A bridge with people
This bridge in Captiva, Florida, led through lush green paths to the sea. January, 2013
“When I stopped trying to block my sadness and let it move me instead, it led me to a bridge with people on the other side. Every one of them knew sorrow. Some of them even knew how to bear it as an ordinary feature of being human instead of some avoidable curse. Watching them ride the waves of their own dark emotions, I learned that sadness does not sink a person; it is the energy a person spends trying to avoid sadness that does that.” — Barbara Brown Taylor
There’s a lot of pressure in our culture to be fit, healthy, educated, happy, perfect. All these states of being are blessings (except for perfection, which is an unattainable illusion) but I think we fall into a trap when we imagine we can achieve consistency in any of them. Health can disappear abruptly no matter how fit we stay, and education is in a continual process of becoming outdated. Life holds no guarantees, and it’s a rare person who never has to deal with great sorrow.
I was drawn to Taylor’s description of sadness as a bridge to other people, because I have found it to be true. It’s an oversimplification to say “misery loves company.” As I see it, sorrow opens my heart to others because I become aware of how much each of us carries around inside us, and that understanding binds me to people with whom I might otherwise (mistakenly) believe I have nothing in common. Merely to be human is to share a great deal with every other person I meet. To some people that probably sounds trite, but for me, it has become a formidable defense against feeling alone and isolated.
This blog would not exist if I believed it was healthy to wallow in despondency or self-pity. But the burdens of life are real and inescapable, and in facing them squarely, there are paradoxical consolations– among which is the equalizing realization of the universal encumbrances of mortality.
Many have observed that going through some disaster or adversity binds people together in ways that prosperity never will. If you are facing sadness or setbacks in your life, I hope you will find solace in the unique bonds you form with fellow travelers on similar paths. Taylor is right in asserting that sadness does not have to sink a person, and indeed, it often transforms into a kind of strength that can change a life…or an entire world.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Begin transforming
Ever been to Ireland? I haven’t, but I hope to go someday.
Public domain photo of the Ring of Kerry by Christian Menz, via Wikimedia Commons.
“St. Patrick’s Day is an enchanted time – a day to begin transforming winter’s dreams into summer’s magic.” — Adrienne Cook
That sounds good to me. Let the transformation begin! Help me brainstorm some ideas to get us started. How shall we prepare to welcome spring?
Maybe we can visit a nursery or hardware store and pick up some seedlings to care for indoors, or plant outside, depending on where we live. How about sitting down with a calendar to pencil in some of those fun events we never seem to get around to– lunch with a friend, a day trip to an interesting place we’ve never been, a craft class or nature walk with a local community group. Imagine any of dozens of other things to enjoy as the weather warms up (or cools down, if you live below the equator) and we are inspired to get out and about again.
What sorts of winter dreams did you cook up this year? What magic do you hope to find in the summer? Celtic lore is full of enchantment, but the Irish certainly don’t have a monopoly on it. Even if you don’t have one bit of Irish ancestry, I hope you can join in the refreshing spirit of springtime that is linked by the calendar to St. Patrick’s Day. And if you do manage to head outdoors today– may the road rise to meet you!
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
One surge at a time
“The waves rolling in from the Atlantic today were high and white and threatening. Then, later in the day, the ocean was suddenly very quiet again, very much itself and at peace with the world. I couldn’t help thinking what a life lesson there is in that kind of undulation, in that kind of natural upset…peace is not a state of lifelessness…Peace is what comes to us after we negotiate the roiling, pounding waves of life lived one surge at a time.” — Joan Chittister
When the stormy times hit, one of the best emotional survival strategies I’ve learned over the years is to focus on a mental picture of riding the waves as they rise and fall, concentrating on keeping my head above water and avoiding over-reaction or panic.
It’s a sensation I experienced during my college years when I foolishly agreed to try body surfing with friends at Jones Beach, New York, the morning after a hurricane. I have no idea why a lousy swimmer such as I would go into rough waters. I suppose I felt safer because two of our group were lifeguards who were off duty. Good thing, too; it took me no time at all to get into trouble out there.
When the guys noticed I was floundering, they swam alongside me, one on each side, and held my upper arms, coaching me through every wave until we got back to shore. I was freaking out at first, but they would warn me as a wave approached, and reassure me as they held fast to me, lifting me up and and helping me stay with it while it passed. By the time I was safely on dry land I had learned a few things, one of which was a healthy respect for the power of high waves.
I don’t think I’d ever intentionally put myself in that position again, but I have thought of that day many times as an analogy for the psychological aspects of the most harrowing moments of my life. When such moments come, I try to focus on staying as calm as I can while I wait for the worst of it to pass, as it inevitably will.
Yes, usually there will be more waves to deal with, “high and white and threatening,” but Sister Joan wisely reminds us that we can– and must– negotiate those waves one surge at a time. And often, we will find the saving grace of support from friends who will ride the waves with us, showing us how to survive the storms.
Today, if you are in one of those blissful states of calm between waves, enjoy it! Relish the lack of pressure and the refreshing sound of silence. But if you are riding a huge and frightening wave, take heart; it will pass. I wish you the life-saving presence of many who care: folks who will lift your spirits with warm words, kind deeds and fervent prayers. Remember you’re not alone out here.
This post was first published seven years ago today. Reading back over it, I can’t help but reflect how those waves just keep coming in all the years since I wrote these words. It sometimes feels relentless, but so far, I’m keeping my head above water.
The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Your vision
Let the distant vision enhance the beauty of where you are now.
Drew on a road in the Yukon, June 2000
“Your vision of the future is not intended to keep you living in a ‘someday’ mode. It is as much a guide to the way you live out each day in the present as it is to direct you toward the future.” — Mark Brunetz
This quote from Brunetz pinpoints the difference between getting stuck in unrealistic delusions about the future versus focusing on a destination that will be the inspiration for a worthwhile journey. Just imagine a glorious landscape far in the distance, at the end of an appealing but decidedly less glamorous road. Should we sit idly in a wayside meadow and speculate on what details might lie beyond our ability to see from afar? Or will we set out in that direction, determined to discover it first hand, and meanwhile enjoy the sights along the way?
It took me years to get up the nerve to talk about my desire to be a writer. I felt embarrassed because I knew I was not good enough yet to let anyone know that was my goal. Somewhere along the way, I began to wonder whether I actually liked the idea of writing better than the the writing itself; whether I was making excuses for myself rather than facing my fears.
I shared my misgivings during a brief conversation I had with the writer Michael Blake, who spoke at our base library while the very young Drew and Matt played in the children’s area. When I confessed my confusion about my writing ambitions, he admitted that there were quite a few people who were more enamored with the thought of being a writer, than with engaging in the activity itself.
Then he gave me some very good advice. Seeing my children and realizing the time constraints I faced, he told me what I needed to do for now was “keep a relationship with the written word.” He explained I could write every day, in whatever form: it could be letters, journals, diaries, brief essays or articles, anything that would keep me in touch with expressing myself through writing, and for the present time, that would be enough.
“Then you will find that writing will always be there for you, if you want to pursue it more extensively in the future,” he told me. His words made sense to me. I found it easy to take his advice; it felt so much less threatening than aspiring to write a best seller.
Soon I was working as a stringer for the local paper and writing a column for a military spouse newsletter. Not long afterward, I sold a travel story and two photographs to an international travel paper. But even when I made no money from writing, or very little, the writing itself become its own reward.
Eventually I realized, though I might never be an author, I was already a writer and probably always would be one. Whatever destination I had in mind in the beginning, I’ve enjoyed the journey itself so much that the vision has enriched me in ways I never imagined.
Do you have ambitions for your future that get stuck in “someday” mode? If so, can you explore how to let that vision guide the way you live out each day, so that someday becomes now? Getting there really can be more than half the fun. I wish you traveling mercies– and be sure to send us some virtual postcards to let us know what you’re seeing along the way.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
The world is full
I didn’t spot this spider at first, and I bet the wasp didn’t either.
Crab spider by Jeffrey C. Oliver, CC by SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons
“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”
— W. B. Yeats
Awhile back we had an interesting discussion with Boomdee in the comments after she mentioned the rabbits in her world changing colors with the seasons. Until then, I didn’t know about the Snowshoe Hare, which turns white in winter as a form of camouflage in snowy areas. I was enchanted to think of a rabbit that changes color, because I’d never heard of one doing that before. My experience with color-changing animals is pretty much limited to small lizards.
Apparently, rabbits don’t need that flexible sort of camouflage to flourish in Virginia. They are everywhere, and usually I notice them by the way that they move. Not always, though.
One gorgeous evening last spring I went out to make a quick film clip of the world as it looked from our little porch in Alexandria. The birds were singing and the azaleas were blooming, and the little creek behind our home was making that lovely rushing sound that always comes after a nice rainfall. With all this to distract me, I didn’t notice what was hiding in plain sight until I watched the clip nine months later. See if you spot what I missed (the pause button helps):
Let’s take a cue from Sherlock Holmes and sharpen our senses to see what else we are missing. What secrets might nature be hiding in your neighborhood?
This post was first published seven years ago today. Because that year (2016) was a leap year, and this one is not, there will be a shift in the days each post is re-published for the remainder of the year. Just in case anyone notices, you’ll now find that they will appear on Tuesdays and Fridays.
The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Autobiography, journal, scrapbook
Grady has his own little playroom in their new home, January, 2016.
That indoor tent was a favorite of Drew and Matt, many years ago (see below).
“Each of us is eccentric because each of us is unique and no one else is like us. We can best express our individuality in unusual, uncommon ways at home. Our home is an autobiography, a journal, a scrapbook…Living at home is a dynamic, creative process.” — Alexandra Stoddard
I really miss the days when people spent more times in one another’s homes. I always feel I know someone much better after I’ve been in their home a few times. It doesn’t really matter to me how large or small the home is, how old or new, or how it’s furnished. What I enjoy is the way each home, like each person, is totally unique. Some of my favorite places to stay have been the smallest and coziest, even when some of what we now think of as essentials were not available.
Real estate agents now “stage” homes to make them look basically as if no one lives there. I can understand why they do this; it’s much easier for prospective buyers to imagine themselves living in a place if it starts out with an appealing but bland atmosphere. But as a visitor, it’s much more fun to see a home that has the unmistakable stamp of the people who belong there.
In the recent winter storm, I was stuck in Atlanta for a couple of days longer than I had planned to be there. I was anxious to be home and antsy at wondering when the weather would allow it, but best part about that was that I was able to stay with Drew, Megan and Grady in their new (to them) home. They have recently bought a lovely place, several decades old, that had been in the same family all that time until now.
I fell in love with the home. What I liked best about it was how unique it was. You could feel a sense of the generations of the family who had owned it, lending a sort of character to the atmosphere. At the same time, it seemed perfect for its new occupants, each of whom is (at least in my eyes) quite exceptional and well suited to such a one-of-a-kind dwelling.
Our homes don’t need to be grand, stylish or even consistently neat to be welcoming and appealing. What’s most important is that they reflect who we are; our interests, our priorities, our joys. Some of us are private people for whom home is a retreat, with visitors rarely present; others of us love to have a steady stream of friends coming and going. Either way, we will be happiest in a home that is comfortable and full of our own personalities.
Drew and Matt with their friend Chris in the same tent seen above.
I told you I never throw anything away! Hawaii, 1993
How about your home? Does it suit your personality? If we all popped over for a visit, what would we see there that we would not be likely to see elsewhere? Don’t worry, we won’t notice the dust or the piles of yesterday’s mail or laundry that might be lying around. We came to see YOU– and I just know your smiling face will light up the place, whether or not you feel as if it’s ready for prime time.
This post was first published seven years ago today. Because that year (2016) was a leap year, and this one is not, there will be a shift in the days each post is re-published for the remainder of the year. Just in case anyone notices, you’ll now find that they will appear on Tuesdays and Fridays.
The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
A newer world
Despite fears and foes, let’s sail confidently on to brighter days.
That’s Drew, Matt and me about to board the Volendam in Alaska, June 2000.
…Come, my friends,
‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world. — Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Our new year is nearly two months gone, and many who made resolutions may have already abandoned them or altered them to fit reality. Still, it is never too late to keep reaching upward to higher aspirations for ourselves, our countries and our world. And it’s never too early.
I’ve often written here about how I avoid watching the news. I’m not trying to hide from reality, but I dislike the way breaking stories are sensationalized to draw in viewers for the 24/7 schedules they must fill in this new age of continual electronic stimulation.
Even worse, old tragedies and sorrows seem never to die; they keep being revisited, second-guessed and milked for whatever commercial value they may hold for media dependent on an audience to draw revenue. This leaves many heartwarming stories of everyday heroes and victories untold. We need to seek and create those stories ourselves, celebrating the good we find in the beauty of daily life.
Have you ever marveled at how brief a time it takes to destroy what took years to build? Such destruction isn’t confined to warfare, either; earthquakes, hurricanes, deforestation and planned demolition, among many other events, all take staggering tolls on the works of both nature and humans. The lesson here speaks of the necessity for patience, fortitude, adaptability and purpose to ensure that life will go on in spite of continual calamities.
Planting tiny seedlings that will grow into enormous trees long after we are there to see it happen, or sending small donations to people who are struggling locally and abroad, or reaching out in friendship to people who are different from us: all these actions, and many more, are acts of faith by which we seek a newer world.
Despite how we may sometimes feel about mistakes in our past, or the condition of our world at large, it’s never too late to do what is right. As my friend Ashleigh Brilliant has said, “Nothing we can do can change the past, but everything we do changes the future.”
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
When it catches you
The cardinals stayed busy even in the snow, York County, February 2016.
Here’s a view from our kitchen window as one of them perches on the deck railing.
“The earth is covered…..and it is falling still in silence so deep that you can hear its silence. It is snow to be shoveled, to make driving even worse than usual, snow to be joked about and cursed at, but unless the child in you is entirely dead, it is snow, too, that can make the heart beat faster when it catches you by surprise that way, before your defenses are up.” — Frederick Buechner
This is the rest of the quote that I featured in a post that published more than three years ago, in December 2012, when this blog was very new. It describes how I felt one recent morning as I looked out on the snow that was still coming down. I had been up late the previous night, and peeping outside just before I retired, was startled to notice that a few flakes had started to fall and were accumulating quickly on the frozen ground.
Somehow, I didn’t expect it to amount to much more; we were in York County, where snow falls much less often than it does in the DC area. When I awakened the next morning to the news that it was still falling, I raced for my camera, enthusiastic as a child. In the back of my mind, all the usual nagging thoughts were hovering; would we be able to drive back to Alexandria, as planned? What appointments would I need to cancel? How much shoveling would we have to do this time? But mostly, I felt excited.
I think many of us still have a good bit of child alive inside us. What objects or events make you aware of this part of yourself that may lie buried beneath the responsibilities of everyday life? When are you most likely to feel the energy of a much younger person recharging your mood? Are there any aspects of life that enchant you even though they may complicate life a little, or a lot?
I hope that today– or sometime very soon– you will find yourself caught by surprise in the most delightful way.
Alan, that photo is dedicated to you, my fellow admirer of Cardinals!
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Try to love
Petty Officer 2nd Class Kimberley Ryan holds hands with Afghan children
as they walk to the local children’s shura in Afghanistan’s Helmand province, 2012.
Photo by Cpl. Ed Galo, U.S. Marine Corps, public domain via Wikimedia Commons
Some may come and some may go
We will surely pass
When the one that left us here
Returns for us at last
We are but a moment’s sunlight
Fading in the grass
Come on people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another
Right now
— lyrics from the Youngbloods’ song “Get Together“
I was ten years old when the Youngbloods first released their version of this song, but it remained popular for several years after that. I always liked it, and recently I’ve been listening to it quite a bit after rediscovering it on Prime. Needless to say, at this age and stage of my life it’s the second verse (quoted above) that jumps out at me most, but the entire song is lovely, full of an otherworldly hope.
If you have time, please listen to the song– I linked it above, in a YouTube posting with lyrics. It may be nearly 50 years since it became a hit, but it’s more relevant now than ever. It talks about the role fear plays in creating division and destruction, and acknowledges we don’t have all the answers. But it points us in the right direction. I hope you’ll find it as uplifting as I do.
“I will show you the most excellent way,” wrote the apostle Paul as he introduced his famous treatise on love as the most important of all traits we can cultivate. His description of love goes far beyond the reality we see in popular imagination or human tendency. On reading his words, we might feel inclined to answer “Yes, but…” and mentally exclude certain situations from his all-encompassing specifications. It just seems too hard, maybe impossible, to actually live these words, especially that sweeping, repetitive “always.”
Perhaps that’s why the Youngbloods’ hit song encourages us to “try to love.” We may not always succeed, but we have to start somewhere, and we can head in the right direction even if we are a long way off.
Happy birthday to my beloved sister, who does better at this than almost anyone I know.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Your own
We start off being kind to ourselves, but what happens later?
10-month-old Grady likes what he sees in the mirror at the beach cottage.
Dam Neck, Virginia, June 2014
“The worst bullies you will ever encounter in your life are your own thoughts.”
― Bryant McGill
Does any of this sound familiar?
She doesn’t really like me.
He never cared about me.
I’m too fat/skinny/short/tall/pale/dark/quiet/loud/dumb/nerdy/old/inexperienced.
I never feel like part of any group I’m with. I don’t belong anywhere and never will.
I give up. I fail at this every time I try to do better.
I could go on and on, and I’ll bet you could too. The ways in which we taunt ourselves might differ slightly, but the underlying messages are identically destructive. Why do we do it?
On the other hand, bullies don’t just say overtly cruel things. Sometimes they lie to us by pretending to be friends, tricking us into doing what we wouldn’t normally do, or creating false hopes destined to be dashed. We can bully ourselves in this way, too. Does any of this sound familiar?
Everyone else does it; why shouldn’t I?
I know it’s bad for me to feel such anger toward someone else but hey, I’m only human.
Nobody will ever know about this but me, so it can’t possibly hurt anyone.
Mae West was right– too much of a good thing can be wonderful.
Oh, who cares? One more doughnut/drink/purchase/cigarette/gambling loss isn’t going to make much difference now.
I think there are very few of us who have not been bullied at least once in our lives by a cruel person. Even if they hit us with words instead of fists, it still creates damage. But I agree with McGill that most of us take far more abuse from our own thought patterns than from others. Perhaps mean people were the ones who trained us in the art of putting ourselves down, but that doesn’t mean we have to continue their pattern of spiteful talk.
Today, let’s stand guard over the bully in each of us, and not allow anything ugly to win the day. Most of us learned to be pretty good about curbing our inhumane talk to others, although we may need to work on what we say behind their backs. But I think our most difficult struggles will be against the bully inside our own heads, telling us we deserve the self-defeating thoughts we repeat.
Celebrate Be Kind to You day today! I think we could all use more kindness, and if we begin inside our own heads, it’s bound to spread beyond us.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Altered with every experience
Each morning finds us slightly different than we were the day before.
Sunrise over the Potomac River as seen from my deck, January 2023
“It was Heraclitus, of course, who came up with the formulation that we are never able to step into the same river twice…The obverse of Heraclitus’s maxim may be that one is never able to step out of the river the same, twice. A neuron in the brain is altered with every experience.” – James Atlee
We interrupt these re-runs (as Raynard has so aptly called them) to bring you a new post.
Over the past couple of years republishing the 1100+ posts written during the first seven years of this blog, I’ve often wondered whether to slip in the occasional new entry. I’ve done this only once (or maybe twice?) mostly because I’m not sure I have anything more to say that might be helpful or worthwhile. I can just hear those of you who have ever sat in the same room with me, laughing hysterically at the idea of my ever staying quiet.
Many of you are hanging in there with me after ten years or even more, still re-reading my words. Some of you are even adding your comments here and there, or contacting me with personal messages via email or postal mail, all of which I appreciate. A few of you I have known since childhood, and some have become friends along the way, whether or not I ever met you in person. This community remains a vital part of my life despite my being unable to spend as much time here as in former years.
I am bracing myself for the emotional turmoil I’m about to face as I re-read the posts for the remainder of 2016, and the years following, in preparation for republishing them here. I have dreaded this since I first decided to repost according to a methodical schedule. Perhaps a new post here and there can add some context to what was an almost unbearably heartbreaking time in our lives.
In six years of being a widow, I spent so much of myself actively working to defeat despair in everyday life that I had little time or energy to write about it. Those of you familiar with the multiplying losses of the past few years will know why I say this. Yet, during this time I have grown ever more aware that God’s mercies really are “new every morning,” even during those times when we have to muster a bit more determination to see them.
In a least some respects, these years have been a rare and salubrious gift. Few people who know me well are around to see or notice it in everyday ways, but I believe I have changed and grown more during these years than at any time since I first left home in 1974. Even marriage and motherhood did not change me as much as being a widow did, because until now, all my focus has been outward. I stayed so busy facilitating the successes and challenges of my family that I forgot much of who I was before. Solitude, rest, and time, so necessary to healing, bring other unexpected discoveries.
I imagine those of you in my generation are experiencing this same sort of growth, demanded of all who are blessed to live many decades. For those of you who walked with me here through 2016, and for new readers who are welcome to join us on this journey, perhaps we can compare notes as we step in and out of the river. Neither we nor the river are ever the same twice. What have we learned? How have we grown? What are our new hopes and dreams?
Their life and their limits
Not passive: Cpl. Marcus Chischilly’s patient training pays off
at the 2014 Marine Corps Trials, Camp Pendleton, California.
Public domain photo by Lance Cpl. John Baker via Wikimedia Commons
“Experience has taught me this, that we undo ourselves by impatience. Misfortunes have their life and their limits, their sickness and their health.” — Michel de Montaigne
Experience seems to be teaching me the same things it taught Montaigne, though I may not be learning it as gracefully. There’s an old saying: “If you don’t like the weather, wait awhile.” From where I sit, that bit of wisdom seems to apply to far more than the weather.
Whether enduring a minor annoyance or a life-changing crisis, people have a remarkable ability to adapt and pull through. Situations almost never stay exactly the same. Even in the worst of circumstances, some days will be better than others. Hanging on to that assurance can be a crucial survival skill.
But what to do in the meantime, when it seems things have been gloomy forever? How are we to remain imperturbable when we feel too burned out or discouraged to keep going?
U. S. Marine Corporal Marcus Chischilly could give us some good advice about that. Corporal Chischilly was serving on his fifth deployment when he stepped on an IED in Afghanistan in October, 2010. It took him two years to recover from the extensive damage to his body, but as the photo above shows, he emerged from the ordeal with strength, power, endurance and grace befitting the Marines and his Diné (Navajo) heritage.
When I contacted Cpl. Chischilly to seek permission to feature his photograph, he responded humbly and candidly, granting me permission to use his name and photograph, and sharing a bit about his story. Cpl. Chischilly lives with his wife and children in California, where he returned to active duty following his recovery. In addition to the military connection, we share their appreciation of California as a great place to live, and their preparation for an upcoming retirement.
We can’t claim to share the amazing fortitude the Chischilly family has shown in service to our country; very few of us can. But we can be inspired by their story and their patience, not only through two years of recovery from life-threatening wounds, but also through the sacrifices demanded in FIVE wartime deployments. To say “thank you for your service” is far too inadequate, but even so, I repeat these words to the Chischilly family and add, “thank you for your example.”
I think we err sometimes in assuming that patience is a passive virtue. In reality, staying active and positive in a chronic struggle is a formidable example of patience, and that type of resolve is anything but passive. Pressing on toward improvement without expecting instant results might make the difference in defeat or victory over a longstanding challenge. Staying strong in the face of irreversible losses can lay the foundation for new beginnings. It sounds trite, but history has shown it to be true.
Calm endurance need not be boring or resigned. While waiting for the skies to clear, distract yourself with the satisfaction of accomplishing small but important tasks, and take refuge in soothing music, art or reading. Call a friend, play with a dog, or watch a funny video. Breathe deeply and rejoice in all that remains. Whatever difficulties or obstacles you may be facing right now, things will almost certainly go better with patience.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Encounter happiness
The Fire Monkey who runs this blog sends you best wishes for an auspicious year!
迎春接福 Yíngchúnjiēfú – “Greet the New Year and encounter happiness” — a traditional Lunar New Year greeting
Today marks an auspicious day that comes only once every sixty years: it is the beginning of the Year of the Fire Monkey. The last time we had a Fire Monkey year was 1956, the year I was born, as were many of you. So to all Fire Monkeys out there, let’s celebrate our special year!
First, a disclaimer: I don’t believe there is any magic or power in horoscopes, whether American or Asian. I do, however, find their archetypes and symbols interesting and often amusingly apt. The Asian zodiac has five elements, compared to our four, and the elements in the Asian zodiac rotate by year, not limited to one particular sign. In both zodiacs, I’m a fire sign. I must admit that certainly fits.
It’s a sort of zany coincidence that, of all the twelve animals of the Chinese zodiac, I have always identified most with the monkey. I see this mostly as a positive thing, though not completely. The monkey’s playful curiosity can be intrusive and sometimes annoying, as any tourist who’s ever lost a pair of sunglasses to one of them can attest. And they can have fierce tempers that flare quickly, resulting in threatening displays of surprisingly sharp teeth.
But monkeys display many traits to which I aspire. Clever, agile and observant, they are great fun to watch. It’s almost impossible for me to study the antics of a monkey and not feel a lightness of spirit that corresponds to their nimble grace. They move easily from one height to another, pausing only slightly to grab, usually successfully, at anything that catches their eye. On the whole, I think I flatter myself to say I’m a good example of the monkey personality.
What is your Lunar zodiac sign? Do you see any similarities between yourself and the animal for whom your birth year was named? No matter your sign, I’m sending you a virtual Red Envelope with an imaginary thousand dollar bill, symbolizing my best wishes for good fortune and a wonderful year!
This post was first published seven years ago today. This year, the Lunar New Year began on January 22, 2023. This is the year of the Water Rabbit.
The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Where snow is rare
How rare is a snowball fight in summer?
Jeff and Drew took advantage of the strange weather at Crater Lake in June, 2000.
“I’ve always felt lucky to live someplace where snow is rare, you know? It’s rareness that makes it so special.” ― Stephanie Perkins
Unlike Perkins, I didn’t always feel lucky that snow was rare for me. As a kid I read books about other kids from all different eras, who lived where the snow piled up in huge drifts and the winds and wolves howled outside and hot chocolate and cookies waited by the hearth. It sounded heavenly, being able to curl up with a book indoors, knowing nobody would make me go outside to play (in my childhood, it was very common for mothers to order kids to go play outside while they chatted over coffee with neighbors). I thought living where there was lots and lots of snow must be almost magical.
This passed as a snowfall in Atlanta, but Al and I were still able to make a Snow-Daddy.
A bit rounder, but still recognizable. East Point, Georgia, around 1966.
In adulthood, after four years in Dayton, Ohio, I was pretty well cured of my romantic notions of snow. I had never realized how much I’d miss seeing the ground if it was covered up with white for weeks on end. Not to mention driving in it, walking in it, bundling up two babies plus myself every time I ventured out…I too ended up feeling lucky to have lived where snow was rare, but in my case, it was for mostly practical reasons.
During the decades that followed, during which we lived where snow was not only rare, but pretty much nonexistent, I never missed it. But I must admit now, when I see it starting to fall, I feel a bit of the old excitement I used to feel as a kid. Maybe not enough to actually wish for a big snowstorm. Just enough to appreciate how pretty it can be. The other day I said to Jeff “I guess it might be a bit disappointing to get through an entire winter with no snowfalls.” He had a ready answer. “I don’t think I’d regret it.”
I first wrote this post just a couple of days before the predictions of the Great Blizzards of 2016 were announced. The rest, as they say, is history. Up until then, we had a few flurries blowing through the sky, but no snow to speak of. How quickly things change.
If you live where snow is rare, enjoy it! And if you live where it’s everywhere, all around, all the time, like election coverage, enjoy it! (The snow, not the election coverage.) Either way, have a bit of February fun. Find a comfy chair, put your feet up, and read, or doze, or listen to music, or indulge in a video or some other election-free television. Have a hot cup of tea or coffee, and let us know how the weather is in your neck of the woods.
This post was first published seven years ago today. That year was an election year (and an amazing one at that) but it seems that talk of elections is almost nonstop now, so perhaps the analogy will hold up even in 2023.
The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Only an adventure
These hikers chose adventure over the convenience of the sidewalks.
Boomdee and I admired their skill from the paved path at Great Falls, VA, April 2015
“An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered.” ― G.K. Chesterton
I must admit, it’s a bit of a stretch for me to consider most of what we call inconveniences as adventures. Being stuck in traffic? Waiting two hours for a doctors appointment? Having a flight cancelled or delayed? Being awakened early by someone calling the wrong number, or loud noise outside my window? How on earth can any of these things be thought of as adventures?
Perhaps Chesterton wrote in the days before “inconvenience” became a ubiquitous euphemism for mistake or poor customer service — as in “we apologize for the inconvenience.” Maybe in Chesterton’s day, an inconvenience was something riskier or more life-altering.
However, most inconveniences do contain at least the seeds of some sort of adventure. In bad traffic, we might choose to take a detour and explore new roads. While waiting around, we can lose ourselves in another world via a novel or other reading material. If we are awake earlier than needed, we can take it as a gift of time and start our day with something we enjoy that we don’t usually make time for in the morning, such as a leisurely cup of tea or coffee as we gaze outside at the morning light. No telling what we might see– interesting or delightful things that we’re normally too busy to notice.
There’s a sense in which anything out of the ordinary really is an adventure, if we train our minds to see it as such. “Rightly considered,” it’s an adventure just to be alive, no matter how inconvenient it can become. It can become a kind of game to take Chesterton’s words as a challenge, and transform irritation by imagination.
What annoyances are we most likely to “wrongly consider” today? Let’s exercise the alchemy of attitude, and have an adventure instead.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
The still ecstasy
Silesian – Moravian Beskids in winter by Marcin Szala
CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
“There is nothing in the world more beautiful than the forest clothed to its very hollows in snow. It is the still ecstasy of nature, wherein every spray, every blade of grass, every spire of reed, every intricacy of twig, is clad with radiance.” — William Sharp
This isn’t the post I had scheduled for today, but I couldn’t let the gorgeous snow disappear without mentioning the record-setting blizzards that covered so much of the country last week. I was in Atlanta when the storms hit the DC area, and found myself stranded there as I rescheduled my flights twice before being able to get home.
Luckily, the frustration of being stuck was tempered by having more time with Mama, Grady, and others I love. I had thought I was going to miss the flight disruptions because I flew in and out of Richmond, Virginia, instead of Washington DC. I was wrong. The Richmond airport was closed for a shorter time than the DC area airports, but long enough to change my plans.
Even Atlanta got a little bit of snow. A VERY little bit, as it turned out, but still enough to close the schools early, in the time-honored deep south tradition of freaking out at enthusiastic celebration of the very mention of snow. About which, more to come in a scheduled post that, oddly enough, was written just before the forecasts of blizzards to come.
Grady studies the first Georgia snow he can remember.
Despite the inconvenience of schedule changes, I must admit I found last week exciting in some respects. I can’t remember when more of the country was getting huge amounts of snow at the same time. When we arrived back in the DC area Monday night, we were delighted to find that our thoughtful next door neighbors had shoveled the snow from our parking spaces, walkways and front porch — a good thing, since the snow now is piled literally six feet high in some places. My appreciation of kind friends and efficient road crews is at record highs to match the beautiful white drifts.
I got a big laugh when I opened our back door to put something in the recycling bin.
The past two days have been sunny and relatively warm, so the snows are melting fast. I shoveled part of our deck today, and the creek behind our house is singing a lovely song as the water runs freely through the banks of white. I have felt anxious and sad for those who were drastically affected by the weather, and mindful of how fortunate we were to have nothing more than schedule changes to endure. But even knowing the havoc the weather can bring, the beauty of it still takes my breath away.
Did you avoid Snowmageddon 2016, or were you among those of us snuggled up indoors, sipping hot tea and sleeping in and generally making the best of being trapped inside? Feel free to send us updates, photos and stories– and stay warm and cozy as we remind ourselves that spring REALLY WILL be here before we know it.
This post was first published seven years ago today. Re-reading it again for the first time since then, I smiled as I remembered my sister and her husband being stuck here with me over New Year’s weekend at the beginning of 2022. Just a few weeks from finishing grueling cancer treatment, George valiantly shoveled snow to free the Uber car that came to deliver them to the airport for their rescheduled flight, the Uber driver having gotten stuck in the deep drifts at the end of our street. And of course, who can forget the mass chaos of the Christmas weather at the end of this year? It seems 2022 was bookended by the sort of winter storms I wrote about in this post.
The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
It really is
A red bromeliad at the U.S. Botanic Garden, Washington, DC, April 2014
“Life is like a flower. You don’t realize how beautiful it really is until you take a closer look.” — Ash Sweeney
I wasn’t able to find out anything much about Ash Sweeney other than endless web pages citing quotes from him (or her) such as this one. Perhaps Sweeney is a robot, or a pen name, or an urban legend. But truth can be found in the most unlikely places, and this quote appeals to me as one who loves both flowers and life more than some people seem to understand.
The analogy is simple, but it holds up in many respects. How often do we rush past a single flower, impressed only by a display of them in masses? How many tiny wildflowers do we disregard every day, simply because they are generally not considered valuable? Are we suitably amazed at the variety of shapes, colors and sizes to be found and enjoyed? Do we realize how much it might elevate our moods if we paused to appreciate at least one or two live flowers each day? Are flowers more beautiful individually, or when combined into a gorgeous bouquet? Or is each presentation equally beautiful in its own way?
Life really is stunningly beautiful. That’s not to say it’s always easy, pretty, appealing, refreshing or even profound, though it is all of those things at various times, to varying degrees. Very few among us willingly part with the enormous gift of time on this planet that we are allowed to spend, to at least some degree, as we choose. No matter how hard it gets (and for far too many, it’s harder than we can imagine) the human spirit still yearns to survive here as long as possible.
Some believe this life is all there is, and some of us– count me in this group– believe it’s only a passage to another, more eternal destination. But I’ve noticed that folks in both groups want to extend our time here on planet Earth as much as we can. I think that’s an indication that the loveliness is always there, even when it is distorted by ugliness or hidden by apathy.
Look closely today, at a flower, and at life, and be blessed by an understanding of the beauty of both.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Walking around
I caught myself admiring a lovely Wedgwood tea set, London, November 2005
“I absolutely love cities that reward walking. In London, you can’t go three blocks without coming upon something grand and historic, a charming little square, or an interesting piece of street life. To paraphrase Samuel Johnson, when you’re tired of walking around London, you’re tired of life.” — Alex Soojung-Kim Pang
For those who haven’t yet figured it out, I’m often writing things I need to read or hear myself. So today, I’m reminding myself of how much I love to walk.
The insanely busy holiday season, coupled with the rainy and/or cold weather and my generally low moods lately have meant that I’ve not been walking nearly as much as usual. Like maybe 3-4 days of every week, at most, and only two miles or so when I do walk. For someone who used to walk five miles EVERY day (no matter the weather), this is a considerable slump. My bathroom scales know it, but more importantly, my mind and body feel it. I really, really need to get going again. Hence the pep talk.
It’s not a hard argument to make, though. I agree with Pang; I’m crazy about cities that reward walking. In this category I would immediately think of London, as he mentions, but also of Paris, Rome, New York, San Francisco, Boston, Washington DC and pretty much any charming little town on either coast. Come to think of it, once you figure out where the sidewalks, bike lanes or other pedestrian-friendly roads are, almost anyplace can reward walking.
Cities offer an energy and vitality not found anywhere else, but suburban and rural settings have unique charms, too. No matter where we are walking, our minds are on a scavenger hunt for images that inspire, amuse, educate or palliate. Whether we snap photos with a man-made camera or gather visual memories with only our neurological equipment, we are building a scrapbook of comfort and joy that will stay with us on an unconscious level, even as our minds must return to focus on other tasks.
It may be true that when we’re tired of walking, we’re tired of life. If so, addressing the symptoms could affect the cure. I invite you to join me in getting outside, even in the cold or rain (bundle up! take an umbrella!) to gather images for our personal collections of things to be happy about. If you’re in the country, keep an eye out for wildlife, and an ear open to birdsong. If you’re in a suburb or city, stop in an interesting shop, or treat yourself to a cup of coffee or tea at a charming bistro. Or just use your imagination to transform a mundane scene into something unique, by looking more closely, or from a different angle.
Let’s go claim some of the rewards of walking. Feel free to share with us some details what you find (or what finds you).
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
In spite of all
Crowds admire the King Monument during the Cherry Blossom Festival, April, 2015.
“If you lose hope, somehow you lose the vitality that keeps life moving, you lose that courage to be, that quality that helps you to go on in spite of all. And so today I still have a dream.” — Martin Luther King, Jr. The Trumpet of Conscience, 1968
Today we remember Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and honor the values for which he lived and died. Some will think first of his pivotal role in the American civil rights movement. Some will remember his ministry and his devotion to the Christian faith. Courage in the face of persecution, determined adherence to the principles of nonviolent resistance, and dedication to promoting worldwide brotherhood and justice are foundations of his enduring legacy.
Perhaps the single aspect of his character that inspires me most is the underlying hope that sparked his tireless efforts. His life, as well as the era in which he lived, provided ample reasons for cynicism, despair and resignation, but he refused to be defeated by the darkness.
In a recent post, I mentioned my choice of the word “redemption” as my word for this year. The following words, taken from Dr. King’s famous speech in Washington DC in 1963, link his luminous hope with the promise of redemption:
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations…You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
King was speaking here to those who had been jailed, persecuted and brutalized for their work in the civil rights movement, but his words reach beyond his immediate audience and touch the hearts of many “veterans of creative suffering” facing other difficulties and challenges. In reminding us that suffering brings redemption, he strengthens our spirits and renews our determination to persevere.
Today, whatever problems you may be facing, I hope you will find inspiration in King’s dedication to keeping the dream alive.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Like enthusiasm
I wish you a candy-colored day of bountiful brilliance!
I loved these cute confections in a perky Pennsylvania store display, June 2015.
“Color in a picture is like enthusiasm in life.” – Vincent Van Gogh
January paints nature with a muted palette, but that doesn’t mean our days have to be dull during the winter months. Add some color to your life, literally or figuratively, and get a jump on springtime by animating your mood with some sparkle.
When was the last time you awakened with excitement about the day ahead? Can’t remember? Me either. Time to fix that. Let’s put on some lilting music, or read some uproariously funny writing, or treat ourselves to something out of the ordinary, even if it’s only glittery nail polish or a single fresh flower in a bud vase. Choose a bright jacket or sweater or scarf and dress with a bit of flair, even if you don’t expect to see anyone.
Grab your camera or smart phone, and take a picture of something whimsical or flashy or adorable, and send it our way. If you have a completed piece of coloring book art, I’d love to see it! The world is chock-full of surprises we can unpack for each other without spending a dime, or a lot of time.
Why not trade up from the 8-pack of crayons and use all 64 brilliant colors to design a delightful day? I’m pouring us some bright red hibiscus tea, and spiking it with black for the energizing caffeine. On second thought, maybe we won’t need it. I’m feeling more lively already.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Greatness in small things
A charming display of teapots greeted us at a Pennsylvania bed & breakfast inn, June 2015
“When tea becomes ritual, it takes its place at the heart of our ability to see greatness in small things.” — Muriel Barbery
Okay, so it’s now definitely winter– if you’re very far north of the tropics, that is. Despite the deceptively warm days of this past December, cold weather will be our frequent companion for weeks to come. Time for bundling up– or perhaps I should say settling down? for some cozy comforts to chase away the chill. Whether your day will take you indoors or out, be sure to make time for tea.
Note that I said “make time for tea,” not “have some tea” or “drink tea.” One of the great transforming qualities of becoming a tea lover is the inevitability that it will become a centering ritual, calming our nerves even before we take that first taste. Coffee drinkers also understand this, though that beverage is more often associated with busy days and drinking “on the run” — a shame, really, given the salutary benefits of serene sipping.
This winter morning, I invite you to sit down with me for a few minutes of reflective enjoyment. The kettle is on, and there has never been a better time to appreciate the greatness of small things. What are some of the everyday joys you look forward to this week?
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Making life more bearable
Creativity can blossom anywhere, as this artist knows. Washington DC, April 2015
“The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow…” — Kurt Vonnegut
“What is the purpose of your blog?” That’s a question others have asked occasionally in the years since I started this blog. As far as I can remember, my answer is always the same.
“The purpose of my blog is to keep me from losing my mind.”
That’s not to say that I consider it art, except in the sense that Vonnegut describes above. But I agree with him heartily when he asserts that creativity can make our souls grow, and our efforts to create will bear fruit in ways we do not imagine at the time we are working.
I started this blog because our family had been blindsided by devastating news that threatened to overwhelm us. Even in our numb sorrow, we understood that we were far from alone in our suffering. I hoped what I put online here would somehow help someone else in addition to helping me. I had no idea blogging was a magic carpet that would take me to places where I had never been, and introduce me to wonderful people I could not otherwise have known.
In the beginning, I only knew that the act of producing each post — poring over photographs, reading quotations, piecing thoughts together — was a therapeutic process, one that healed my mind and gave it a respite from turmoil. Stringing beads does the same thing, as does working with paper, scissors and glue. Singing (badly) and painting (on a kindergarten level) also give my soul freedom from unhealthy worries and fixations not conducive to surviving and thriving.
It’s probably the same for you. Some who may read this post are accomplished artists and writers who have turned their talents to financial gain, but that sort of professional achievement is not necessary for the therapeutic benefit (and indeed, I suspect, may work against it in some cases). Creativity is its own reward, watering the seeds in the garden of your mind so that beautiful and unexpected blooms may result.
This year I hope you will give yourself time and space to exercise whatever forms of creativity feed your soul. Don’t worry about whether it’s ready for prime time or not. You need not share it with anyone except yourself, especially in the beginning. It doesn’t require a lot of money, either. Discount craft supplies and “found” collage materials and online musical inspiration and all sorts of writing and drawing implements, and any other items you may need for getting started, are widely available for nothing, or next to nothing. So practice your art! And get ready to grow.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Between intention and habit
Kelly shares her love of paper with a shopkeeper in Old Town Alexandria, April 2015
“With all the advantages being online gives us, we’re also offered a set of potential dangers we have to understand. What we know about how humans react to virtual environments is still in its infancy…In the battle between intention and habit, we need to be able to work out who is winning; who is master, and who is slave.”
— Jeremy Dean
In recent years, our holiday gift selection always contains at least one digital or electronic gadget of some kind, and often more than one. I imagine that’s something quite a few of us have in common.
There’s nothing wrong with these handy and amazing little machines, of course. They can make life convenient, interesting and fun in more ways than we can count, and new uses for them materialize every day.
There’s a risk, though, as our world is increasingly made up of our online interactions. It basically means we are always elsewhere, acting and speaking and reading and even thinking in virtual venues that are far removed from our physical presence.
It sometimes seems that the more connected we are in the digital sense, the more disconnected we are with many of the essential qualities that have made people uniquely human for centuries. Is it possible that we are beginning to outsource even our most basic relationships?
I realize that probably sounds like so much psychobabble, but think about it. What percentage of the words you hear or read daily come directly from someone you know, as compared to the words that reach us via the media — television, movies, gadgets, commercials, computers?
When you are out in public, do you make eye contact (not to mention exchange verbal greetings) with the store clerks, grocers and other service staff whose jobs have not yet been handed off to machines? Or are your eyes usually on your smart phone?
Do you transact more and more of your everyday business online, where you never even come face to face with another person?
More tellingly, are you most comfortable in the seeming anonymity of the online environment? I plead guilty to that one. Even in the “real world” I opt for the self-service machines every time, at the grocery, library or bank, whether or not I’m having a bad hair day.
Still creepier is the question of whether we’d rather spend an hour with the characters of Downton Abbey or another TV series, than with some of our actual friends. Television characters can be turned off and on at will, and they never ask for favors or annoy us by calling at inconvenient times. How very easy and contained and undemanding! Not at all like actual people.
The irony of writing this message via a public blog hasn’t escaped me. I’m aware that I’m stepping on my own toes here. However, I do think there is a degree of person-to-person interaction in environments such as this one, which often lead to delightful real-world friendships and actual postal mail that can be opened and read the old-fashioned way.
Meanwhile, I challenge each of us to increase our face-to-face time this year. As a special concession to our busy schedules and geographic separation, I decree that Skype sessions count as face-to-face time– as long as it’s still less than, say, 10% of our interaction.
One of the fun things about being live and in person with Kelly (aka Boomdee aka Petals) last April was the way she made friends with everyone she met, even some non-humans such as squirrels in the park. Plus, it seemed like everywhere she went, she left generous tips. If there wasn’t a tip jar sitting out, she would ask where one was.
It’s hard not to feel happier when you are with someone who is walking around improving the day of every person she comes in contact with. What cheerful fun! What a great example for me! And it’s a perfect illustration of how an online connection can lead to a fabulous week of real-world interaction.
Let’s all channel our inner Boomdee. Take a friend to lunch. Visit an elderly person or someone confined to home or otherwise at risk of isolation. Or if you’re too busy to do these things, start with smiling and speaking to that person at the drive through window who hands you your coffee. Maybe even leave a tip in one of those places where you aren’t expected to leave one. (OK, I know this will be tough for some of us. I won’t ask for a show of hands on this one. 😉 )
I don’t know about you, but generally speaking, my habits are far more powerful than my intentions. So Dean’s warning is not lost on me. I plan to become more intentional about increasing the total amount of time I spend in pleasant face-to-face interactions with people this year– and maybe even make a habit of it.
Any thoughts, ideas, advice, suggestions?
This post was first published seven years ago today. Since then, we seem even more disconnected from face-to-face interaction, and the pandemic has only complicated things. But I’m more convinced than ever that we need to make specific, diligent efforts to combat the tendency to isolate ourselves within our cozy, comfortable cocoons of the predictable and undemanding.
The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
A story
You may not have total plot control, but the theme is your choice.
“You have a story. It doesn’t have you.” — Mark Brunetz
At year’s end, we often take stock of the past twelve months, and this can lead us into contemplation about past years. For many of us 2015 has been more remarkable for its difficulties than for its successes or gifts. Come to think of it, the same could be said about our entire lives…but only if we choose to see our stories through a harsh and unforgiving lens.
Each person’s life is important, and we gain nothing by flinching at the unpleasant truths our biographies contain. Discounting or ignoring pain and trauma does not defeat despair. At best, it allows for a temporary escape that may only worsen the blow when reality intrudes again, as it inevitably will.
But there’s a difference between denial and discernment. We can recognize the pitfalls of the terrain and use that insight to be selective about how we build upon it. Just as every story has its sorrows and failures, so each contains unique beauty, or at least the seeds of it. There’s no doubt that some lives are more burdened with tragedy and suffering than others. Yet history teaches us that amazing, world-changing ideas, movements, art, science and progress often come from people who have faced bitter uphill battles.
If you are reading this, you have survived another year. That’s an accomplishment in itself, and for some of us, it’s a rather remarkable one. I invite you to join me in celebrating the past year and all that it brought us, whether pleasant or painful, ecstatic or agonizing. Our enduring task is to take whatever life brought us and turn it toward good.
Perhaps our difficulties made us more patient, or compassionate, or wise. Or maybe we’re simply happy to be on the other side of whatever it was that was so unbearable…or, if we aren’t yet there, we are looking forward to a time when we DO reach that other side. Meanwhile, let’s celebrate our own grit and determination and tenacity.
If you read the comments here, you know that Alys recently mentioned choosing a word for the coming year. I love the concept of having a one-word theme in lieu of a list of resolutions. I was casting around for precisely the word I wanted to have as my theme for 2016, and while writing this post, it came to me. My word for 2016 is a word I’ve always thought profoundly beautiful: redemption. There are many nuances to this word, but for me, it encapsulates the concept of taking what seems damaged, useless or compromised, and transforming it to something richer and more complete.
Whether your own story this year has been full of woe or wonder, delight or disappointment, or (most likely) a mixture of all these, I hope you will remember that your life is always a work in progress, and the tale is not yet finished. What word will be your bellwether for 2016?
Thanks for being with us on this journey. I wish for all of us a year of growth, discovery and contentment. Happy New Year!
This post was first published seven years ago today. This year, as then, the most remarkable aspect of the past year for me has been the fact that I survived it all. If you keep up with me on a personal level, you know the ongoing challenges to which I’m referring. But happily, the year was not without its high points and joys. If you too have had a very rough year, I congratulate you on your survival, and hope that there have been bright moments that sparkle and shine.
The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Bloom indoors
House plants in the conservatory at Dunster Castle, Somerset.
Photo by Ian Turk, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0, via Compfight.com
“I bloom indoors in winter like a forced forsythia; I come in to come out. At night I read and write, and things I have never understood become clear; I reap the harvest of the rest of the year’s planting.” – Annie Dillard
One of the best things about being an adult at Christmas is how it seems such a short time between one Christmas and the next. When I was a child, there was a mild but unmistakable melancholy that began with the anti-climactic feeling on Christmas evening; the magic was over for another year, and it seemed forever before another one would be back.
Now, I actually enjoy the period after Christmas as much as the time beforehand. Maybe even more. Beyond the fun of drinking all the new teas people gave me using whatever new items I may have received as Christmas gifts, there’s a delicious feeling of settling down for a winter that still seems full of promise. The days will grow gradually longer, and spring is coming, but for now the weather is the perfect excuse to give myself the liberty to stay inside and putter around doing my favorite things.
What do you look forward to doing this winter? I love to browse my books and sip my tea (or cocoa spiked with coffee) and write notes and letters. I like to dream of gardening, and sometimes go so far as to plant seeds, though they rarely if ever get large enough to transplant. I make more time for the crafts I love all year long. I clean out closets and weed through possessions and imagine being completely organized. If the weather is unusually cold or nasty, I’ll fire up the gas logs and read or nap by the closest thing I have to a roaring fire in a masonry fireplace.
What ways will you bloom this winter? Send me some suggestions to add to my own list. As in the summer, I’m well aware that I can never do all the things I dream of doing in one season. But winter is a great time for daydreaming; for reaping the harvest of contentment and peace that eludes us in the frenetic pace we tend to adopt in milder weather. Enjoy the parts of your personality that only come out indoors!
This post was first published seven years ago today. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, below. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Defeat Despair 