There is a place in the woods where my heart is free,
and my mind has been known to roam.
There are four walls and a roof that wait for me,
and long for me to call it my home.
The mass of buildings and lanes of traffic
are replaced with hills and trees.
The soothing sounds of Mother Nature’s lullaby
truly put my mind at ease.
I am homesick for a place I’ve never seen,
a place where my heart is replete,
a home where my soul is understood
and a home where I feel genuinely complete.
The barren land beckons, the rolling earth lures,
I hear it calling my name.
I know when I finally find this haven
my life will never be the same.
I will shed the layers of the pretense I’ve lived
and genuinely feel at peace.
I will feel naked among the rocks and the trees,
and my life will have found a new lease.
There is a place in the woods where my heart is free,
and my mind has been known to roam.
I hope to one day discover this place,
and forever call it my home.
I have not been myself lately, Aside from still battling the lingering effects of the cold I have had for the last nine days, my energy has felt foreign to me. I am usually a very cheerful person but I have not had that effervescent feeling for a while and I don’t know why.
Sure, we are seven weeks through the nine crazy weeks of summer at the lodge and those weeks lead to physical and emotional exhaustion, but this is different. This feels like something has shifted and I can’t quite explain it to myself, let alone describe it to you. Whatever this funk is, it has even caused me to shy away from writing and that is not normal.
Thankfully, today is my day off. When I feel out of sorts, the first thing on my list of things to do is organize my house. I purged my closet of the clothing I have not worn in the last six months and that helped me feel like I had gained some control of the chaos in my mind. As much as that helped to start the process, the best place I can go to feel grounded and to get some of myself back is my kitchen. I reorganized my fridge, made my salads in a jar for lunches this week and I have ribs cooking slowly in my crockpot for dinner. Just the familiar smell of those ribs is bringing me back to a feeling of contentment. My disconnection is slowly being reconnected the more I focus on the things that are important to me and forget the stress that lingers outside of my four walls. I would be doing myself a disservice if I continued to wallow in whatever this low tide is that has been trying to drag me down.
These words may not be the exact phrases I would normally choose, but I’m writing and that is the last piece of the puzzle to get me out of this feeling of despondency and bring me back to myself, one word at a time.
I have been thinking about my parents a lot lately. For a person my age, it is sad I have to talk about how they used to be because they were taken far too early, both victims of the serial killer known as alcoholism. I have written many heartfelt posts telling the tale of what my perspective was like growing up as a child of alcoholic parents. But the more I read those posts again, and cried again, I realized I had been doing them a grave injustice.
So, I went back to the beginning – back to the days before that serial killer lurked in the shadows of my house, back to the days when life was great and back to the days when no elephant existed in any room in our home.
My mom and dad were a lot of fun. My brother and I had many parties at our family home and my parents would remain in their bedroom allowing us full access to the house to host our friends. But at the end of the night, the number of our friends watching TV with my parents in their room far outweighed the number of our friends in our living room. Those were my parents.
They played strip ping-pong with the neighbors. They ran naked from the neighbors’ sauna to roll in the snow and then back to the sauna. They enjoyed life, they made the most of the good times and they truly loved each other. My mother summed it up completely in the caption of this photo of the four of us, “Happiness is Port Carling”.
When I began to think of what they were like as a couple, I couldn’t help but smile remembering how my dad used to look at my mom. If my mom was within arm’s length, his hands would make contact with whatever part of her he could reach. He would pat her bum as she walked by him. He would kiss her every chance he got. And when he grabbed her hand, I could see his hand physically squeezing hers several times in a sworn gesture of being smitten by her. It was all about being able to touch each other, just to remind each other that they were there for the right reasons.
I had long forgotten those moments. I was so marred by the effects alcohol had on their relationship I failed to remember the beautiful connection they had with each other.
And now that I have blinded myself to the painful memories, I will embrace the images of their fingers intertwined without realizing they were holding hands. I will cling to the thought of how my dad just wanted to be close to her. And I will forever hold close the knowledge that a simple touch from someone who means so much can change everything about your day.
After so many daily thoughts about so many things that don’t matter, I finally realized…..these are the things I should remember.
Yesterday was my day off. I get one day off a week this time of year so I have to pack as much into it as I can to make the way I spend it last until my next day off. My timing was altered slightly but I still managed to get everything done I wanted to do and enjoy some time with a friend in the process.
After my morning shopping and a few other tasks, I headed to my friend’s house so we could detail my car. He is a recent Honda owner and we both love our Hondas and take great pride in them. Mine has been sadly neglected over the past few months and in great need of a thorough cleaning. My friend, who has an entire Rubbermaid bucket labelled “car care”, was more than happy to help out and we spent a few hours making my car look like it did the day I drove it off the lot.
Every inch of my car was washed, dried and polished. Even the difficult globs of pine tar were beaten into submission and eventually removed. If you look inside my car now, you would never know I have a dog who sheds like crazy, drools everywhere and puts her nose on every piece of glass in that car.
As much as cleaning a car is about the details, so is friendship. It’s about the fact that you can have fun doing menial tasks, that you can laugh at pretty much anything and just enjoy each other’s company without having to feel like you are putting on a show for anyone. It’s about being you and knowing that the details of you are truly appreciated by someone else. And it’s about knowing that a true friendship may collect a little dust but it takes no time at all to polish it and bring it right back to where it should be.
After reading a post by Little Steps to Somewhere, the concept of having the ability to change your appearance was passed between the two of us. It made me think about what I would change about my appearance if I were the artist wielding the tools that would carve my body into existence.
Initially my mind began to compose a list of the physical attributes I would alter but then my reasoning got in the way. Due to a sense of logic beyond my grasp, I firmly believe I was meant to plod through my existence in this body, blemishes and all. Sure my ankles and wrists are more suited to someone who plays football, but this body is me and the embodiment of many lessons I have learned along the way, good and bad. I gained my strength through my imperfections.
This body has taught me acceptance and empathy, understanding and insight. I am a Raggedy Ann in a Barbie Doll world and that suits me just fine. I am comfortable in my skin because that thick layer of protection has guarded me and served me well. I have earned each and every scar. I have learned what ugliness truly is and it does not have anything to do with not having a perfect body. Ugliness has everything to do with never learning acceptance of those who are different and never showing compassion where compassion is due.
My arms jiggle but nobody notices that when they feel comfort in my embrace. My cheeks are chubby but that shortcoming is shrouded by my genuine smile. My mid-section carries extra weight but that casing does its best to guard the heart that always finds its way to my sleeve. And my eyes tend to leak on a regular basis but I would rather err on the side of human, having cause to buy an extra box of tissues, than to never show any emotion.
So the chisel can stay hidden in the tool chest. No one part of me is perfect but when I look at the sum of all of my parts, I am pretty happy with the total.
“It’s only by saying “no” that you can concentrate on the things that are really important.” ~ Steve Jobs
“NO” is the most common word to ever come out of a child’s mouth. It’s an instinctual response to any question or suggestion for anyone under the age of three and that response is never second-guessed. So why now, when we have the ability to reason and make an informed decision, based on what is best for us, do we find it so hard to utter that simple word and mean it?
“No” is a complete sentence. It does not require any justification, nor does it need an explanation. It is a succinct and pithy response that needs no further words to make its meaning understood.
For us to procure as much happiness as we can from each day we are afforded in this lifetime, we must learn to make our decisions by putting our happiness first. We must set boundaries for ourselves and embrace and listen to the most important voice we will ever hear – our own. It’s human instinct to want to please other people by saying yes, but how much of ourselves are we giving up by agreeing so quickly and not allowing that inner voice to offer its opinion.
If the answer in your heart is ‘no’, find a gentle way of not accepting the offer or challenge and let that three-year old voice in your head speak for both of you. That voice is giving you some sage advice. You should take it.