaffected, members of her family have lost everything.  We had a very fortuitous conversation that allowed me to truly put my seemingly overwhelming problem into the perspective it deserves.

I still have a home.  I still have all of my belongings and I have a large collection of friends who would be there for me if I ever needed them again.  I didn’t lose everything.  I don’t have to wonder how I will recover from such a devastating loss and I don’t have to mourn family and friends who didn’t survive.  These last twelve days were really just a hiccup in my existence.

670,000 people are now homeless and countless have not survived in the Philippines.  It really makes my previous rants seem so selfish and I will keep those people in mind the next time I want to complain about an infinitesimal problem in my life.

Journey back to me

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It was a collaboration week for me last week and this time I put some words together with TwinDaddy from Stuphblog.  I’m sure you all know him and if you don’t, you are missing out!!  Take a few minutes to check out his diversity and genuine talent.  Here is what we came up with.

Journey back to me

I put you up there

not knowing that you would fall.

The pulse of the rain matched my heart beat

as I watched you tumble from that pedestal I put you on.

When our love ended, you had further to fall.

 My illusion of you faded.

Your ruse succumbed to reality

as softly as a leaf falls from its tree.

That pedestal floated gently to the ground

when at last you unveiled your true self.

Although my heart was shattered,

it was easier for me to pick up the discarded pieces.

I recognized those parts of myself that I lost,

eviscerated pieces of my soul that you took.

I could finally begin to rebuild the person I was.

Piece by piece, brick by brick,

a new masterpiece painfully crafted.

A new me, a stronger me

able to withstand torrential emotions,

lithe enough to dodge abusive traps.

Your journey was a plunge to the death of the disguise.

My path was a quest to rebuild what was taken.

I emerge stronger, my scars will heal.

I take back what was rightfully mine.

I put myself up on that pedestal.

pedestal

Fragments of myself

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I have been reflecting a lot lately – looking back at the phases of my life where I defined myself in terms of my relationships with other people.  I even introduced myself with those titles.  I was always a daughter, a sister, a step-mom, a wife (now ex-wife) and it has only been recently that I have begun to describe myself in terms of who I really am – me.

All of those monikers are still a big part of who I am, or was, but they are only pieces of my bigger puzzle.  I have found new ways to describe myself that truly incorporate the essence of me and not just how my being relates to other people.  After years of missing the most integral part of who I am, I have found the proper words to define myself.

puzzle-pieces

(image credit: loridennis.com)

In the past, I had deconstructed myself and put smaller pieces of me into everyone else’s puzzle.  I was happy to be the daughter or the sister.  I didn’t feel lost nor did I feel any sense of being an incomplete person.  I merely slipped into the shadows of the lives around me.  I became an extension of them and the fault of that circumstance was all mine.

After many months of contemplative thought I have become aware of a new sense of self – a confidence to simply extend my hand and introduce myself with only my name.  There is no longer a follow-up delineation of how I relate to anyone other than myself.  I am, in the simplest of definitions, me.

Those fragments of myself constitute a big part of my life but they are no longer words I use to acquaint myself with anyone new in my life.  Eventually those pieces of my puzzle will fall into their rightful place but that place is not the definition of who I am.

Stage Six of Seven

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img-seniors-hands-typing-at-keyboard

My fingers hover over the keyboard.  I can’t remember why.   I look at unfamiliar walls.  If I was meant to type my name they will be sorely disappointed.  I don’t know that either.

~

Written for the Trifextra Weekend Challenge – I am terrified of losing the ability to coax words and memories from my brain.  Alzheimer’s Disease scares me to death.

(On now to our quick little Trifextra prompt.  Katherine Paterson, author of  Bridge to Terabithia, wrote, “It’s like the smarter you are, the more
things can scare you.”  We are looking for a 33-word explanation of what scares
you (or your character).  We already know you’re intelligent, so, according to
Paterson, you should have no shortage of potential subject matter.)

(image credit: wiserusability.com)

Better than a thousand hollow words

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cartoon balloonWhen I entered into this vast blogosphere I had no idea what to expect.  There was no anticipation of anything other than freeing the words in my head but along the way something magical happened.  After a few early posts I began receiving comments.  Some of these comments made me struggle to understand their meaning but most of the words were encouraging and inspiring.  Others contradicted the original intention of my post but made me think of my words from another perspective and how a chain of ideas may always have a broken link.

I am a creature of strange habits.  I began to save the email notifications of the comments.  I was unsure of why at the time but, tonight as I scanned through the myriad of remarks, I realized what a profound effect those snippets of language have had on my journey as a writer.  I re-read some of my posts to connect the meaning of the comments and was affected by the growth of my friendships through those words.

I am fortunate to have met an extensive number of talented people through this blog – people who not only take the time to read my words, but assert their own opinions in agreement or defiance.  A simple word or two from my fellow bloggers holds great significance because it means they took the time to read what I had beaten into submission before posting.

Your comments somehow make the toil of writing so much more worthwhile.  I only hope I can return the favor and extend the same courtesy to you.  As the sun sets on the eve of my busy season, I look forward to the eventide of a new creative flow and more time to read and comment.

Until that clocks favors me with more hours in the day, please know that your words keep me honest, they keep me humble and they keep me energized.  Your few words mean more than a thousand hollow words from someone who will never understand this passion for idioms and your words drive me to sharpen my skills and hone my craft.

I am simply me

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I am me.  There is nothing more or less to me.  When you look at me you see me at face value and I am truly the sum of my parts.  I will never change to be anything other than who I am.

I-Am-Me.001

(image credit: sekutenetwork.com)

I have a great capacity to live my life the way I choose and no outside force will alter my path.  Some may not understand my journey but my path has been laid before me to follow and I do so willingly and without hesitation because this path is taken with the knowledge that I have carved it myself.  My road is created from a belief in who I am.  My road is paved with an understanding of my true identity and I am comfortable having my feet follow its winding path.

My road does not define me, I define it.  It is not sculpted from pettiness or jealousy, nor is it furrowed from frustration.  My road is simply an open path to my happiness and I follow it knowing that this is the journey I was meant to take.  It may not be the road chosen by many but this artery of life is meant for me.  It is unique and the fellow travelers I meet on this stretch of highway were meant to cross my path.

My journey to be me follows the beat of the incessant drumming only I can hear.  The mellifluous sounds keep my compass pointed in the right direction and I am happy to continue putting one foot in front of the other.  I will never again stray from my path because this passage allows me to be the truest version of myself.  It allows me to simply be me.

The opposite of hello

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goodbye

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” ~ A.A. Milne

~

I write this post through swollen eyes and saturated shirt sleeves.  Tonight while watching a scripted episode of a television show I witnessed a group of friends bid farewell to, not only a fellow cast member but, a confidant, a lover and a friend.  And although it was scripted, it was a heart-wrenching hour that brought any of the goodbyes I have ever experienced bubbling to the surface of my emotions because it was a genuine farewell to a person who will no longer be in their day-to-day realities.  The poignant words of the writing team were presented with a deep honesty because the melancholy was sincere and the pain was palpable.

Anyone who has lost someone can relate to the despair I am currently feeling.  Memories of the anguish I felt in the moments of my own losses came flooding back and I envisioned the struggle I endured to force myself to change the definition of those bonds.  I cried for their pain and I cried for my own pain.  The most difficult part of saying goodbye is knowing that you had something remarkable in your life and it was taken away before you were ready to part ways.

Living through a loss is inevitable.  We can never fully prepare ourselves for the roller coaster of emotion that follows that loss. Death is hardest on those left here to endure the sadness.  It is a closed door that can never be opened again but I hold strong to the faith that what lies beyond that closed door is filled with happy memories and moments that can be cherished by watching the movie of the life they lived.  

The bonds we have with those who have left us still remain.  The parameters of that relationship may have been vastly altered but the connections we have still exist.  We have memories to cherish and, in time, reminiscing will make that goodbye a little less painful and allow the happy memories to outweigh the grief.

Don’t believe everything you think

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My brain plays tricks on me.  It sometimes deceives me into believing falsities that are so far from the truth it’s astounding.  I have a real knack for over-thinking, for seeing things unlike they really are and for creating sub-realities of truths I believe to be factual.

I am not delusional by any means, but I read too far into the most minute of details and things affect me on a much grander scale than they should.  If I forget to do something at work, I obsess over how it will affect my fellow employees when, in truth, it is a minor hiccup in the larger air pocket of the day.  I will churn words over and over again in my head – words that escaped my lips and perhaps fell on deaf ears, but words that I wish I would have said differently.  I over-think how those words could have been presented although time has already marched over those words and left them behind,  buried in the footprints of the past.

brain_on_fire

(image credit: salon.com)

In this regard, I am my own worst enemy.  Or at least the firing neurons in my thought processes are my worst enemy.  I must not believe everything I think.  I must learn that perspective is an individual thing and not everyone sees or hears the things I do in the same way.  I read too much into people’s reactions.  I over-analyze every word until those words are beaten into submission, yet they still torture me in my sleep and continue to hover above my pillow in my waking hours.

I am on a crusade to teach myself to let those things go – to not dwell on the things I cannot change and to accept things at face value.  The drama will continue to play on in my head but I must remember to not believe everything I think.

Liar, liar, pants ablaze with molten embers

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We are all guilty of telling a white lie or two.  If you say you have never stretched the truth to save a friend from feeling down you would most likely resemble the subject line of this post.  Lying is an unavoidable part of basic human nature and one of the simplest atrocities to rectify.

As we each navigate our way through this journey called life, falsehoods can often obscure our course and cause us to spend countless hours, days, even years getting back onto our original path.  Undoubtedly the person guilty of sharing that erroneous information did not have malicious intentions but did not take the time to thoroughly gauge how much that untruth may affect the person it was bestowed upon.

Making a simple fib into an honest admission is a peculiar concept but one that is so easily attainable.  If you’re going to say something that matters, you need to deal in the truth.

I urge everyone to see Jim Carrey in Liar, Liar.   Although presented in a humorous way, its message is so revealing.  What could our planet become if we were all forced to give honest answers to every question that was posed.  (Think of how our system of government would be altered!!)   Telling a lie will appease you in the now.  Telling the truth, although difficult, will benefit both parties in the end.  A true friend will appreciate your honesty and know that you have their best interest in the depths of your heart.

Dealing in fact and reality is a harsh imposition but one that could exponentially increase the authenticity of all of our relationships.  Something as simple as being honest can lend credence to the foundation of a friendship formed on that very ideal. Hold fast to your sincerity.  Let it breathe new life into your conversations and let the words that fall from your tongue drip genuine truism.

Be gentle but, in the end, be honest.  There is no better gift you could give the people you hold closest to your heart.

Written in response to the Daily Prompt.

Hello, Kettle? It’s pot calling. You’re black.

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Hypocrisy.  It lives and walks among us and it lurks in the very shadows in which we feel safe.  It feeds upon unsuspecting minds, clinging to the particles of grey matter that are most apt to ignore it.

Professing beliefs or ideals that you neither follow nor remotely understand is the most familiar definition but there is also the flip side of the hypocritical coin.  The admonishment of a habit or behavioural pattern that is so blatantly shared by the one pointing the finger is the one that is most commonly seen – at least by me.

But the ones making flagrant accusations are oblivious to the obvious.  They are standing so far out on the precipice of blindness that they are unaware that they are constantly living in a suspended state of hypocrisy.  And perhaps they truly can’t see the irony in pointing out the shortcomings of another when they represent the same qualities themselves.

Maybe the pot calling the kettle black is a mere distraction technique.  If the focus is shifted in a different direction, the pot will never receive the negative repercussion to which it should so rightly be subjected.  Panning the camera for a close up on the kettle potentially leaves the pot completely out of the picture.

But a word of caution to the pot – even though you may try to use the kettle as a scapegoat to alleviate any personal discomfort, bear in mind that there are many other pots and pans in your proverbial pantry and they see right through the facade.  The very ashes that charred the surface of the kettle are mirrored on the exterior of your pot.  Before you are so quick to judge make sure that your extraneous covering is free from any soot before you bring the kettle into the mix.