The Power of Words

Since yesterday, I have had this nagging thought about the power of words and the influence they have had on my view of my life. You see yesterday I spent the afternoon with a friend, she’s my age, smart, attractive, a nice person really. While we were driving along on our quest for weekend lobsters and engaged in some catch-up chat, she dropped this on me, “I’ve decided I’m never getting married and I’m fine with that.” After talking about this for a bit, I realized she was serious…at least for now. So here’s another thing about my friend, she’s one of so many women my age and younger who felt, until recently anyway, that life is not complete and one cannot be happy unless they are in a relationship, straight…or gay, I assume, (though I suppose I should ask about that one) and in pursuit of the ultimate goal…commitment.

The thing is, while I am happy my friend has come to a place of apparent peace with her singleness, what concerned me was the way she said it. I know I may be splitting hairs here but to say, “I’ve decided I’m never getting married” sounds so final, even if you don’t believe it yourself. And her tone, it was…well to be honest it was a little too chipper, like she was trying to sell herself something, an insurance policy perhaps. I remember what it’s like…to let a dream go and to try to tell yourself you're happy with the new storyline you're writing in your head for your life…as if you still have control over it all. I believe words have power and the messages we send ourselves may be some of the most important. I remember that feeling.

Anyway, that was the scene, this is the point. My life has been changing a lot in the last few years and because of those changes, my friend’s words worried me, I haven’t been able to let them go. My vision of the world around me and the possibilities for my own life are expanding greatly. It’s like the difference between looking at a 3x5 snap shot of the mountains and comparing it to a panoramic still taken at the same distance. Where I am standing hasn’t changed, but my openness to what lies before me is finally exploding OUT! This new perspective and what it gives me changes everything.

There was a time in my life, not that long ago when the words I used about my life, my future, and me were negative, narrow, small. I was afraid…so afraid of the dreams in my mind. The grand images of having a beautiful home with a library, of traveling the world, of having a family of my own, of touching the lives of many people in some meaningful way, of giving and teaching and loving and being loved. Everything…BIG! It all seemed so fantastic it was impossible, unattainable…hopeless. To hope for those kinds of blessing would mean that I could face great disappointment. I blocked it out, and I gave my life to loving those who were standing right in front of me, needing me. I walked through each day with my eyes on the ground…I never looked at the mountains…I didn’t even realize they were still there. Then I learned that through faith you can “have confidence that what [you] hope for will actually happen; it gives [you] assurance about things [you] cannot see.” (Bible Hebrews 11.1) and I actually started to slowly begin to lift my head to the panorama that was in front of me the whole time.

Here’s the thing, and I don’t mean to bug anyone who may be reading this who doesn’t have a relationship with God, but….I believe that we can’t derail His plans for us once we’ve given ourselves to Him. We can make it very hard for Him to bless us, we can delay His blessing us by resisting Him, but we can’t derail Him or His perfect plan for us. I’ve gotten to a point where I just don’t want to wait anymore. I know that there is beauty, I know that there is blessing in this life for me, I get tastes of it every day, but I want more, and it’s RIGHT to want more. I want to walk into that vista that I stopped seeing before. Now that I am aware of it, all I can do is hope for the endless possibilities that are awaiting me just ahead. It’s exciting. This is who I am today and becoming more and more because I found faith and hope, and because they helped me change my words.

I truly believe that it is much easier to buy a lie then the truth, to accept a negative then a positive, to have a low expectation then to shoot for the moon and the stars too. Especially if the person talking that way is you! Being positive, hopeful, expecting that life will meet you with abundance is hard because gravity holds us down. But the thing about blessing, about hope, is that you just never know. The words you use for yourself, your life or your future have power! When they are negative or small you’re making it so much harder to see the mountains outside your window because with each word you’re pilling down the shades. I'm so glad I'm learning how to raise the shades, to let the light in and enbrace all the possibilities.

If I Should Die Before I Wake

I had to write a small paragraph today for my church small group when this is what came out I figured I might as well update the old blog:)...

The charge, to write about how you would like to be remembered, a elegy of sorts. Who likes to spend any amount of time thinking about when they are gone? Not me. I’ve stalled on this all week and have my excuses ready, but in my heart I can see the value of taking a moment and thinking about what I would like to leave behind. That’s what this is really about, legacy. And for someone like me, that’s a tricky thing to think about because all of the expected answers I don’t have. I don’t have a successful career…to the outside world I’m a nanny, or perhaps an under achiever not utilizing my college degree. I don’t have a husband. I’m 33 and I haven’t had the sensation of a divorce either. I have no children. If this were my last day…if on my way home I should die, or as the children’s prayer says, “if I should die before I wake”, who will remember me? What impact will my life have on those who knew me? I don’t think I can answer that question. Only they can. However my hope, my prayer, is that my time here isn’t wasted.

Still, on the rare occasions that I have been reflective and considered the end of my life, I’ve always thought about ponds and stones. I’ve wondered about that old metaphor, the one where you drop a stone into the pond and it creates ripples that go on and on. The thing is, no matter how large the stone is there are always ripples, but the bigger the stone, the longer the ripples last and the farther they travel. I’ve always wanted to be a boulder.

Two or three years ago, if I had died in my sleep I think I would have been a pebble. My world was so small. I had a few close friends and I cared for my nephews, as I still do now, but I could barely see my friend’s needs through the haze of my own fear, pain and confusion in life. I didn’t know where I was going. I was terrified, and I was angry about it. I was failing. Somewhere along the way, God found me, or I found him…in a ladybug and things have been changing ever since. My world has opened up and I can finally see past my own pain, my own shortcomings, my own fears, to the needs of those around me. I see the people around me in new vivid color and that is thanks to God who cleared the way for me.

I’d like to think that now if I should die before I wake, I’ve graduated to a stone. And I’d like to think that people would say when there was a tear in their voice, I heard it and stayed to listen, when they needed the truth, I spoke it, when they stumbled, I helped them up, when they needed love, I loved them, when they doubted, I encouraged them, when they were freighted, I held their hand, and maybe I helped them to see faith and ladybugs in a new way. Most of all, I hope they’d say I noticed them.

I’m not a boulder yet, but I pray God will keep working in me until I am that ripple that goes on and on and on.

Happy Birthday To Me....A Little Early:)

July 31, 2010 Crane Beach. 1:40pm


   I’m at my beach, alone for the first time I think this summer. Unlike past years this time it’s not because I couldn’t find anyone to come with me, it’s because I asked no one. I wanted a little time to myself to reflect as this month comes to an end. After weeks in the 90’s it’s only about 70 today with a cool breeze. I’m in sweats. I’m not even wearing a swimsuit or thinking of a tan though my skin is nicely golden. It’s 5 days before me 33rd birthday and this is the first year that I can ever remember not worrying about when or how my family will celebrate with me. This is the first year I feel free of a single “woe is me” thought, the first year that I decided for myself that on that day I wanted to take the boys with the Walsh’s to the beach to play because I love it here and I want to be with people who make us happy on that day.

Last year I vaguely remember my birthday. I remember being in the midst of Twitter mania because it was CC’s birthday also. Indy was at school. It was a regular day. In the evening, I ate take out downstairs with the boy’s while they played wii so I wouldn’t be eating alone and I tried not to feel very lonely. Maybe this sounds overdramatic, maybe it is, but ever since I was a little girl I’ve always believed that birthdays are special. It’s your special day. Unfortunately in my house, Indy and I are the only ones who feel that way so it can break your heart a little when you feel over looked on what you think is the best day in the whole world:) Last year, after dinner I did learn that Rick and Ann had paid off my car loan. I was so surprised and grateful, I don’t even recall if I said thank you. Early last August I was still looking for my church and I wasn’t feeling well. I don’t know if on Wednesday I’ll feel more love…perhaps attention is a better word, from my family, anyway I doubt things will be different but I know one thing, I’m not craving their attention anymore. That makes me sound so childish, but I guess in some ways I was and perhaps will continue to be. In any case, I don’t crave from them because I receive love and attention from God and because of that I have peace about what my family is able to give me. Sorry if this seems like it’s coming from nowhere, I guess you could say I stopped long enough to let God find me, or me find him but I’ll get back to that later.

   Another reason why I’m not all wrapped up in what I’m not getting or don’t have yet is that I’ve become more and more active in my own life. Instead of waiting for my family to acknowledge me I take my own path and I am glad when we’re on the same one. I spend my energy trying to focus on others and what I can do for them instead of what is or isn’t being done for me. I ask for forgiveness a LOT and I give forgiveness and then sometimes I have to give it again. I really truly have stopped feeling sorry for myself.

   For far too long I think I did dwell in self-pity because I was lonely or my mom was mean, my family were jerks, I was sick, my childhood sucked… I could think of a million reasons I’d probably never knowingly voice with self-pity, but still I thought of myself as a victim. Until this past year, I think I could spend a decent amount of time feeling sorry for myself. I don’t anymore. All the reasons I had before still exist and there probably pretty good reasons. The money I made is the same as it was, but the taxes are a little higher, my family is still my family, my mother hasn’t changed, my father didn’t come back to life and my childhood is still what I remember, but I’ve changed. Every day, no matter what happened yesterday I wake up without expectations but with hope and with wonder for what the day holds for me. Every day is a different adventure and it’s not always fun. Today I woke to learn that a friend’s mom had died, but I think my friend would agree that the day is what you make of it and our time is much to fleeting to be wasted, especially in self-pity.

   On the road to 33, I started then dropped this blog. I also started logging notes on facebook. As random and rough as these thoughts were they reminded me how much I miss writing and that hopefully, someday I will find the courage to share the things I am meant to.
   In October, I went to New York on a last minute whim and met about 300 twitter people, most of them lesbians. I had some of the funniest, most stimulating and strange conversations I’ve had in my life. I also made some wonderful friends and I got high on the big apple.
   In January I gave into teenage desire and got my first tattoo:) About a week in I had more than a moment of buyers remorse when it was ugly and peeling and I thought for sure I had scarred my wrist horribly for the rest of my life:) By the three week mark however, I was in love again and ready for another.
   In March, I went on a religious retreat at the lake. Just the thought of this made me wobbly only months before and didn’t sit all that well this time around but this time, (God for dummy’s take two) I was a helper and I had others to think of. Somehow, with ladybugs, friends, and words I became a Christian on the last day of that weekend.
   In June I got tattoo number two on my foot and holding off for number three is proving to be a challenge:) I also went to Chicago in June with my “God for dummy’s” friend’s and told 1500 strangers how ALPHA helped me GET the God stuff, there’s no turning back now.
   Now it’s July and this month has been full of so many fun surprises. Like the 4th weekend with so many friends seeing fireworks and band concerts, parades and then going to the lake with Nona, simple things but such beautiful gifts and wonderful days. Day’s in Rockport and Gloucester eating lobster and being silly, blessings.

   In between all these events I’ve met so many people, helped a few, made wonderful friends, laughed until I’ve cried, giggled, and been hugged more in this past year than in the last three. This year is a different year then all the rest. This year has a different texture, a different rhythm. There is a new richness to my life, there is a fullness. I am happy and I have purpose, something I couldn’t say last year. I wish to share it with everyone I know.

   I’m far from done though. I’m still building the courage to take the steps that are next in my education. A year ago I thought I was stalled, wasting time and I was very hard on myself, but now I see that these two years between school, focused on the boy's and figuring out what’s next have been so far from a waste. I’ve learned so much and changed. No time is wasted that has movement; it is only that sometimes movement is subtle and therefore hard to see.

   As I sit here nearly three hours after I started this I wonder what I’ll say next year. I think about all my wants, a home, family of my own, career, to travel. I think of the ways in which I have those things now, my boy's, my friends, my mini adventure trips. I’m not a planner. My plans always fall through, but I am a last minute jumper. Its made life fun, less complex and removed disappointment. I've learned to bend.

   People keep telling me that my optimistic view of ageing will change, maybe their right, how would I know. All I can say is that with each year that passes my body, face and hair mark the time but I haven’t looked back at one year yet and wished to have it back. I haven’t wished to unlearn the lessons and I accept that growing has a cost. 32 was a blessed year and I thank God for giving it to me.

Big Wheel's

     Once upon a time, I had a big wheel, not just any big wheel mind you, but the queen of all big wheels, the Daisy Duke model. Daisy came complete with a spinout lever and imitation motor racing sounds, which came from a special clicking gadget on the back wheels. She was awesome and I was a terror on her, tearing down our quiet suburban street after anything that dared block my way, yanking hard on my hand brake to effect full 360's. I had skills! None of my friend’s road their big wheels as hard as I did Daisy, but then none of them had a Daisy Duke. To this day, every time a see the father of one particular childhood friend, Mr. K never fails to remind me of the monster I was on my big wheel and how I rode his boy ragged always leading the chase. The creases at the corners of his eyes tell me he’s just as fond of these memories as I am.
     My big wheel was the first taste of freedom I can remember. I was about five I guess. That was also around the time I routinely packed my little suitcase with the essentials of course, a few choice toys, my Miss Pig, and my favorite bathing suit, and ran away from home to the tree in the front yard. That’s another story though. My big wheel ways my first taste of freedom, it was transportation, and I drove her like a wild woman. When I got older, I took my tricks to the water on jet skis. Nothing was better than near whiplash from the mad doughnuts I would do, or finding the biggest waves to get airborne. Every morning in summer when we were at our lake in New Hampshire, I would slip off on the Jet Ski and explore. If my family had only known half of what I did while I was chasing waves they would have taken my lanyard and drained the tanks. I wasn’t exactly reckless, it’s just that I had been warned so much that of course my arrogance made me set out to test the dangers. I wanted to see if I could knock myself off by “Hot-dogging”. Never did, although I did learn deliberately to dislodge passengers, I myself never fell in the drink. So instead, I use to park in the middle of the lake and dive. More than once, I didn’t think I would make it back to the Jet Ski on a particularly windy day, but that was part of the challenge. My teenage summers were spent on the water being wild, being five on a bigger big wheel, being free.
     I’ve ridden horses, bikes, and skates boards, driven boats, motorcycles, cars, trucks and a bunch of other sound and silly things but it wasn’t until today when someone unexpectedly got me thinking about big wheels that I put my finger on what it was I loved and missed about them. It is that wild, out of control feeling like you might just crash, but somehow it all works out. It's the wind in your face, it's the jerking of you body just before it settles back into the seat, it's the way your heart races when your just...a little...to...close.
     It’s probably not at all healthy that I like that feeling. I think Daisy did it to me when I was five and it’s her fault that I go screaming down hills on my bike at 20 miles per hour without a helmet. All very stupid and maybe it’s time I grow up, or at least started wearing a helmet.

I Use To Be Madonna

     A recurring theme has been popping up for me lately, the desire to be extraordinary. It hit me again last night as I watched one of those makeover shows with my sister in-law. The candidate for fashion disaster this week happened to be a self-professed witch from Salem, Ma. No matter where she went, she never left her witchy costumes, complete with pointy hat, behind. As the hosts worked to bring “Samantha” around to a more “muggle”, or human state of dress, one of the hosts said something to the effect of, “You don’t need the costumes to be extraordinary, you project that from within.” By the end of the show, the witch was starting to get it, but all I could think about as I watched her struggle to let go of the hideous black she shrouded herself in was how this grown woman was making every effort to appear extraordinary, terrified of being ordinary like everyone else.
     When I was a teen, like many I imagine, I wanted an extraordinary life. I could feel in my bones that I was meant for the spectacular, how’s that for ego. I went through flashy fashion phases; I was Madonna AND Michael Jackson at one time or another. I considered adults my only intellectual equals, kids my age were just airheads wasting their time. I had no problem voicing my opinions and I stood my ground until I got what I wanted. I was a pill, but I was going to be extraordinary, so it didn’t matter.
     Now in case you haven’t figured it out already, extraordinary to my teenage self had a lot less to do with changing the world at large then it did with me being famous, rich and powerful. Of course, I planned to do good things with my power and influence as the next Madonna, but world adoration was a bigger part of my definition of extraordinary. Heck, I think I was about twelve when I wrote a song with my name as the title, all about me and how the world was going to know just who I was. Sitting here now, some twenty years later, the irony of that statement and the content of this blog do not escape me. I’m breathless with laughter at the crazy arrogance of my youth and the fact that so many years later I’m still writing about myself.
     Still, I’d like to think this is different, as a kid it was about shining brighter than anyone else and making it big, now it’s about learning. Remembering who I was and working on who I want to be. You see maybe it’s because I didn’t become the jazzy Madonna, that’d be more like Norah Jones but way more famous. Yes, it could be because that didn’t happen, but I’d like to think it’s because I grow up, either way it wasn’t until a couple of years ago that I realized what I needed most was to appreciate being ordinary.
     There are events in my life, as there are for most of us, which if I shared them would seem extraordinary. The reality is that extraordinary, in my experience isn’t always that great. Even those that our idolizing brains think of as extraordinary have a great deal of ordinary in them. Sometimes it’s just a little harder to see beyond the glitz of a lifestyle. Believe it or not, Lady Gaga is ordinary. The President is ordinary. Oprah is Ordinary. They may live extraordinary lives, but so does the unsung relief worker who sees the world as he is literally saving lives yet lives, what many would deem, a simple life with simple needs. So is the computer engineer, who is also a painter. So is the mom, who is also a friend.
     It’s almost sad for me that it took so many years to fully realize and appreciate that extraordinary isn’t about fame and glamour its about the unique gifts we all possess and the way we share them, not out of expectation, but in order to give of yourselves. It isn’t an outward appearance its, as corny as it sounds, an inner light from living a life of meaning and connection. I know I can be a slow learner sometimes.
     I think, as ugly a word as ordinary may sound, it’s the important one here because it is the bits and piece of what makes us ordinary that helps us have those connections. We are all different, we are all miraculous, we all have a story that weaves us. However, without the connections we gain through common experiences we would never learn about those stories. Even the ordinary straight A student from the apparent perfect family, who goes on to be a hockey mom, has an extraordinary story if you listen. And part of the beauty of ordinary, what draws me, is its natural. It doesn’t require a show, it isn’t based on pretense, it reveals itself in its own time, and It doesn’t realize how fascinating it is only by being its simple ordinary self. It wasn’t until I stopped fight against being average that I could see how beautiful the variety is in what is considered ordinary.
     I stopped chasing extraordinary, I stopped pretending I was Madonna, thank goodness. Not because I don’t want to be rich, to travel the world or be successful. I stopped chasing my old concept of extraordinary because I realized I didn’t need any of those things, they are not what will make me exceptional. I have my own blend of special that I carry within me. I don’t need to project that or expect that others will see it. Sometimes we are so hurried by our own desire for more that we don’t notice the amazing wonders that are fighting to keep pace beside us. At least I was, but I think I’ve slowed down now.

To Look Back Or Not To Look Back?

     Today I took a hike. It was a beautiful winter day in New England, the kind that melts the snow, the kind when it is criminal to waste the sunlight by staying indoors. At least I think so. So there I was hiking along snow-covered trails and icy streams, enjoying the feeling of complete solitude that I get when I’m lost in the wood, when I happened to look over my shoulder. No, it wasn’t a bear or a hunter with a bow, it was simply the most exquisite view, right behind me. I paused for a few moments there, alongside a stonewall that was hugging a stream like a good friend, and I took in the magic.
     The sun was setting and filtering its light through the trunks of tall strong pines, the snowy path between the trees I had just come from was almost in darkness from the glare of the sun in my eyes. The green was a bright hopeful contrast to the white all around me. It was so lovely, but it was behind me, if I had not bothered to look back, I would have missed it.
     Over the past few weeks I’ve been thinking a lot about my life up to now. About regrets, questions I’ll never have the answers to, the different courses my life could have taken at more than one fork in the road, the gifts and joys in my life now, the wisdom I gain with each day by simply listening. I have been contemplating this and taking you along on some of the journey. However, just a few days ago, I really started to question this focus. Was it too egotistical to be so reflective in this writing? The farther I go the more I think about and remember the past. Is this wise for me?
     In the mix of people in my life, I know those who would say, the past is the past let it be, those who never want to look back at all, and those who can’t seem to do anything else. My mother is one of the latter. She spends her days lamenting a life that no longer exists. Conversations with her are focused on past events, encounters and injuries. Not only does she speak from the past and outright say she wants life only as it was, but she also reacts to the present with anger caused by the past and my refusal to return to it. Her mind set is so historic that she thinks everyone else functions the same way. She refuses to recognize that people grow and change. According to her way of thinking if you liked a vanilla ice cream as a child you can’t like rocky road now, nothing can change even the innocent. She is frozen in the past and the rest of us have moved forward. I worry sometimes that I could become her, in so many ways.
     Today, while I was in the forest I thought about all of this as I drank in remarkable colors and light that I would have missed if I didn’t look back. I’m not sure what’s right. I do know to dwell on a painful past, or long for the joyful one you once had is detrimental to progress and growth. But I don’t think it’s possible to shut away who we’ve been, what we’ve done, or what’s happened to us. That would be like losing apart of yourself, like living a partial existence.
     For once, I’m staking a position here. This may sound defensive but I don’t thinking looking back is a bad thing, just so long as you don’t get stuck. By looking back you can appreciate how far you’ve come. You can enjoy the moments that were simple, that were fun, that were rewarding. By looking back, you can learn about what is, what’s happening right now using the wisdom of an aged, yet new perspective. And sometime when you look back you’re able to see a beauty with that perspective, one you were not quite ready to appreciate before. The past can be a great tool if you’re careful with it. Looking back can be wonderful, but you must always do it with one foot firmly in the present and the other stepping toward the future. Whether this is right or not, who knows, but I expect I’ll continue to cast my glance backward for a while, you just never know what you might have missed while walking forward.

Yet Another Thing I Missed

    Yesterday while I was doing the dishes, after a long morning at the computer and on the phone my cell played a familiar ring. It was Leia calling from the road. We talked for a few minutes before I told her about what I had been doing. I hadn’t gotten around to writing that morning because I had spent my time learning about Haiti, watching news outlets and reading, talking with friends who want to help, communicating with my church and gathering as much information as I could about relief efforts and organizations helping Haiti recover from the disaster then passing the information on to others. I did this instead of implementing my new morning writing schedule. When Leia heard this her response was, “Ok, so instead of doing what you’re supposed to be doing, which is focusing on your writing and sticking with your schedule, you’re worrying about something that’s half a world away?”
     I was annoyed, but later with perspective I recognized she was as distracted as I was during our conversation, and I know her goal right now as my friend is to try and help me stay focused. Still, in that moment I was so frustrated by her comment. I said, “Haiti’s not half the world away it's six hundred miles off the coast of Florida. And regardless they are in great need.” However, as I heard that lecturing tone in my voice I realized where I was in my thoughts just the day before. Once we got off the phone, I reflected on her comment and how she managed to bring me full circle.
     On Tuesday I knew. I had seen the news, but I wasn’t really listening. Tuesday was all about me. I had gotten into a sullen mood about myself, about my own hiccups, my own stupid insecurities and doubts and problems. I wrote something that was once again, insignificant and revealing but about me. I knew about Haiti when I wrote that, I didn’t know the magnitude, I hadn’t been paying attention.Yes, I heard the number 7 on the Richter scale. I knew people would be hurt and in need. I knew this logically, but I hadn’t thought about it, I hadn’t felt it, I hadn’t listened yet to the stories, I hadn’t thought about the primary school with its 700 missing children alone.
     Then, just moments after I wrote that blog, I got an email from my friend Emily, who was reaching out to me wanting to help those in need, she just want sure how to do it. She would be the current that shifted my focus. Emily doesn’t attend church, she’s not a religious person but she knows I’m the Christian! Or I’m supposed to be the Christian, I’m the one who goes to church every week, I’m the one who goes to bible study, I’m the one who volunteers at local relief organizations every week, I’m the one who does these things but I was doing nothing! I wasn’tacting! I was trying to ignore this tragedy in part to avoid the sadness.
     Emily wasn't sure how to help in our community so she came to me and I started looking for answers. However before, during and after, once again, I started beating myself with my big stick over how I had not had the proper response and I thought about how I don’t like this about myself. I don't like the way I miss things. I’m so grateful I got that message. Before it I was worrying about my faults, failure and struggles and not looking at the big picture and the real problems that people face every day.i was avoiding the sadness of others, maybe I’m not the only one.
     Maybe there are others who would rather leave the TV off of turn the channel then hear the reports on tragedy because you feel helpless or because it's not your problem. The only thing is if you don't listen how do you become informed? How do you become moved to help and not leave the work for someone else to do. Somewhere in my brain that is part of what I was thinking. Someone else can get this one. It's not for me, there's nothing I can do. But it's like they warn, I don't know who they are, but they warn us, what if everyone thought that way? Where would the help come from then?
     Yes, I have issues. Yes, they make life difficult for me sometimes,but I have food, I have shelter, I have warmth. All of my basic needs are met. My problems are emotional, and although emotional problems can be a matter of survival sometimes too, mine are not. I am not fighting for my basic survival, I am not buried under rubble, I am not sleeping in a street, I am not facing dehydration and hunger, I am not worried that my family members are dead, I haven’t lost anything. I am incredibly lucky. I am ashamed that I didn't have a better first instinct, but I am grateful Emily did and shifted my focus.
     I am disappointed that I allow myself to be distracted. That I allow myself to get so wrapped up sometimes, it’s one of my biggest faults. I can become so consumed by whatever it is in the moment, the show I’m obsessed with, the family drama, my writing, the emotional stuff, a relationship, whatever, that I lose sight of some of the details that are happening around me. I get tunnel vision very easily and often. This can be helpful if the project is productive, but it can also make it very hard to see a way out sometimes. I don’t know how to correct this, but I am so very thankful for the people in my life who, not always knowingly, do something simple like shoot off a message like Emily’s.
     She thought I had the answer, but when I didn’t I went and I found it and I got back in touch with reality. I’m sure this will only be a brief visit, I’ll slide right back into fantasyland and be self-serving and superficial again. I know it because I can’t help it, but at least for right now I’ve got a little bit of a balance and at least for right now I’m able to help, to make a contribution, share information among my friends and again acknowledge where my fault is and what I need to work on. I have Leia to thank for that, for bringing me full circle and helping me to see without even meaning to how self-centered my actions have been. I am far from perfect, I'll never be perfect and sometimes my imperfections are so great it's funny. I thank my friends for reminding me just how flawed I am so that I remember what it is I'm suppose to be working on.