tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70864982502590704532024-02-08T01:54:04.620-08:00Writing in the Margins of My Mind...just a little emotional and spiritual meandering...and god knows what else.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-51911528317316733372014-02-13T13:33:00.000-08:002014-02-13T13:39:46.321-08:00Not My Type...We no longer order a cup of coffee. These days, we order a triple non-fat latte with two pumps of vanilla syrup. Everything in our lives can be completely customized by. "I like that car but I'd prefer it in cobalt blue with shimmering sands leather interior." There is very little that we are asked to accept. Everything is delivered to us exactly as we ask for it to be. These expectations that we now have with the things we buy, we are having with other human beings. We have "types" of human beings that we will love. It's difficult to wrap my mind around the idea, that one might be worthy of my time if their hair were shorter, or if they were taller.<br />
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I might be able to have a good relationship with you if you worked in a different industry. If you drove a different car.<br />
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I feel that the true joy of loving another is just feeling completely moved by them. Compelled to be in the same space as they are and not necessarily know why. To follow that compelling feeling and discover them. Joyously discover their past, their hopes, all the stories that makes them who they are. To dive into discovery. To learn more and more while loving. It is like being submerged and dancing under water. Moving and feeling. Love is alive. Love that makes you throw away the list you always kept of what you'd want in a lover. Rip it to shreds because the list is pointless now, having felt true love. </div>
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Love should whisper and pull at us like the aroma coming from the bakery two blocks over. Send you floating in the direction of your lover, hovering, basking in the deliciousness of your lover's essence. </div>
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I had a list a few years ago. A wish list of qualities I would like to have in a lover. Someone who plays music. Someone who works with his hands. Someone who is a father. Someone who is a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll. Much to my delight, I met someone who had every single quality on that list. It was in defining a type and meeting someone who fits perfectly into it that I discovered the wrongness in this approach. Through that relationship, and attaining everything I wanted in a lover, I found that I'd left the most important thing off the list. Someone who has reverence for life; through the good times and the bad. Someone passionately appreciative of the opportunity to live. This item never made the list. This, the most important thing, I learned by being with someone who lacked it. It blared at me, that item that never made it onto the list. It mocked my list. It laughed at me for not knowing my own priorities. </div>
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I learned so much from throwing away that list.</div>
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I have learned that my beloved can take any form. It excites me to have no idea what the eyes will look like that I will find a home in. The arms I will fold myself into. To not know what will inspire me about them. To not know what I will deeply stir within them. To open them, like a gift, every day discovering something new inside. To feel pulling and stirring. A call that is obvious to me and natural. All the discovery because they weren't customized by me. My beloved will come to me perfectly whole. Perfectly themselves and I will adore and learn. We both will adore and learn together. Travel companions on the journey of living. Adventurers. Explorers. Imperfect, and in perfect harmony with one another.</div>
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I want there to be a love revolution and I want to be on the front lines with my heart in my hand, unafraid. I want to fight for the humanness to be put back into loving. For types to go away. For us all to discover bliss in unexpected places and beauty in unexpected people. I want to love my lover deeply with such a fire in my eyes that my beloved feels like nobody has ever existed like them before in many lifetimes. I want my lover to love me so genuinely that all my quirks become precious little examples of why they love me so deeply. And I never want to define how they arrive. I never want to decide how they should show up. I don't want to write out a life and stick a human into it, directing all the scenes myself and finding the right actor for the role. I want my lover and I to co-author what our lives look like. As partners, architect our dreams. With crayons and paint. And with pastels that I can blend with my finger lending parts of the story to fade and come back vibrant, or turn into gradient with other hues. I do like to blend. Maybe my lover likes pen. Adding structure and boundaries to my whimsey. Or perhaps my lover likes watercolor, blending like I do. Whatever they are bringing... it will be so much more magical than a picture created only by me. </div>
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I want collaboration to leap off the pages of our life's story. Create a universe together.</div>
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I suppose that's my type.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-74740028464783480632013-11-06T06:54:00.000-08:002013-11-06T06:54:15.694-08:00I just have to share this that I read<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">“First of all, love is a joint experience between two persons — but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved. There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries. Often the beloved is only a stimulus for all the stored-up love which had lain quiet within the lover for a long time hitherto. And somehow every lover knows this. He feels in his soul that his love is a solitary thing. He comes to know a new, strange loneliness and it is this knowledge which makes him suffer. So there is only one thing for the lover to do. He must house his love within himself as best he can; he must create for himself a whole new inward world — a world intense and strange, complete in himself. Let it be added here that this lover about whom we speak need not necessarily be a young man saving for a wedding ring — this lover can be man, woman, child, or indeed any human creature on this earth.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Now, the beloved can also be of any description. The most outlandish people can be the stimulus for love. A man may be a doddering great-grandfather and still love only a strange girl he saw in the streets of Cheehaw one afternoon two decades past. The preacher may love a fallen woman. The beloved may be treacherous, greasy-headed, and given to evil habits. Yes, and the lover may see this as clearly as anyone else — but that does not affect the evolution of his love one whit. A most mediocre person can be the object of a love which is wild, extravagant, and beautiful as the poison lilies of the swamp. A good man may be the stimulus for a love both violent and debased, or a jabbering madman may bring about in the soul of someone a tender and simple idyll. Therefore, the value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">It is for this reason that most of us would rather love than be loved. Almost everyone wants to be the lover. And the curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many. The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved. The lover craves any possible relation with the beloved, even if this experience can cause him only pain.” </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">― </span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3506.Carson_McCullers" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Carson McCullers</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/952665" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">The Ballad of the Sad Café and Other Stories</a></i><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-28132172773951445242013-06-21T08:35:00.001-07:002013-06-21T08:35:45.055-07:00Courageously Authentic: Answering the call<a href="http://courageously-authentic.blogspot.com/2013/02/answering-call.html?spref=bl">Courageously Authentic: Answering the call</a><br />
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Here is something I wrote on my collaborative blog with my best friend Julie.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-4012750396735627372012-08-05T20:41:00.000-07:002012-08-05T20:41:26.018-07:00Story of a flower.The bud has to burst for the flower to bloom. When the petals can no longer stay curled up in fetal position. When the sun rays are just too tempting. When everything inside that bud is aching to feel sunshine. When the flower just can't hold on anymore and just can't be patient anymore. When it's just to big to fit inside that bud anymore. All that time growing and growing. From a little seed, to a hearty stem with some baby leaves, to a small bud, then a bigger bud, then a bud so full it's just beginning to part at the opening and reveal the colorful petals. It's a long time in the making. The long awaited blooming is incredible. And blooming happens so quickly. You could walk away from a tight lipped bud and come back to a flower in full bloom. If you're lucky you get to catch it happening. You get to see the beginning stages, the opening of the bud, the unfurling of the petals, a beautiful flower in the making getting its first taste of sunlight. The most beautiful thing you could ever be shown. And you just might miss it if you aren't looking. Don't look down. Don't look back. Just look. Look at today. Watch everything transform in front of you. Watch it all bloom.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-32308699099040969392012-07-27T17:31:00.000-07:002012-07-27T17:31:10.864-07:00Happiness: A How-toI recently had a friend reach out to me and ask me how I got to be so happy. This same friend called me the one of the most self-actualized people they've seen. While I don't know about the self actualization part (I am living only a fraction of my full potential, but I guess it counts that I realize that) I know about the happy part. I am certainly no authority on happiness. I'm no authority on anything, but I can say that I spend the majority of my days feeling pretty darn good. It happens from time to time that people ask me things like this. That in the process of living my life, someone likes what they see in me and how I'm feeling or what I radiate. I feel humbled when this happens and sometimes I feel inadequate to answer such questions when I still have so much to find within myself , and so much to still straighten out in my life - but I know there's something to how good I feel most of the time, and I know not everybody feels that way. So when asked about happiness I do like to speak up, because maybe it can help. Maybe I can give someone insight into some way to just feel good. I gave my friend a short answer but I wanted to expand upon it. I think that considering ways to be happy and how to be happy or even what happy is, is a very important part of enjoying our life exactly as it is.<div>
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I think the most important thing about happiness, and one of the most empowering realizations of my life, is that happiness is a choice. It's not a fleeting ship in the night, something you wait for, it's nothing that requires any outside gift for situation. It only requires deciding that you want to be happy. Happiness means something different to different people, right? So in deciding to be happy we must first decide what happy looks like to us, right. To me, happiness is enjoying the present moment, over and over and over. Making the choice every day in all my moments to see if there's something to appreciate, and then actively appreciate it. Some days I feel like there are things to be grateful for all around me, and it's just glaringly obvious that my life is filled with blessings. Other days I have to really look at the small things. The way bubbles feel popping against my hands in the dish water. The way it feels to sink into my bed. How cool it is that my ankles can stand on a sloped surface and still hold my body straight because of those cool ball-socket joints. I have found that there is always something! We just have to make an active choice to find it, and to know ourselves well enough to know where to look for them based on what we appreciate.</div>
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That's not to say I enjoy every moment or that I don't get upset, mad, disappointed or have days where I just can't get out of a slump. I do. But for me, the key is understanding those moments are a part of life and embracing them too. Just letting myself honestly feel what I feel and being able to see the beauty in the balance. Embracing a moment to cry because it's a human thing to do and needs to happen sometimes. Embracing a moment to feel angry or insecure or disappointed because they're human feelings and happen sometimes. Not trying to escape them or wish they didn't happen. Knowing that in their way, they make the simple and pleasurable moments that much better because they provide contrast. And there is a reason to appreciate them. Whether it's because they're providing contrast or because they're signaling to me that it's time for something to change, I am so thankful for my adverse experiences and emotions. </div>
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One of my favorite books has this line. "Even a stunted tree reaches for the light." I think that says it all. We want to be happy. Our nature is to feel good. Life can sometimes turn us away from what we know deep inside ourselves about what peace we can feel. We must never think that we can't be happy or that we are too broken to be. We must never believe that happiness is for others but isn't for us. We must not subscribe to ideas that happiness comes from anywhere but within. We must remember that it is a choice to make, that requires action. Just as we reach for the water to quench thirst, we can reach for the thoughts and experience that make us feel grateful and happy. We just have to decide we love ourselves enough to take that step.</div>
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-72734551824416630822012-07-21T12:55:00.004-07:002012-07-21T12:56:06.566-07:00Dandelion (a visualization)I close my eyes and hope as I blow on a dandelion. I hope, because I do not believe in wishing. My hope is not pointed. It has no specifics. I meditate on the small feathered parachutes of the dandelion. They are designed to be carried in the wind. They go where the elements take them. My hope is just like this. It is only me opening my heart and asking for goodness, happiness, purpose, lessons, greater understanding, a new way of seeing, whatever comes my way. As I blow and the parachutes scatter, I watch the many directions they travel. I consider that I will never know where they land. And this is the way, they are the perfect representation of my hopes. I don't wish to know, to predict, or to have direction. I hope for what is meant to find me. I am grateful for what will find me without having any idea what it will look like. I think about the things that happen exactly as they are meant to. The dandelion does not ask for the wind. It grows and changes and exists. The wind does not set out specifically to spread the dandelion seed. It blows and in doing so fulfills a great many purpose without doing so deliberately. I take joy in thinking about the things that happen harmoniously in nature. I find solace in the reprieve from actions in life that must be preformed with an end result in mind. I lay back and close my eyes and feel one of the dandelion parachutes land on my face. One parachute that didn't drift away. I think this means that some of my hopes are already right here within me.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-89259790763779406672012-02-07T15:36:00.001-08:002012-02-07T15:36:27.336-08:00Growing UpI once thought I'd weathered the heaviest storms<br />
that I would ever encounter in life<br />
That I'd already learned great lessons about<br />
survival and struggle and strife.<br />
I figured the worst was behind me <br />
and I'd come out unscathed and I'd won<br />
I didn't see what I can see now<br />
which is that the challenge has only begun<br />
I'm beginning to do some real growing up now<br />
there's this new clarity in my world<br />
realizing that there is much difference between<br />
the struggles of a woman and that of a girl.<br />
A girl is scared and defenseless<br />
searching and running to find a safe place<br />
but a woman must face things head on<br />
with a mixture of courage, wisdom and grace.<br />
I thought that I'd become a woman<br />
when I started paying rent and had a kid<br />
but my thoughts are showing me more maturity<br />
than any of those actions ever did<br />
Every day I wake up and question myself<br />
the answers aren't always the same<br />
but being grown is more about knowing yourself<br />
than about this 'playing house' game.<br />
So that is my moment of clarity<br />
on this not so special, insignificant night<br />
I've found my grace, my courage and my wisdom<br />
and I'm ready to live my life right.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-67843688190661728282011-12-30T18:48:00.001-08:002011-12-30T18:50:41.828-08:00Promises for 2012We've now arrived at my favorite time: when one year draws to a close and a new one begins to bloom. I've often heard people say that resolutions are pointless and that we as people should be able to make changes we wish for at any time throughout the year. This is totally true. In this way, all time markers and holidays are pointless. For me, New Years Day has always been a perfect measurable distance from one year to the next where I can look and see concrete changes in me. January 1st always comes. And I always lived thorough one the year before. I can always see what happened within me in the three-hundred and some odd days between. I'm not crazy about resolutions, but love reflecting. I am finding that in 2011 I disappointed myself profoundly though, and for that I am definitely making some promises to myself for the upcoming year.<br />
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The first promise I am making for 2012 is to listen to myself. I have always believed that housed deep inside of us, are all of our truths. This year I commit to listening to the truths I already know and not denying them. I have found the greatest pain in my life has come from turning away from my own wisdom when it was calling for me with an important message. This coming year, I promise to have faith in myself and in the lessons I've learned from my past. I will trust my own wisdom and I follow my heart.<br />
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The second promise I am making is to strive more for oneness and not otherness. Mostly in my life I've been good at always recognizing that I am part of a much larger whole and being cognizant of how my actions affect other parts of that whole. I believe I've been caught up in my own emotional struggles this year and recoiled into the illusion of otherness. Of being separate and alone, different and an exception. Looking at others not as an extension of my own existence. I promise this year to be more connected to the whole and actively compassionate towards all of the parts of that whole. To give what I have, smile at those I pass, give warmth and love to those who will have it. Offer to carry the burden of those who may be just as tired of their weight as I have been of mine at times.<br />
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The third promise I am making is to love my sober self. To find other ways to address the social anxiety<nobr></nobr> that bothers me more than I ever let on. To have faith in my intelligence and beauty enough to know I don't need to numb myself to be around someone new. To love a glass of wine for the taste and the little buzz and not try to run away from my own feelings of inferiority or embarrassment. To stop feeling terribly naked and on trial around other people. To remember that I'm witty and cute and a joy to be around. Therein lies the answer to laying down the need to escape. <br />
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The fourth promise I am making is to reach out to my friends and family more. To tell them I love them, to explain what's going on in my world, and to ask them to listen and ask for help. To be honest and vulnerable, supportive, to laugh and cry. Not to take for granted that they're reading facebook and texts. To pick up the phone and hear a voice. To sit down for dinner or coffee. I promise this year to invest fully in those I love and who love me back. To lean on and let them lean on me. <br />
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Lastly, I promise to keep my heart open. To embrace all newcomers in my life in the coming year. To not let past baggage or fears dissuade me from the affections of those who want to be near me. To believe that I deserve new love, not the kind I idealize because I want to be loved, but the kind that rushes in unexpectedly because it was meant for me. <br />
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The end! Happy 2012 to all!</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-28938368012500593492011-03-22T13:10:00.000-07:002011-03-22T13:10:35.583-07:00Cold WarWhether good or bad, all things shall pass<br />
Nothing stays the same way<br />
If the sun should hide for 40 nights<br />
Still, it rises on the 41st day.<br />
As a mountain climber trudges onward and up<br />
Eventually the path winds its way down<br />
And every frown becomes a smile<br />
In turn, all smilers eventually frown.<br />
And so is true of our happy home<br />
Not every day is all warm and light<br />
Sometimes we fail to love enough<br />
Sometimes we don't hold each other at night.<br />
Sometimes those days turn into weeks<br />
Hell, they may go on longer still.<br />
But in my experience, all things pass<br />
And I hold out hope that this will.<br />
I dream that again you will smile at me<br />
as soon as I walk through the door.<br />
That we will share a wealth of affection<br />
Just like we used to before.<br />
The love in my heart is still there and it's strong<br />
But it's covered in a layer of ice.<br />
I pray that soon we can turn the heat up, blow on it<br />
melt it away to reveal Paradise.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-54048012738118099572011-01-22T20:21:00.000-08:002011-01-22T20:23:32.830-08:00Who Am I?I am my own dream... unfolding every day. Blossoming to reveal more petals than I ever knew existed. Freeing from the tight bud into something far brighter than I realized I was capable of.<br />
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One year ago I was telling myself far more than was actually true. I was living a life of indulgence, excuses, and denial. My outward attitude and my words were an overcompensation for things I knew deep down I was lacking. I was that person who thought if you ate the ice cream while nobody was looking, it didn't really happen. If you go to the gym and spend half the time in the locker room reading a book and half the time walking on the treadmill, nobody really knows you didn't do 45 minutes of good cardio. I didn't realize how much I was held prisoner by my own fear. Fear of telling myself the truth. Fear of busting out into something new. Fear of risk.<br />
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Today I have those feelings sometimes. When I'm out on a run, I think for an instant...nobody will know if I walk instead of run. Nobody will know if I do 2 miles instead of 3. Or at the refrigerator.... this handful of cashews can be my little secret... but one thing has changed between now and a year ago. That is just a thought and it comes and goes. And the barrier between it approaching me and it actually seeping into my actions is this. Four little words.<br />
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I owe myself more.<br />
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I push myself hard running. I use a measuring cup to measure 5oz of wine when I pour a glass (all sugars must be accounted for). I balance my lean protiens and my carbs. I work hard when I'm on the job. I research day in and day out thirsty for knowledge of the biomechanics of running. I OWE MYSELF THIS.<br />
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So who am I? Who knows. I don't so I know you don't! But what am I? Constantly evolving. Every day loving myself more and more. No longer making excuses. Facing honestly that person in the mirror. Congratulating her on how far she's come. Patting her on the back for being more than she ever knew she could be. Loving her so much that all other love pales in comparison.<br />
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Telling herself every day... that she owes herself more.<br />
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At this rate, next year I should be looking back at today realizing how many more limitations I've freed myself from.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-37984736025547663462011-01-03T18:16:00.000-08:002011-01-03T18:24:50.075-08:00The beautiful heart of a mother...The title of this posting came from a comment one of my friends made, as I was describing what I am currently going through with my eighteen month old son. Before I get started let me remind anyone reading that while sometimes I do try to reflect in an insightful way, that's not my purpose here. My purpose here is just to reflect, in whatever way possible. Tonight I'm reflecting in a lost way.<br />
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I was explaining, when my friend made her comment, the feeling I have when I am disciplining my little boy. I know that he needs structure and consequences. At the age he's at now, having to enforce those things isn't occasional like it once was. It's all day every day as he is feeling his way through the idea of boundary and limitation. And how else can he figure out the limits if he doesn't push them? I get it but I keep feeling like my heart is breaking to see his sweet face so sad. The toddler ages are such a treacherous time where your child is still so sweet and little that you want to cradle and love them, but they're curious and adventurous and not teaching them the right lessons at this formative time can result in a harder time as childhood goes on. This much I know. And this is what I tell myself over and over when I want to cave in and cuddle him tight and plant kisses all over his sad little face. Which is every time he cries. <br />
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The sadness I feel when I make my son sad (even when it's necessary) is so strong. And not rational. It makes me feel like I'm a bad and cruel person when I am not a bad and cruel person. I become totally twisted up and achy with guilt. And even though I know a thousand other mothers are feeling the exact same way right then, it's so profound that I feel alone in it regardless. I am trying to learn to be strong in these times, to know that even though he's upset now it's for the greater good. That one day he'll be a man of strong principal and I will have helped that along by having a firm hand with him when he was small. It's hard to imagine any of it being good when he looks at me with those devastated little eyes. I don't know how we will get through this time. Maybe I'm just overly sensitive and soft but it is so very hard for me to deal with. Luckily mantras work very well for me and I'm not giving in. What would I be teaching him if I sent him the message that he could cry and look heartbroken and get his way out of anything? I am just praying that I get used to it, a little desensitized to it, and it hurts less to punish him. And I hope it happens soon.<br />
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I look at him in these times of difficulty and I can feel my heart congealing with his even more. It makes me so hyper-aware of my deep love for him and I cannot help but feel like the more challenging our life is with him young, the deeper my love for him will be. When I see my son, no matter what he's doing, it's like seeing an entire galaxy swirling around inside of a tiny glass ball. I find myself just looking in amazement at how something (someone) so tiny could hold inside of him everything important and wonderful to me. How this little being could be so important. It bowls me over to consider that his wellbeing is the complete dictator of mine. If he were not well, I would not be either. When he is happy, it is all that matters. It's so concentrated, this love. So totally intense and overwhelming.<br />
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I know it hits me harder than ten years ago when my daughter was the same age. There are two reasons for this. First, I am ten years older and far more in touch with myself as a woman. Far more in touch with how I feel and far more connected to my physical body. I've been more aware of the process of him coming to be from the time he was conceived to the first time I held him, and then to now. The other reason has to do with proximity. I have shared custody of my daughter, she never was with me day in and day out at this age the way my son is. My experiences with her toddler years are more removed. So it feels like the first time I've experienced any of this, even if it's not. Due to my own strengthened awareness and the reality of how much more I am exposed I am to him than I was to her, the magnitude of all these feelings is so strong and it feels so different.<br />
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I don't know of any other situation besides parenthood where a person would struggle so much and love so much all at the same time. Everything pales in comparison to all that lies inside the beautiful heart of a mother.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-24561710104717429582011-01-02T13:19:00.000-08:002011-01-02T13:22:47.848-08:00Musings on growing upI am so happy, but in a way that is complex and has a little dash of bittersweet and impossible mixed into insurmountable joy. Which is perfect and just the way I like it. Plain vanilla is boring. Vanilla bean is where it's at. I'm vanilla bean happy. Everything's smooth and tastes like heaven but there's a little zip to it -- that zip being the tiny heartbreaks and memories and private emotional stumbles along the way.<br />
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I've come to a place of growing up... by that I mean that I've reconciled the past and present. I accept the things that would no longer work for my present life, but were amazing in my past. I have learned to appreciate those past things, and know that it's okay to miss them sometimes without that meaning that I am not satisfied with now. I can face honestly the days when I wish I could run away from stable happy family life and run off with a beautiful stranger and feel passion and anger and adventure and discover something completely new. I can have those feelings and accept them, and then go crawl into bed with stability. I stopped mourning over the "was" and it has been the greatest thing for me.<br />
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I am so grateful for all these different lives I've lived and how they've shaped me. I've lived in so many cities and towns. I've had more lovers than I'll ever tell you. I've had so many shapes and faces and phases. But inside it all I have always had this one constant. It's something inside I can't explain. I guess we all have one. The true self that withstands everything and even major changes to ourselves. It's the core, the person we were predestined to be even before our life shaped us. Sometimes I like who I am and sometimes I don't, but I always like that core. What a beautiful core it is. I see this core as something that we take from past lives and into future ones. It is the only way we recognize ourselves and our past/future loved ones recognize us when we bump into each other. Our cores recognize each other even when all the other pieces of the game are completely different.<br />
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We all have different ways to define maturity. What one person's rite of passage into adulthood is, another's might not be. For me personally it was reaching this reconciling of past and present. I am so happy to be at this point in my life.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-49295018848712608342010-08-25T08:05:00.000-07:002010-08-25T08:09:32.655-07:00Love & PoetryLove is a beautiful thing. And when love is felt by a creative and expressive person, that beauty is heightened. Suddenly the object of this person's love becomes their muse, inspiring page after page of poetry and prose. Short stories, paintings, songs. When an artist is deeply in love, the creativity flows and they become an unending well of inspriation, creating beauty every moment. It is a beatiful thing, sharing love with an artist. Being the inspiration behind so many beautiful things is such an honor and the greatest of compliments. I love to ruminate about some of the great acts of love I've seen in the art world. The tangible products of love felt so deeply. One of my favorites, Alex Katz Paints Ada, a series of portraits that Alex Katz painted of his wife over the past fifty years. So often our hobbies and interests are not something intwined with our relationship. They are often our personal oasis from everyone and deeply personal. When love is felt so deeply that it crosses into your personal oasis, takes hold of your creative mind and propels you into whole new directions of art, that is really something special.<br />
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In my life I've been fortunate to have loved several times, and been loved several times. All of these loves have been so unique and so different from the next, which is to be expected. Some of my loves have been very technical people and some very creative. In my experiences, I know that the love between to creators of art, no matter how long it lasts or how bad it ends, will leave its mark forever. I can remember times of falling in love and writing feverishly poems about my love or writing poems with my love. Sitting together creating lines back and forth until together we'd crafted a sort of love-child from the lovemaking of our creative minds. Long after the love is gone, when communication no longer exists and even memories start to fade, the art doesn't. The poetry doesn't die, the portraits don't vanish. The songs don't stop being played. We can keep those loves alive through art. <br />
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If you can, create something with the person you love. Recognize that there is always a possibility of impermenance and this person may not always be here. Hold them in your heart and life forever by sitting together and bringing forth one thing into the world that wasn't here before. A craft. A song. A poem. Something you can pull out in the future and continue to celebrate a love that touched you so. I am so glad I've done this in my life.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-10992957472638645932010-08-24T07:27:00.000-07:002010-08-24T07:31:33.512-07:00Releasing the Pollution InsideWhile having a conversation with a friend last night, a topic came up that I decided I would write about today. We were discussing the habit that many people have of hiding their problems and perceived flaws from everyone else. <br />
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We mused on this for a while as it totally astounds me. I've always been a very open person. Perhaps too open for the comfort of some. I have always believed that when I admit to a problem and put it out in the air, I release the poisonous affect it has on me. Just as our bodies expel waste, gas and other pollutants that don't need to be inside of us, our bodies need to expel the polluted thoughts as well. The more you hold on to something and keep it inside, the more it attaches to your being and becomes you. The longer you sit with secrets, the more you feel alone in them. The longer you sit with anger or shame, the more the cancer of negativity grows inside of you.<br />
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One thing I've found in my life is that people react very positively to my openness. Often times I hear that something I've shared has helped another to realize that they aren't alone in a particular thought or experience. These reactions are only a bonus, but a big one. My real motivation is just taking care of me. It takes a certain amount of courage to be genuine about who you are. To be comfortable admitting to yourself and to someone else that you have the problems or hang ups that you have. To abandon the idea that you need to uphold an image or meet a standard set by others. I believe it is one of the best things we can do, both for ourselves and for others.<br />
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Do yourself the favor of being genuine, and looking at yourself deeply and honestly. Be more than okay with who you see. Love deeply the person you are, beautiful in all of your imperfections. I've had plenty of moments in my life where I've wondered if I've said too much, but at the end of the day I will always prefer that over saying too little.<br />
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I feel free from secrets and I never feel alone. I feel loved and supported in all that I do, because I've been real. And my spirit feels clean. I speak out about my imperfections and it's like spring cleaning. I cry often and it's like a rain washing away all the ugly things inside and cleansing my soul. I look in the mirror every day and know the person looking back at me is real. And absolutely beautiful in all of her imperfections. I love her.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-46450610611568022402010-08-23T07:20:00.000-07:002010-08-23T07:24:49.906-07:00Love DeprivationWhen we think of the affects of deprivation of basic needs, it's easy to say what that kind of dire circumstance will cause one to do. What are our most basic needs? Food, water, air, sleep...right? All of these essentials in life, when taken away from a human being, start a series of bodily responses. Over time the condition of deprivation swells and swells until we are not well or we die.<br />
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Think about the physical affects of deprivation of core needs. Food: Hunger, headache, exhaustion..those are on the less severe end of food deprivation. Later come the more dire symptoms and eventually death if you are not nourished. Same with sleep. First might come irritability, lack of energy, lack of focus...but later down the line could come total deliriousness and loss of reality. It's easy to see how not having our essential needs met can hurt us.<br />
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But what about love? Is love also not an essential to being human? Not to say that we should all have a romantic partner at all times. But we must receive love from somewhere. A friend, relative, a teacher in school who is the only person who gives us the time of day. What happens when we are deprived of love? What does that eventual decline look like? Disconnection, being emotionally withdrawn. Feeling we don't need anyone, internalizing all of our feelings. Having no idea how to verbalize a feeling because we disconnect so much from it. An outward facade of independence and not needing anyone that is so deeply originating from fear that we often cannot even identify that true feeling.<br />
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Just as we become desperate to meet our basic needs of food, water air and sleep, I believe that we also are desperate to meet our basic need for love. While starving can rationalize theft in even the most virtuous person, I believe that being starved for love can also rationalize out of character behavior. Falling into bed with anyone who will have you because you are dying just to feel human touch. To hear someone speak to you messages of acceptance and affection even though you know they're just temporary. Or what about starting a fight with your lover just to shake them, wake them, make them see that you're wilting away when they don't nourish the need in your heart for love.<br />
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While most of our basic needs are physical and clearly can result in the death of our physical being, what happens with love? Can we die inside in such a way that we can never be brought back to life? Can a person be starved for love for such a long period of time that their ability to love and feel loved is gone forever? Does love get left off the list of basic human needs because something so spiritual and emotional is impossible to get down to a science, like the inner workings of the human body? Do you feel that love is one of the essentials of the human experience?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-45545516002328324662010-08-16T06:58:00.000-07:002010-08-16T06:58:39.798-07:00Looking the storm in the face.My mother once said something to me that resonated in me, I think, in a much stronger way than she meant it. There was an awful storm brewing in the Texas town where I was raised. Much damage was anticipated (and much damage ultimately was caused) and people were leaving town, boarding up, the whole nine yards. I remember speaking to my mom as the storm was approaching and she was sitting in her window. I asked her why she wasn't leaving or hiding out and she said, "Hell no! If it's gonna get me I'm not gonna hide from it! I'm gonna look that mother fucker right in the face first!" I was so pleased to hear my mother's attitude about not cowering to this huge force of nature, but also, it makes me think about the dangers in society.<br />
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In the western world, and in the United States particularly, the majority of us do not look the storms in the face. Catastrophic, horrible dangerous things are all around us. Brewing, storming, sweeping around and causing damage in their wake. We all (both figuratively and literally) bunker down in our dwellings, draw the shades tight, turn up the sound on the video game and live completely oblivious to the damage being done, right down until our own space is wrecked to smitherines. Holding on to that last moment of mindless bliss is so important to many of us. Denying that we are in any danger or that our neighbors or friends across town are suffering. Or our fellow humans across the globe. We remove ourselves from the things we see on the news. We accept the version of the story that the news anchor on Fox News at 10 gives us. We don't search out more details on world events, government policies, or the roots of crimes being committed by seemingly average people. We accept ideas of "good neighborhoods" and "bad neighborhoods" and think of police brutalities as isolated events and move on. <br />
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While I've made no real effort to change the world, I have made a commitment not to let the world change me. To always see it for what it is. As my mother illustrated, to look the storm in the face. The overwhelming, supersized threats to myself and to my fellow man. I will not bunker down and pretend everything's fine when it's not. I will not pretend that women in Rwanda aren't still rebuilding their lives post genocide or that big businesses in America aren't trying to manipulate me into thinking I'm less than I could be without their products. I will not ignore society's manipulations or fall prey to the lies told by the media. It's a small commitment ultimately, but it makes a huge difference for me. And it's something I wish more people (particularly here in the USA) had the courage to do. To surrender the distraction and the fantasy, and live in the real world.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-22571781642692839452010-08-11T11:10:00.000-07:002010-08-11T11:10:24.825-07:00When love hurts.I just want to bury my face in his chest and cry hard. Cry one last time before I go. For everything I hoped for that will never be. Every family photo that will never be taken. For the things he could never be for me that I need, an the things I cannot be for him. For failure. For how bad it hurts to let go. Out of respect and mourning for the closeness we used to share that's been replaced by distance. I want to sob wildly until I expel every ounce of frustration and sadness. Until I'm too empty to be angry about all the things that fell short of my hopes, and until I'm too empty to care about the gap between hope and defeat. I want to cry until there are no tears, then walk away and never look back. Never be ugly, have no words except goodbye. No more I love yous. This love hurts too much.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-6972210917679670102010-07-26T14:03:00.000-07:002010-07-26T14:03:26.963-07:00Streamline and SimplifyI started pulling myself off of social networking sites today. I feel so pent up an strange... like I have an audience of several hundred people to say something to, and not wanting to say it to them. I hate wanting to express something and knowing that half the people reading either don't care or are people I can't be authentic towards because of family or something else. I want to shed anything unnecessary. To make it so that the only way to contact me is to reach out specificially to me in some personal manner. <br />
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Since I have always had an internet presence since the dawn of time, that must continue. But this is where i will be. And possibly there isn't a soul reading that, and it's fine. Because this is about what it used to be about for me. Chronicling my life and my thoughts for MY own purposes. I just have to stop feeling like free to speak and very censored all at the same time. <br />
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I just want to pull away until only those who really care know anything about me and what I'm doing. Then I'll be happy.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-43586178827691536512010-07-20T07:17:00.000-07:002010-07-20T07:17:29.636-07:00Reality?So, last night I went to see the new Christopher Nolan film, Inception. It's not really what I'm here to talk about, but while I'm on the subject let me just tell you that right now I am thinking it may be the best movie I've ever seen. Anyway, the point of me bringing it up is that the main theme in the movie is one's concept of reality. In the movie, it's the question of reality versus dreams, but what I want to bring up here is reality versus projection. <br />
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Are you a person whose reality is defined by how you feel inside, or is your reality defined by how others see you? Do you take photos to cherish a special time in your life or do you take them to share them with friends or family and project a certain image of yourself and the life you are living? John Mayer put out this really good song called 3x5 and he basically talked about taking his eyes out from behind the camera and just living life. The idea of the song sounds so free, to stop viewing everything through a 3x5 frame and see the entire landscape and just really live every moment. Is a moment valuable to you if you can't show others that it happened or prove that it was there?<br />
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I think I've been in both of these places in my life. I've been so focused on my own internal satisfaction that I didn't care what anyone in the world thought of me. In those moments I'd often find my foot in my mouth or feel isolated because I'd shut the idea of anyone's perception of me being important at all. I've also been so obsessed with appearance of my family or relationship that I've lived as a prisoner to keeping up a certain idea. In those moments, I was miserable unless I was around people. I could only be happy when I was basking in the others who were around to tell me what a beautiful life or family I had. <br />
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At this point in my life I just try to walk the line. To understand that on a certain level some "keeping up appearances" is expected. If my spouse and I are in the middle of a fight and his family walks in, it's possible that instead of screaming "YOU'RE FAMILY'S HERE MOTHERFUCKER" and storming away, I'll sit down and socialize while holding his hand and being close. Sometimes that interruption in our tension and that physical togetherness will create a genuine feeling of togetherness within us and the tension ceases to exist. Now the togetherness isn't even about keeping up an appearance even if it started that way. There are probably more moments in life than I admit that I want to throw my kids out the window and get a moment of peace. But it doesn't mean I don't adore them, which is also what I project more. I may not always say that I'm scratching at the walls to get away from my family on some particular days, but it's a truth. A truth that within reason I'm honest about, and find other parents/spouses can relate. It crosses my mind that I could sneak out like a theif in the night and live naked and free among the pine trees for the rest of eternity. Does it mean that's even remotely close to reality? No. So we don't necessarily have to be SO open and genuine with our thoughts that we give a wrong impression or isolate ourselves, either.<br />
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That was a long and rambling post. But I think it's a good thing to ask yourself. Who are you really living for, and what defines your reality?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-90376474387725509752010-07-18T17:58:00.000-07:002010-07-19T08:33:24.266-07:00LuckSo I'm relaxing this evening at home, just thinking about "lucky" and my inner response to ever being told that I am lucky. I am really resistant to this whole idea that anything I've come to gain in my life has been the result of luck. I think my entire life is a product of hard work, and then the good/bad choices I've made. I can't think of anything I've been given that I haven't earned. Earned by working or earned by being a good friend/person which made another person feel inclined to bestow some gift or privilege upon me. Even for those who seemingly "have it all" or have been given opportunity since birth, I tend to believe they did something grand in a previous life. I don't believe there are just people who are lucky and people who aren't. And it is interesting to me the things we consider lucky. Winning the lotto. I have seen many come into so much money just to become ruined by it or be robbed by those closest to them. I don't know that finding out your own children or spouse would rob you blind or kill you for your possessions is indicative of much luck. At the end of the day I think it is all about your own perception. I think the happiest people have learned that happiness isn't contingent on circumstance and comes from within. I know that I am going to be happy living in a cardboard box or living in the lap of luxury. And that ability to be positive isn't something I'm lucky for either. I worked very hard for that. It was all (and still is) in my control. I could let it go and stop putting the work in. Or I could take it a step further and solidify my happiness and minimize suffering even more. It is all in my hands.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7086498250259070453.post-17090062798555775122010-07-18T17:04:00.000-07:002010-07-19T08:32:54.002-07:00Here we are...Just a little intro here. I've had many different blogs and websites over the years, and like many people have gotten caught up in the social networking craze. I'm saddened that my ability to communicate has been relegated to however many characters in a Facebook status update, when I used to write so freely and succinctly about the goings on in my mind. And I think that with limited writing has come more limited thinking. This is an attempt to get back to me and connect again with my thoughts. I think a lot about music, how songs and their lyrics relate to my life and thoughts. I think about spirituality. The ideologies that I believe in and those which I feel are limiting and detrimental to people. I think about all the things I observe about humanity every day. This is my favorite thing about living in a city so crowded...every day I see so many displays of love, kindness, selfishness openness and closedness and every day people are adding to my patchwork quilt view of society and of the human heart. This is just my individual experience. I hope you enjoy the ride.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06002443804881172071noreply@blogger.com0