Random ordeal...I got bit by something 10 days ago when we were in Idaho. Not certain what it was, but I think it was a horse fly. I actually got bit a couple of times, once on my back and once on my inner thigh, a few inches above my knee. It was a Friday, I didn't think much of it. My leg got swollen around the site of the bite, it was itchy. A couple of days later, it was still extremely itchy, had started to feel pretty tender and was bright red. I still didn't think much of it, assumed it was some kind of an allergic reaction to whatever bit me. Day 6, post bite, rolls around and I now have an open wound that is oozing (I know, not for the faint at heart). My husband told me on day 5, I should see a doctor. I called and made an appointment for the end of the week which would be day 8, thinking I would end up canceling it because I'd be all better. By the evening of day 6, my husband thinks I should see a doctor right away. I decide to phone the on-call nurse for my insurance - a 24 hour hot line I have used 3 or 4 times in the last couple of months, I love it. The on call nurse has saved me a doctor visit at least twice, recently, and my $25 co-pay, and in this case got me to seek help when I really needed it and didn't think I did. I ended up going to the ER on the evening of Day 6, thinking they would probably just give me some thing to put on it and send me home...little did I know I had a nasty infection growing in my leg.
The ER doctor took one look at it and said, "Oh honey, you have a serious infection going on in there." She proceeded to tell me there was a walnut-in-its-shell sized abscess underneath the site of the bite and she would have to open it up, culture it, pack it with wicking and would put me on antibiotics and prescribe some pain meds. Oh, "and follow up with your doctor TOMORROW to make sure it is getting better and we are giving you a tetanus shot." I told her that I wouldn't likely take the pain meds, she told me to fill the prescription, just in case. Thank goodness I listened to her advice! She then proceeded to numb my leg with five injections. I thought numbing was supposed to prevent pain, not inflict it. I won't go into the gory details of what she did next, but it wasn't pretty and felt like minor surgery, scalpel and all.
I returned home a little shell shocked, how did this silly bug bite get so ugly so fast? I was in a fair amount of pain when the numbness wore off, and thankful for the pain meds I took faithfully for the next few days. The next day, day 7, I went to see my doctor to discover things were not looking better, were actually worse and if we didn't get this thing under wraps quickly I was going to end up in the hos-pi-tal...inpatient style with an IV drip of antibiotics. I started thinking this was serious. My doctor put me on another antibiotic, in case the one from the ER wasn't the right one since we were not seeing any improvement, the culture hadn't come back yet, so it was hard to say. She drew a circle around the swelling with a sharpie, so when I came back on day 8, we would know which direction this thing was headed. I promptly filled the second antibiotic prescription and started it.
Day 8 I wake up and the redness is worse, the swelling has spread as much as an inch around parts of the sharpie mark on my leg. I feel horrible. I spend most of the day in bed, sleeping or in and out of a fog. As I zone in and out of the fog, my mind begins to go to scary places. You hear stories of random things like this where people end up hospitalized, dying, being paralyzed, having their internal organs shut down...infections going systemic. I kept thinking about my kids...what if I had to stop nursing Elsie? What if I had to be in the hospital for weeks? How would Sean keep working and who would take care of them? What if I died and my kids had to grow up without me? I realized somewhere in the midst of my mind running wild, I was more worried about what I would leave behind, about what I would miss, than I was about me. I wasn't as scared about what dying would feel like as I was about what life would be like without me for my kids, my husband, my parents, about what it would be like for them to lose me. Funny thing this ego is, eh? I was worried.
I made my husband come with me to the doctor on day 8. The doctor said things were not looking better, but the culture had come back and it was a strep infection that antibiotic number 2 should kill, and since I hadn't yet been on it for 48 hours, she was going to give me until the morning of day 9 before hospitalizing me.
Thank goodness, I woke up on day 9, after 12 hours of sleep, redness dulling and swollen-ness shrinking significantly. Hallelujah, I am not dying!
Today is day 10 I feel 100 times better. The hole in my leg is still nasty, but improving. I have some energy back and I feel human again. It's good to be alive...nothing like a little brush with a horse fly bite to make you grateful for your health!
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
The Lake
I returned home last Sunday after spending 9 days with my husband's family at "the Lake". It's been an annual vacation for my husband, at least since he was in his teens, and maybe even farther back than that. Two, sometimes 3, families come together, 3 generations of people, to play, relax, unwind, commune, to simply be. It started out as a long weekend for us, 5 or 6 years ago and has grown into a not long enough week sandwiched between two weekends. Over the years all 3 families, that started this tradition so long ago, have grown, the kids have married and had kids of their own, and we are never quite sure how to describe the generations...are we the adults? parents? we feel like "the kids" but we now have kids and so the "parents" are really grandparents, but they aren't sure they are ready to be labeled as such...doesn't really matter I suppose. There are 3 generations and I wouldn't be surprised if someday we are doing this with 4.
It is a unique experience, being at the Lake. It always feels like there is some healing for me, some forgiveness or letting go, directed toward myself or something I've been harboring with another. Some layers of my own onion get peeled back as the days go by, that allow me to go deeper inward and expose more of my true self, my fears, wounds, heartaches, dreams, deep love. It's as if there is this great sense of safety there that allows me to expose it all. I always go wondering what our time will bring, but somehow without expectations. I am never disappointed. The family that owns the place at the Lake are gracious hosts, you never feel like a guest, you feel like you just belong there.
There were seven little girls and 1 boy all under the age of 7. They play like a pack of wild children, as they should. I marvel at how inventive they are when removed from the day to day surroundings of home, toys, etc. They go on nature walks, play on the beach, in the water, explore the "woods".
At one point in the week, I stood on the front porch, looking out toward the lake. My 7 month old daughter, Elsie, was sitting on a blanket on the lawn being entertained by Sammy, 3 years old, that loved on her all week. My 3 year old son, Willis, was on the dock fishing with his Dad, and my almost 6 year old, Ruby, was on the beach, playing with her cousins. I smiled inside, grateful for these experiences my children and I are blessed to have. Elsie got her first tooth. Ruby passed the "swim test" (which means you get to be on the dock or the beach without a life jacket). Willis discovered he could swim with his life jacket on after being bounced off the ski trainer by a big wave...brave little soul he is. Sean and I surfed behind a boat, a first for both of us. I tubed with my 14 year old nephew and his cousin, got bounced off, but not injured. I took long walks with my sister-in-laws (always a treat when we get to have uninterrupted talks without children), laughed in the kitchen with my father-in-law, who despite having pneumonia continued to be his jolly, generous self. Shed tears on the porch with my mother-in-law as she told my husband and I what great kids we have and what great parents we are. (Parenting is such hard work, it's such affirmation whenever anyone recognizes how much effort you put in to it.) It's like being away together for that long, you get to unwind, exhale and let the busyness, worries of day to day life stay behind and just be. It's such a gift, my kids look forward to it all year and we start talking about next year at the lake before we even make it home.
It is a unique experience, being at the Lake. It always feels like there is some healing for me, some forgiveness or letting go, directed toward myself or something I've been harboring with another. Some layers of my own onion get peeled back as the days go by, that allow me to go deeper inward and expose more of my true self, my fears, wounds, heartaches, dreams, deep love. It's as if there is this great sense of safety there that allows me to expose it all. I always go wondering what our time will bring, but somehow without expectations. I am never disappointed. The family that owns the place at the Lake are gracious hosts, you never feel like a guest, you feel like you just belong there.
There were seven little girls and 1 boy all under the age of 7. They play like a pack of wild children, as they should. I marvel at how inventive they are when removed from the day to day surroundings of home, toys, etc. They go on nature walks, play on the beach, in the water, explore the "woods".
At one point in the week, I stood on the front porch, looking out toward the lake. My 7 month old daughter, Elsie, was sitting on a blanket on the lawn being entertained by Sammy, 3 years old, that loved on her all week. My 3 year old son, Willis, was on the dock fishing with his Dad, and my almost 6 year old, Ruby, was on the beach, playing with her cousins. I smiled inside, grateful for these experiences my children and I are blessed to have. Elsie got her first tooth. Ruby passed the "swim test" (which means you get to be on the dock or the beach without a life jacket). Willis discovered he could swim with his life jacket on after being bounced off the ski trainer by a big wave...brave little soul he is. Sean and I surfed behind a boat, a first for both of us. I tubed with my 14 year old nephew and his cousin, got bounced off, but not injured. I took long walks with my sister-in-laws (always a treat when we get to have uninterrupted talks without children), laughed in the kitchen with my father-in-law, who despite having pneumonia continued to be his jolly, generous self. Shed tears on the porch with my mother-in-law as she told my husband and I what great kids we have and what great parents we are. (Parenting is such hard work, it's such affirmation whenever anyone recognizes how much effort you put in to it.) It's like being away together for that long, you get to unwind, exhale and let the busyness, worries of day to day life stay behind and just be. It's such a gift, my kids look forward to it all year and we start talking about next year at the lake before we even make it home.
Friday, July 23, 2010
You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile
My daughter did "Annie Camp" this summer. If you aren't familiar with Annie Camp, it's a 50 minute dance class every day for a week that ends with a performance, song and dance, of a couple of the tunes from the musical. On Monday, she brought home a song sheet with the lyrics of the songs they would perform on Friday. We downloaded the songs so she could listen to them and practice. She spent one afternoon watching the musical, one she has seen many many times before.
One of the songs she practiced was It's a Hard Knock Life...sung by Ruby as "It's a hard enough life." It took both my husband and I to convince her that the lyrics were just a little bit different which led to a question about what Hard Knock Life means, which pretty much does mean it's a hard enough life. I still heard her singing her version. She performed her dances for her daddy while he was home for lunch. She practiced, practiced, practiced. I found myself humming Tomorrow while I shuffled around the house and every now and then busting into Broadway mode dancing as I sang.
One day when I went to pick Ruby and her cousin up from class, I arrived a few minutes early and sat outside the studio listening to them practice. Their sweet little voices belting out Tomorrow, I got very emotional, started to tear up. And then on the last day, the big performance in the theater attached to the studio. So sweet. They were dressed up in orphan costumes and Ruby smiled from ear to ear. She has definitely got the whole notion of performing, she stayed very present with the audience, acting out each song through her face. I, of course, cried. Felt like my heart might burst open at the immense amount of love I feel for this little girl. She fully embraces the notion of Annie..."You're never fully dressed without a smile", always looking at the positive side of life. One of the things people often say to me is how she always has a smile on her face.
My little Ruby...she's a gem.
One of the songs she practiced was It's a Hard Knock Life...sung by Ruby as "It's a hard enough life." It took both my husband and I to convince her that the lyrics were just a little bit different which led to a question about what Hard Knock Life means, which pretty much does mean it's a hard enough life. I still heard her singing her version. She performed her dances for her daddy while he was home for lunch. She practiced, practiced, practiced. I found myself humming Tomorrow while I shuffled around the house and every now and then busting into Broadway mode dancing as I sang.
One day when I went to pick Ruby and her cousin up from class, I arrived a few minutes early and sat outside the studio listening to them practice. Their sweet little voices belting out Tomorrow, I got very emotional, started to tear up. And then on the last day, the big performance in the theater attached to the studio. So sweet. They were dressed up in orphan costumes and Ruby smiled from ear to ear. She has definitely got the whole notion of performing, she stayed very present with the audience, acting out each song through her face. I, of course, cried. Felt like my heart might burst open at the immense amount of love I feel for this little girl. She fully embraces the notion of Annie..."You're never fully dressed without a smile", always looking at the positive side of life. One of the things people often say to me is how she always has a smile on her face.
My little Ruby...she's a gem.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Deb and Flow
If you have ever seen Finding Nemo, you know about Deb and Flow. They are the same fish. I am not sure which one is the "real" fish, but one of them (let's say Deb) sees herself in the reflection of the aquarium glass and thinks it is another fish (Flow), seperate from herself. I feel like Deb and Flow sometimes.
My husband and I were off last week. Nothing major going on, no fight, nothing like that, just out of sync. He was sick and I am a horrible nurse to him whenever he is sick, not just last week. I felt needy, empty, spent, in need of some TLC by the end of the week. Instead of being compassionate and kind, (we'll call the nice version of me, Flow), I am impatient and irritated with him for staying home from work, resentful he is taking care of himself (and I am not). Deb gets mad, maybe even bitter and she doesn't say so. She feels burdened by the change of routine. She's already taking care of 3 children, she doesn't want to be taking care of another person. And to Deb's credit, men are needy when they don't feel good, really needy.
Flow, on the other hand, wants to take care of her sick husband, wants to be attentive to his needs, keep the kids quiet so he can rest, sleep, get well. Deb always seems to win the battle and sends us into this downward spiral until we feel disconnected from one another, unappreciated, hurt. It's really no fun. I have no problem tending to my small children when they are hurt, sick, in need, but for some reason, that same tenderness I offer up to them feels hard to find when my husband needs it.
My husband and I always continue to function in the midst of being off, not at our optimum, but we get by. We both feel it, it's obvious, and we react to it differently. My husband responds to our disconnect with little jabs, barbed comments. I tend to retreat in to myself. Finally, last night, we sat still together long enough to delve into the feelings. The timing was right and we both reached out for one another. I let Flow come back out to play and expressed that my feelings were hurt, that I was feeling unappreciated, tired, like I was not doing a good job of getting my needs met, not asking for what I need. My husband was feeling the exact same things I was. He shared that he still was not feeling well after being home for lunch yesterday but went back to work anyways because he thought I'd be mad if he stayed home and slept. We both laughed at that, but he wasn't trying to be funny. It made me pause and my initial reaction is I don't want to be Deb!
The truth is, we are all Deb and Flow. We all have these 2 sides, 2 faces, duality if you will. The trouble comes when we try to separate one from the other as opposed to seeing them both as one. We couldn't feel the connectedness if we didn't also experience the disconnect. We couldn't feel the resentment if we didn't know the gratitude. It is when we live in the duality, separating one from the other, that we make ourselves suffer. The hard feelings, whatever they may be tell us something. They invite us to move underneath them and discover their root, to dive into the ebb and flow of our relationships, of life, and ride the wave.
My husband and I were off last week. Nothing major going on, no fight, nothing like that, just out of sync. He was sick and I am a horrible nurse to him whenever he is sick, not just last week. I felt needy, empty, spent, in need of some TLC by the end of the week. Instead of being compassionate and kind, (we'll call the nice version of me, Flow), I am impatient and irritated with him for staying home from work, resentful he is taking care of himself (and I am not). Deb gets mad, maybe even bitter and she doesn't say so. She feels burdened by the change of routine. She's already taking care of 3 children, she doesn't want to be taking care of another person. And to Deb's credit, men are needy when they don't feel good, really needy.
Flow, on the other hand, wants to take care of her sick husband, wants to be attentive to his needs, keep the kids quiet so he can rest, sleep, get well. Deb always seems to win the battle and sends us into this downward spiral until we feel disconnected from one another, unappreciated, hurt. It's really no fun. I have no problem tending to my small children when they are hurt, sick, in need, but for some reason, that same tenderness I offer up to them feels hard to find when my husband needs it.
My husband and I always continue to function in the midst of being off, not at our optimum, but we get by. We both feel it, it's obvious, and we react to it differently. My husband responds to our disconnect with little jabs, barbed comments. I tend to retreat in to myself. Finally, last night, we sat still together long enough to delve into the feelings. The timing was right and we both reached out for one another. I let Flow come back out to play and expressed that my feelings were hurt, that I was feeling unappreciated, tired, like I was not doing a good job of getting my needs met, not asking for what I need. My husband was feeling the exact same things I was. He shared that he still was not feeling well after being home for lunch yesterday but went back to work anyways because he thought I'd be mad if he stayed home and slept. We both laughed at that, but he wasn't trying to be funny. It made me pause and my initial reaction is I don't want to be Deb!
The truth is, we are all Deb and Flow. We all have these 2 sides, 2 faces, duality if you will. The trouble comes when we try to separate one from the other as opposed to seeing them both as one. We couldn't feel the connectedness if we didn't also experience the disconnect. We couldn't feel the resentment if we didn't know the gratitude. It is when we live in the duality, separating one from the other, that we make ourselves suffer. The hard feelings, whatever they may be tell us something. They invite us to move underneath them and discover their root, to dive into the ebb and flow of our relationships, of life, and ride the wave.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
What Goes Around
"Envy and jealousy stem from the fundamental inability to rejoice at someone else's happiness or success." Matthieu Ricard
For some reason, I wrote this quote down a few weeks ago. And sometime between then and now, I had a conversation with a friend about scarcity mentality. And then today, I found in my inbox a yoga article about envy. Coincidence? Probably not. It's been a blog post brewing in me.
I spent most of my childhood living with scarcity mentality - the fear that there wasn't enough love for me or that I wasn't good enough for the love that I needed. I operated from that place in many areas of my life, whether it be about friends, money, love, time...it all had this foundation of fear. Fear that there was not enough for me and everyone else. It made me jealous of people that had things I wanted, which makes it difficult to really be happy for the people you care about when they are living life. I was aware of these feelings, but I am not sure I could have articulated them or that I understood why I felt like that. Who knows, maybe I thought it was normal!
I remember the first time in my adult life when I recognized I felt truly happy with my life. It was the summer I got married. I remember sitting on the couch in our first home together, a little duplex on Yakima Avenue. I was looking out the window and the feeling washed over me....I don't wish my life is anyone else's. I had always looked at my friends' lives and wished mine was a little more like hers or his. It always seemed like the grass was greener in everyone else's yard. We had a BBQ that evening, I think it was my brother in law's birthday, which coincidentally was just a couple of days ago. There are pictures of me taken that evening and I look really happy, free.
I wish I could say that I stayed put in that space without envy for always. I didn't, of course. I have cycled through periods of envy, jealousy, a side of myself that I don't much like. I am very aware of those feelings when they arise and try to immediately shift my thinking to some other place. We attract what we think and so if I think not enough, I feel not enough. I get it. I do my best to fake it until I make it if I'm feeling one of those oh so unproductive emotions. Other times, I am keenly aware that I am not feeling envy or jealousy when something good happens to someone I know. Instead, those emotions are replaced by gratitude, celebration, genuine happiness for another. I'll tell you what, that feels much better than the alternative.
I guess in a way I feel like I've had to learn to choose the goodness, to sometimes reframe situations that might not feel very good. In the long run, though, I think what comes around goes around and not only am I much happier when I can celebrate the success of others, more goodness comes my way, too.
For some reason, I wrote this quote down a few weeks ago. And sometime between then and now, I had a conversation with a friend about scarcity mentality. And then today, I found in my inbox a yoga article about envy. Coincidence? Probably not. It's been a blog post brewing in me.
I spent most of my childhood living with scarcity mentality - the fear that there wasn't enough love for me or that I wasn't good enough for the love that I needed. I operated from that place in many areas of my life, whether it be about friends, money, love, time...it all had this foundation of fear. Fear that there was not enough for me and everyone else. It made me jealous of people that had things I wanted, which makes it difficult to really be happy for the people you care about when they are living life. I was aware of these feelings, but I am not sure I could have articulated them or that I understood why I felt like that. Who knows, maybe I thought it was normal!
I remember the first time in my adult life when I recognized I felt truly happy with my life. It was the summer I got married. I remember sitting on the couch in our first home together, a little duplex on Yakima Avenue. I was looking out the window and the feeling washed over me....I don't wish my life is anyone else's. I had always looked at my friends' lives and wished mine was a little more like hers or his. It always seemed like the grass was greener in everyone else's yard. We had a BBQ that evening, I think it was my brother in law's birthday, which coincidentally was just a couple of days ago. There are pictures of me taken that evening and I look really happy, free.
I wish I could say that I stayed put in that space without envy for always. I didn't, of course. I have cycled through periods of envy, jealousy, a side of myself that I don't much like. I am very aware of those feelings when they arise and try to immediately shift my thinking to some other place. We attract what we think and so if I think not enough, I feel not enough. I get it. I do my best to fake it until I make it if I'm feeling one of those oh so unproductive emotions. Other times, I am keenly aware that I am not feeling envy or jealousy when something good happens to someone I know. Instead, those emotions are replaced by gratitude, celebration, genuine happiness for another. I'll tell you what, that feels much better than the alternative.
I guess in a way I feel like I've had to learn to choose the goodness, to sometimes reframe situations that might not feel very good. In the long run, though, I think what comes around goes around and not only am I much happier when I can celebrate the success of others, more goodness comes my way, too.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Heavy Hearted
I'm struggling today. In actuality, I've been struggling for about 24 hours.
About this time yesterday, my dear friend called me to share some very sad news. She lost her unborn baby girl. I have cycled through waves of sadness, disappointment, loss, anger...a whole spectrum of emotions. In the midst of taking care of my 3 children, I am struggling to grieve, to allow the sadness to wash over me and pass through. I feel like I am being a negligent mother, this backdrop of grief waiting to be tended to as I keep pressing forward, onward because these other little beings need me to. I feel useless, challenged to focus my mind on where I am, irritated when their needs pull me away from my thoughts. I catch myself periodically feeling guilty, like I should be thankful they are, that I have them, that they are healthy. But, I am human, I need time, space to figure out how to make sense of this and to let go.
In the conversations I have had with those touched by this loss, both indirectly and directly, I am moved by how deeply people feel, the compassion and empathy when someone you know and care about experiences loss. It's hard to put it into words. I am moved by the interdependence of us all and how touched we are by the lives of those we know if we allow our hearts be open to them.
There have been lots of prayers sent in the direction of this family. I have to find comfort in knowing that there is a giant circle of love surrounding them, holding their whole family as they grieve. We all wish we could lighten the load in some way, I'm sure. The only way to the other side of grief is through it. So, we wait, we pray, we love, we hold them close in our hearts until the heaviness begins to lift, and I have to believe that eventually it will.
Life shifts so quickly. Yesterday morning I was rejoicing in summer. I have felt so free this summer, less work, more play. I've felt like it has truly been a summer vacation for me, too. All it takes is one phone call, and the day takes a dramatic turn. Outwardly, nothing looks any different in my house, but inwardly something has shifted.
My writing is disjointed, I know. I am just trying to find a way to put to words what I feel, to find some comfort in the letters I type.
Say a prayer. Light a candle. Be kind to those you love. Extend comfort when you can. We are all in this big life together. We have to have faith that despite the pain, despite our heavy hearts, there is light, there is goodness, there is hope and there is always love.
About this time yesterday, my dear friend called me to share some very sad news. She lost her unborn baby girl. I have cycled through waves of sadness, disappointment, loss, anger...a whole spectrum of emotions. In the midst of taking care of my 3 children, I am struggling to grieve, to allow the sadness to wash over me and pass through. I feel like I am being a negligent mother, this backdrop of grief waiting to be tended to as I keep pressing forward, onward because these other little beings need me to. I feel useless, challenged to focus my mind on where I am, irritated when their needs pull me away from my thoughts. I catch myself periodically feeling guilty, like I should be thankful they are, that I have them, that they are healthy. But, I am human, I need time, space to figure out how to make sense of this and to let go.
In the conversations I have had with those touched by this loss, both indirectly and directly, I am moved by how deeply people feel, the compassion and empathy when someone you know and care about experiences loss. It's hard to put it into words. I am moved by the interdependence of us all and how touched we are by the lives of those we know if we allow our hearts be open to them.
There have been lots of prayers sent in the direction of this family. I have to find comfort in knowing that there is a giant circle of love surrounding them, holding their whole family as they grieve. We all wish we could lighten the load in some way, I'm sure. The only way to the other side of grief is through it. So, we wait, we pray, we love, we hold them close in our hearts until the heaviness begins to lift, and I have to believe that eventually it will.
Life shifts so quickly. Yesterday morning I was rejoicing in summer. I have felt so free this summer, less work, more play. I've felt like it has truly been a summer vacation for me, too. All it takes is one phone call, and the day takes a dramatic turn. Outwardly, nothing looks any different in my house, but inwardly something has shifted.
My writing is disjointed, I know. I am just trying to find a way to put to words what I feel, to find some comfort in the letters I type.
Say a prayer. Light a candle. Be kind to those you love. Extend comfort when you can. We are all in this big life together. We have to have faith that despite the pain, despite our heavy hearts, there is light, there is goodness, there is hope and there is always love.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Shift Your Soul Sideways
I just finished reading a fascinating book...Let The Great World Spin. Using a line from my dear friend..."It's a book about the human experience." It's so true. There is an eclectic cast of characters whose lives intersect, sometimes collide and there is hope and faith and love and light and darkness and reality all intertwined in it. A bit like life.
We all walk through life with many of the same experiences, all different, but all within a range of human emotions. Happiness, sadness, fear, loss....you know what I am talking about. Whenever we are brave enough to share our stories, we find that we are mostly more similar than we are different. We all have the potential to be good, to be the very best version of ourselves, but our tendency is to do otherwise, and so we must work at staying the course (unless you are a saint).
I've felt uninspired lately, or to use another line from another friend, "I feel uninteresting." I do believe that every life is a story waiting to be told, but mine lately doesn't feel worthy of writing. I'm not in a funk, I'm not doing anything extraordinary, I'm just living and what is interesting about that, ha? I think this might be one of those entries where I am talking out loud.
One of the things that keeps coming up for me lately is my radar for people. I don't know what else to call it. I feel like I am always in tune with people's temperature. I don't find myself trying to fix it, but I find myself needing to acknowledge where people are at, or at least where I perceive them to be. I found myself after yoga class the other day telling one of my students something I could see about them or rather feel without them saying so. I can see the internal struggle. It used to be okay for me to just observe people, to create stories in my mind about what they were experiencing and why. I feel like I have moved on to a place where I have to talk to them about it. It isn't comfortable for everyone, but most people let me in at least a little bit.
I remember a time many years ago when I was up in the San Juan islands with my husband for the funeral of an old friend. I found myself in the grocery store witnessing the produce guy stacking fruit and seeing or perceiving his dissatisfaction with what he was doing. I felt pulled to engage him, to ask him why he continued to do this work if it wasn't what he wanted to be doing. Sounds simple, but who knows, his story may have been a complicated one? I did end up asking him if he liked his job. He said no and I asked him why he stayed. He didn't have an answer really.
It's really simple in many ways, this human life. We all experience birth and death and a myriad of things in between. We are all seeking love, a feeling of being connected and every once in a while something happens, we read something, we meet somebody, we do something that scares us, we lose something important to us...SOMETHING happens and our soul gets shifted sideways a little. (To give credit where credit is due, this line comes from an interview at the end of the book I referred to previously). We open our eyes a little more, we listen a little closer and we see what life is really all about. We feel alive and we feel very aware of how impermanent this all is. It feels good, even when it hurts.
I suppose for now, I should be thankful that life feels boring, or uneventful, whatever you want to call it. It's life. I'm living. I'm breathing, feeling, experiencing...and that, in an of itself, is enough to write about.
We all walk through life with many of the same experiences, all different, but all within a range of human emotions. Happiness, sadness, fear, loss....you know what I am talking about. Whenever we are brave enough to share our stories, we find that we are mostly more similar than we are different. We all have the potential to be good, to be the very best version of ourselves, but our tendency is to do otherwise, and so we must work at staying the course (unless you are a saint).
I've felt uninspired lately, or to use another line from another friend, "I feel uninteresting." I do believe that every life is a story waiting to be told, but mine lately doesn't feel worthy of writing. I'm not in a funk, I'm not doing anything extraordinary, I'm just living and what is interesting about that, ha? I think this might be one of those entries where I am talking out loud.
One of the things that keeps coming up for me lately is my radar for people. I don't know what else to call it. I feel like I am always in tune with people's temperature. I don't find myself trying to fix it, but I find myself needing to acknowledge where people are at, or at least where I perceive them to be. I found myself after yoga class the other day telling one of my students something I could see about them or rather feel without them saying so. I can see the internal struggle. It used to be okay for me to just observe people, to create stories in my mind about what they were experiencing and why. I feel like I have moved on to a place where I have to talk to them about it. It isn't comfortable for everyone, but most people let me in at least a little bit.
I remember a time many years ago when I was up in the San Juan islands with my husband for the funeral of an old friend. I found myself in the grocery store witnessing the produce guy stacking fruit and seeing or perceiving his dissatisfaction with what he was doing. I felt pulled to engage him, to ask him why he continued to do this work if it wasn't what he wanted to be doing. Sounds simple, but who knows, his story may have been a complicated one? I did end up asking him if he liked his job. He said no and I asked him why he stayed. He didn't have an answer really.
It's really simple in many ways, this human life. We all experience birth and death and a myriad of things in between. We are all seeking love, a feeling of being connected and every once in a while something happens, we read something, we meet somebody, we do something that scares us, we lose something important to us...SOMETHING happens and our soul gets shifted sideways a little. (To give credit where credit is due, this line comes from an interview at the end of the book I referred to previously). We open our eyes a little more, we listen a little closer and we see what life is really all about. We feel alive and we feel very aware of how impermanent this all is. It feels good, even when it hurts.
I suppose for now, I should be thankful that life feels boring, or uneventful, whatever you want to call it. It's life. I'm living. I'm breathing, feeling, experiencing...and that, in an of itself, is enough to write about.
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