sky of mottled grey
snow flakes flying through the air
wind that hurts my face
Category Archives: inspiring
Time is not linear
7 CommentsI remember the phone call like it was yesterday. My brother called from Vancouver in the wee hours of the morning to tell me that I was an aunt and my nephew had safely entered the world. I was living in Ontario and felt like I was a world away but somehow felt like I was in the room with him at the same time. That phone call came 16 years ago.
Tonight our family gathered at my nephew’s restaurant of choice to not only celebrate the auspicious occasion of his 16th birthday but also the successful completion of level one of our graduated licensing system for new drivers. Yes, local friends stay off the sidewalks, my nephew is behind the wheel.
It was a numbing experience watching their familiar vehicle turn onto the road that led to the restaurant and not see my sister-in-law behind the wheel. TJ held the very proper pose of hands at 10 and 2 and didn’t even flinch when his dad lobbed a snowball at the car and hit it squarely in the middle of the driver’s door. You could feel the pride, and some relief, radiating from his 16-year-old face as he crossed the parking lot.
As I write this post, their family has returned home and, at his request, TJ is out driving around our small town taking his dog “Zoey Hot Wheels” for a car ride. I’m sure it is the first of many trips they will share with him behind the wheel and I couldn’t feel more proud of his smooth transition into the next phase of his life. Happy birthday Buddy!!
Optimism is contagious
18 CommentsI’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
The mosaic of a life
4 CommentsMy 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?
One voice above the crowd
4 Comments
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.
A single wish
21 CommentsThe 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.
It’s not about the distance
10 Comments
You see my shoes,
and you think they might fit you.
You may even wrongly assume
that they had very little wear,
and you could walk much further than a mile.
But my treads are worn,
reduced to a thin layer of rubber,
marred by a life of experience.
Perhaps my shoes are similar to yours,
maybe even close to the same size,
but my shoes will not fit you,
as I expect yours would not feel comfortable on my feet.
This road has been mine to follow,
as your trail was carved out for you.
Conceivably, our winding paths have crossed on purpose,
but your journey is yours, as mine belongs to me.
And as much as you think my shoes will fit,
your feet were meant for your shoes
just as mine were meant for me.
I hope one day we will share a walk,
and our shoes will take many steps together.
And when that day comes,
I hope we walk much further than a mile.
Wait for the feathers
12 Comments“Some days you’re the pigeon, some days you’re the statue.” ~ J. Andrew Taylor
Many of our days are inherently better than others. On those precious days we are the pigeon. We are free to fly, the wind lifts us and lets us soar and we feel like nothing can bring us down. We are above all of the little problems that life presents. We gain strength and power as we fly. We are able to stop when we want to and simply observe life at its best from a lofty perch, but we are also able to spread our wings and rise even higher on the warm currents of life.
Some days, however, that magical wind seems non-existent and our wings seem to fail. On those days, we are the statue. We are a solid mass under the weight of our own problems. We feel like we are stuck and there is no room to move. We feel stagnant and are rooted in our place, only able to watch life pass us by and not feel like we can participate. We are heavy with worry and cemented by fear, feeling like the world is doing nothing but looking at us and simply passing us by.
On the days we are the pigeon we have to remember to empathize with the statue. And on the days we are the statue we have to revel in the thought of what it is like to be the pigeon. To truly embrace all of life, we have to be willing to see it from the perspective of the bird and the bust. We have to understand that life is not always going to let us soar but we are never going to be stuck in one place for long if we break free of the mold we created for ourselves.
Life will ground us. It will root us in our place until it sees fit to allow us the capacity to fly once again. And in those moments that we feel fixed in a certain spot in our lives, we just need to wait for those feathers to grow large enough to carry us into our next chapter.
When the sun shines on June
8 CommentsI have written many posts about my mom since she passed a little over two years ago. Some of those stories have been light-hearted and as joyful as she was and some have been wrapped tightly in the veil of loss.
During the past two years, my mother has made it extremely clear that she has been doing her best to keep in touch. While others may dismiss my belief in her presence, I know in my heart it is not fantasy. It is not simply an extension of my overactive imagination. It is not some arc angel named Jingobar trying to earn his wings. It is my mother – I knew her well enough to know how she operates.
If I ever had any doubt, even one moment’s hesitation that she was working her magic from another realm, she made it perfectly clear last Wednesday night. Without going into intricate detail, a great deal of my past culminated into a very emotional evening and, where I felt I had failed in the past, I encountered an overwhelming rush of emotion by feeling like I had finally made a difference.
After sharing a very touching conversation with a dear friend and wiping the remaining tears from my face, I walked back in to my living room. The early evening sun was still streaming through my window as I sat down on my couch. To my left, my grandfather’s writing desk was cast in half-shadow and half-sun. When I took a moment to absorb the tableau in front of me, the tears returned.
![IMG_2730[1]](https://polysyllabicprofundities.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/img_27301.jpg)
The candle on my desk, the one with my mother’s picture, was one of the few things bathed in the sunlight and that light, perhaps my mother’s light, projected a halo onto the wall behind it. In the two years that her candle has sat innocently atop my desk, this anomaly has never occurred. A brief twenty seconds later the image, and the sunlight, were gone.
My mom, June as we came to call after this story (click on the link), sent her message in her way and I got that message loud and clear. There will never be a doubt that she is always with me when the sun shines on June.
Make a wish
11 Comments
The pyramid that represents my desires is simple. Each wish is placed with careful consideration. Each moment of hope is used as mortar in the cracks. And at the pinnacle of that prism is the cherished knowledge that I dared to dream.
polysyllabic profundities 