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.
The keeping-place
Grady is never more fun than at Christmas time. Alexandria, December 2014
“Christmas is the keeping-place for memories of our innocence.” — Joan Mills
I couldn’t find anything about who Joan Mills was, but she must have had memories of Christmas that were similar to my own. For me, no other time of year brings as deep a connection to childhood. Perhaps it’s the combination of scents, sights and sounds unique to the season that can so quickly and directly tap into the subconscious. Or maybe we see ourselves reflected in the young ones who so enjoy the excitement, free from all the cares and obligations and exhaustion that inevitably accompany our adult experiences of holidays.
As Charles Dickens said, it’s good to be children sometimes. I hope that you can grab a few minutes tonight to sit quietly and think back on your earliest memories of this season. It’s likely to be a bittersweet recollection. Not everything in the past was happy, and even when joy predominates, many of us are looking back at that joy through the lens of later sorrows we could not have imagined at such a tender age.
Regardless of whether our mind’s eyes see our six-year-old selves living in innocent bliss, harsh reality or somewhere in between, we can remember and celebrate the child who is, after all, still very much alive somewhere inside us. I’m thankful to be an adult now, but also grateful to the child inside me who taught me so much, and continues to teach me. I invite you to join me in allowing that inner child to play a large role in the season, however you choose to observe it, and maybe a little bit of the lost enchantment will awaken.
Thanks for being here with us! I wish you a very happy Christmas, and a year full of blessings in 2016.
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.
Love, not money
It doesn’t show the whole tree, but you get the idea. Yorktown, Virginia, 2010.
“The Christmas tree is a symbol of love, not money. There’s a kind of glory to them when they’re all lit up that exceeds anything all the money in the world could buy.”
― Andy Rooney
OK, for those of you who don’t already know it, I confess that our Christmas tree is WAY, way overdone. I always insisted on a live one until the ever-increasing quantity of my ornament collection got to the point where it would kill even the biggest, thickest “real” tree. In 2000, we got our first and only artificial tree, and it’s a dandy. Though it loses a ton of needles every time we put it up and take it down (and I thought it was only live trees that did that!), it’s still thicker than anything I’ve seen in any store recently.
Our tree is my personal scrapbook, so lots of things that aren’t really meant to be ornaments end up getting transformed into something I can hang on the tree. Since I put about 4000 colored lights on it, and some more conventional baubles as well, the oddball artifacts somehow blend into the scene without creating too much disturbance, at least not to us. The real drawback to our tree is how much time it takes me to finish decorating it each year.
Or maybe it’s not a drawback at all. Maybe that’s actually a strong point. Once I finish wrestling with those branches that get bent out of shape sitting in the box all year long, and put 40 strings of lights and a star on it, the fun part starts. Hanging the ornaments can be very relaxing, even with a tall ladder, as long as I don’t rush myself. While decorating I listen to Jeff and Matt reading, or have an audiobook on, or play Christmas music. I take it a little at a time and usually don’t totally finish up until just before Christmas (or Thanksgiving, if we are hosting company for a big party that weekend).
My love of Christmas trees goes as far back as I can remember. In fact, here’s one of the first photographs I ever made, using my cheap K-Mart plastic camera and some black and white 127 film, which I used to buy for 25 cents a roll. I’m guessing this was around 1964 or 1965:
Daddy always started with the star.
Taking the tree down is almost — but not quite — as time-consuming as putting it up, and is a lot less fun. So each year, I tell myself that perhaps this will be the last year I undertake this rather ambitious task. Not to worry, though…the torch is passed to a new generation!
Do you have a Christmas tree or any other special traditions? What decorations, games and treats do you love best? Tell us about them and we might get some ideas for our own celebrations. And while you’re at it, if you need any ornaments, let me know what kind you like best, and I’ll send you one from our personal collection. Whether you deck your own halls or celebrate Christmas mostly in your heart (or not at all), I wish you a December full of memories to treasure for a lifetime.
This post was first published seven years ago today. I have only put the Christmas tree up two Christmas seasons since Jeff died (2018 and again in 2021), but whether I decorate it or not, I love the memories of it.
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.
Gifts of time and love
One of several vintage family treasures Sheila shared with me for Christmas, 2014
“Gifts of time and love are surely the basic ingredients of a truly merry Christmas.”
— Peg Bracken
I love Christmas! But it can be exhausting and stressful, particularly when invitations, intentions and demands are far greater than the time (and maybe also the money) to fulfill them. In recent years I have reminded myself to focus on the basic ingredients, and delight in what I’m able to do rather than longing for the extras I’d want to enjoy in an ideal holiday season.
One rule I follow at Christmas is to do nothing out of a sense of obligation, but simply for the sheer joy of it. I prefer sending small gifts and cards so that nobody feels a need to reciprocate. What I don’t have time to finish doesn’t get done, and I don’t pressure myself to bake, decorate or entertain unless time and opportunity allow it. Jeff’s illness has meant that many of our traditional festivities have been impossible in the past few years, but our holidays still have been filled with celebration and joy amid all the uncertainties and losses.
As I have savored various Christmas activities this year, from decorating the tree to wrapping presents to listening to Christmas music, I realize that most of what I know about these things, I learned from my Daddy. I am filled with thankfulness to him for showing us how to celebrate the yuletide abundantly without spending a lot of money or going into debt. He is so much a part of my memories of Christmas that it has been easier than it might have been to endure his physical absence this holiday. His spirit permeates everything about the season, so it’s almost as if he is still here with us.
I’m also grateful to so many of you whose presence I feel just as surely during this time. The gifts of time and love you have sent me over the past three years have lightened my burdens and brightened my life. My hope for each of you is that your December is filled with showers of blessings, shining brightly, warming your heart and home.
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.
Natural relief
Mr. Kitty liked to lie down with Daddy and Mama for an afternoon nap. February 2015
“…if [cats] are content, their contentment is absolute; and our jaded and wearied spirits find a natural relief in the sight…” — Agnes Repplier
What animal comes to mind when you hear these words: relaxed, languid, graceful, calm, serene? For me, it’s always a cat.
I’m a dog person through and through. I identify with their boundless eagerness to explore, and I delight in the friendly regard that characterizes most breeds. But during childhood, all but one of our cherished pets were cats, and I love them almost as well.
There are a lot of jokes about how indifferent cats can be, but those of us who have been close to kitties know better. Though they have an innate dignity that may prevent them from showing the uninhibited enthusiasm so common to canines, they can and do form deeply affectionate bonds with humans, and their company can be every bit as therapeutic.
Next time you feel frazzled and frustrated, spend some time with a friendly feline. If you don’t live in proximity to one, just imagine a quietly purring cat curled up at your feet, and channel their sleepy but sharp gaze that sees their world through half-closed eyes. Perhaps you will feel a nice nap coming on. Awake or asleep, I wish you pleasant dreams.
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.
Substantive heroism
Jeff dozes as Matt recovers in the ICU after his fifth open heart surgery, April 2014.
My screen captured this peaceful moment, a respite amid two intense weeks in the hospital.
“Resilience, inventiveness, and survivorship– qualities often ascribed to great physicians– are reflected qualities, emanating first from those who struggle with illness and only then mirrored by those who treat them. If the history of medicine is told through the stories of doctors, it is because their contributions stand in place of the more substantive heroism of their patients.” ― Siddhartha Mukherjee
Reading Mukherjee’s impressive history of cancer treatment has made me even more aware of how much we owe to earlier generations of patients. These pioneers endured extreme discomfort, agony and even death from experimental treatments. Their determination and courage enabled the medical advances that save so many of our lives today. As in every other area of life, we benefit from the sacrifices of thousands of people whose names we will never know.
Illness takes no holidays, and medical crises have no predictable calendar. We all know people who are dealing with serious illness this season, unable to enjoy the festive cheer with the lightheartedness that is possible for those of us in good health. I hope we will remember these friends in some way. A personal note, a heartfelt prayer, a visit or call or small gift; any gesture that will acknowledge their trials, and let them know they are not forgotten in the rush of December. One of the best ways to defeat despair is to brighten someone else’s day, especially this time of year.
This post was first published seven years ago today. Looking at it, I am amazed at Jeff’s stamina. When this photo was taken, he was himself less than five months recovered from a three-week hospital stay at Walter Reed in November and December of the previous year, after nearly dying during a marathon surgery that lasted all one day and into the next, his being kept deeply sleeping overnight while his surgeons took a brief respite. I’m also amazed at my son Matthew, who has suffered so much for so long, yet continues to love people and life with an enthusiasm that has never left him. Reflecting on my close association with these two remarkable men, I cannot feel as sorry for myself as I sometimes do. I’m thankful these posts remind me of how blessed I have been.
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 only real difference
This isn’t retouched; it really looked like this.
Southwest flight 2361, November 2015
“The only real difference between Anxiety and Excitement was my willingness to let go of Fear.” — Barbara Brown Taylor
Sometime during our sons’ toddler years, around 1987, we had the misfortune to be on a really harrowing airline flight from Tampa to Charlotte en route back to our home in Dayton, Ohio. It’s the only time I’ve been on an airplane where the storm was so violent and the turbulence so extreme that people were screaming in fear. The captain announced, grimly, that there was no way to fly above or below the widespread thunderstorm; the flight attendants would have to remain strapped in, as would the rest of us, and we’d just have to tough it out. It didn’t help that it was a late flight, pitch dark outside except for the lightning.
This was during my years at USAir (then Piedmont Airlines), and we were flying “non-rev,” which meant that we were on free space-available passes, taking whatever seats had been left. It was a full flight, so we couldn’t sit together. Jeff sat with one son and I took the other (I don’t even remember who was with whom). I was seated next to another Piedmont employee, a mechanic, whose coworker sat across the aisle from us. During some of the worst moments, he exchanged fairly horrified looks with his friend. That wasn’t reassuring amid the sounds of airsickness, crying and fear all around us.
Eventually we landed safely in Charlotte, where I begged Jeff to rent a car and drive from there back to Dayton. I was serious. I felt as terrified as I had ever been. A confidence built on a lifetime of carefree trips, winging all over the world without a thought for safety, had suddenly vanished. It was to be a very long time before I could get on a plane without being far too nervous to enjoy it. When my father retired in 1988, someone videotaped most of his final flight from LAX to ATL, and I saw for the first time what a landing looks like from the cockpit of a jumbo jet, and heard the voices of the ATC personnel counting down the distance to the ground. It was all much less fearful from that standpoint, and I began to relax a bit. But the joy I had once felt in flying still did not return.
Perhaps it’s something to do with getting older, but my fear of airline travel has mostly subsided now. I still avoid window seats, but recently on a flight to Atlanta, I ended up in one. It was a sunny beautiful day, and as we banked over the Potomac, the views of DC were breathtaking. Grabbing my purse and fumbling for my camera, I felt annoyed with myself that I was not ready in time to photograph the Jefferson, Lincoln and Washington monuments from a rare and perfect perspective.
By the time we climbed over the clouds, though, the view was almost as arresting. It’s pictured above in the surreal clarity I saw out my window for nearly half an hour, though the brilliant sunlight cannot truly be captured in a photograph. Nobody else seemed to notice what I was seeing; they were all absorbed in their gadgets or books or naps. But I couldn’t take my eyes off the endless vista outside.
As happens occasionally in recent years, I was carried back in time briefly to my childhood, when the sky was my favorite place to be. What normally felt like anxiety was transformed to wonder and excitement. Maybe it was the bits of himself that Daddy left with us, coming together again and chasing away the fear and sadness with a childlike faith and joy in something that remains, even when I don’t realize it, an amazing gift that will never completely leave me.
Do you have any sources of anxiety that might be transformed to excitement if you could let go of fear? What do we have to gain– or lose– from such a transformation? How much exhilaration is present our every day, subdued by agitation or worry?
This post was first published seven years ago today. I’m happy to say that my joy in flying has now come full circle back to the fearless enthusiasm that was my birthright. With all the turmoil of recent years, I have somehow managed many, many travels and explorations. This has helped me to focus on the wider world, turning my thoughts away from personal sorrow.
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.
Break the habit
I photographed these flowers almost exactly ten years ago today.
They continue to bring me joy. Paris, December 2005
“Talking about our problems is our greatest addiction. Break the habit. Talk about your joys.” — Rita Schiano
Right now I could sit here and go on for hours about the cares that I am facing– which include deep sorrows, minor annoyances, and the entire spectrum of trials that lie in between. I’m almost certain you could too. I know some people are deemed more fortunate than others, and some in this world are suffering atrocities that go beyond our comprehension. Yet, even among those of us who are blessed to be free of dangerous turmoil, I doubt that anyone is without cares and challenges.
The good news is that no life need be bereft of joys, either. They lie all around us, quickened by awareness and illuminated by our focused attention. For me, there is hardly anything more fun than noticing and sharing the beauty and humor and color and whimsy of life. A flower, a song, a funny joke, a good book, a cup of tea or coffee, a nice hot meal in a cozy kitchen…on and on the list could go.
There’s a place, of course, for sharing our sorrows with those who have earned our trust. We all need to vent at times, and to explore aloud the difficulties that can vex and overwhelm us to the point of paralysis. I thank God for those friends who are willing to walk with us through the uncertainty of pain and suffering.
But it’s just as important– and maybe even more so– to have friends who shine into our somber moods with a lightness of spirit that lifts our hearts. These folks don’t minimize or ignore their own problems, or anyone else’s, but they have a knack for spotting the rainbows lurking within the storms. If you know people with such a gift, stay close to them and learn from them. Prepare yourself to be, as Maya Angelou has said, “the rainbow in someone else’s cloud.”
It seems we are surrounded by talk about our problems. It’s a significant part of almost every television show, and is the underlying message of many commercials. It takes up much of our conversations wherever we go. What a waste of happiness, to live our short lives surrounded by gloom!
I hope you will join me in breaking the habit of allowing our talk to focus on our problems. It’s true that we cannot avoid dealing with our challenges, but talking about them often makes them seem worse than they are, and too often, talk does not bring solutions. I invite you to spend a few minutes focusing on something worth smiling about. Feel free to scatter some of the sunbeams you gather, by sharing about them in the comments today!
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.
Odd but true
Grace reading at Howth Bay by William Orpen, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
“It’s odd but true that there really is consolation from sad poems, and it’s hard to know how that happens. There is the pleasure of the thing itself, the pleasure of the poem, and somehow it works against sadness.” – Carol Shields
When I first read this quote, I thought about the song “Fast Car” by Tracy Chapman. That’s a song, of course, not a poem, but it reminds me of poetry in its grace and power. Like the pleasure of a sad poem, the haunting sorrow of Chapman’s lyrics somehow work against sadness when I listen to it. Perhaps it gives me perspective, or helps me feel less lonely. Or maybe it’s just the resonant beauty of Chapman’s voice, dissolving my sorrow into her artistry.
I’ve found that reading poetry is sometimes exactly what I need to move into a sense of resolution when I feel troubled. A great many poems — maybe most of them — are not particularly cheerful. Some are downright heartbreaking. Among my favorite sad poems are The Broncho That Would Not Be Broken by Vachel Lindsey, Losers by Carl Sandburg, Incident by Countee Cullen, One Art by Elizabeth Bishop, and Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas. Are there any sad poems that you love?
I think learning to defeat despair means accepting that sadness is inevitable, part of the fabric of what it means to be alive. For centuries great artists have captured the depths of human emotion in art and literature, proving to generation after generation that however much times may change, all humans carry universal baggage. Happy endings and humor and whimsy are all wonderful and necessary, but we also need those voices that remind us of the somber truths we cannot escape.
Whether you are feeling happy or sad today, I hope you’ll pause for a few minutes and read a poem or two. You can choose one from a favorite, well-worn volume, or you can search the wonderful archive at the Writer’s Almanac. Or you can ask me for an alternate recommendation if you are not in the mood for the sad ones linked above. However you choose to access it, find some time to lose yourself in the pleasure of a poem.
This post was first published seven years ago today. One blessing I’ve had during the mostly-difficult period since then has been the chance to study poetry at Oxford University, via the weekly classes that were forced online during the Covid shutdown. During one workshop, our assignment for the week was to write a villanelle, a difficult form that I’ve always enjoyed reading and writing. I wrote a reply to Dylan Thomas’s famous villanelle linked above, and my Oxford tutor told me that I had “really pulled it off,” which I took as a great compliment. I am not going to publish it here (in case I decide to try someday to publish it elsewhere) but if you’d like to see it, you can leave a comment here and I’ll contact you via the email you include (hidden from public view, of course) when you leave your comment.
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.
Love at the board
With Carla on our last Thanksgiving BC (before cancer), Alexandria, November 2011.
For hearts that are kindly, with virtue and peace,
and not seeking blindly a hoard to increase;
for those who are grieving o’er life’s sordid plan;
for souls still believing in heaven and man;
for homes that are lowly with love at the board;
for things that are holy, I thank thee, O Lord!
For many of us, this Thanksgiving will be a bittersweet time as we observe the holiday without loved ones. This year, our family feels the absence of our Daddy who worked so hard for 87 years to ensure that we would celebrate this and all days with bounty, gratitude and reverence. We honor him today with the thankfulness he instilled in each one of us, bolstered by faith and renewed by deep joy in all that is beautiful and right in our world.
One year ago (2014), our family had experienced another sudden loss shortly before Thanksgiving. Even so, we were able to come together as a family and reflect upon those blessings that remained, and encourage one another with hope for the future.
The year before that (2013), we had a most unconventional Thanksgiving day, exhausted yet filled with thankfulness and hope.
The year before that (2012), we were reeling in the shock of Jeff’s stage IV cancer diagnosis, having received bad news followed by worse news followed by even worse news. Yet even that year, there were reasons to be thankful. Among them were the readers of the newly-begun Defeat Despair.
I didn’t know then that a blog I started as a personal effort to stay focused on blessings amid the trials was to introduce me to wonderful people all over the world. Though I could not know it in those early days, I would find myself three years hence with dear friends whose existence was then unknown to me, and my dear husband, my rock and surest support, would still be with us, still working full time, still defying the odds.
Thus we face another Thanksgiving Day with full hearts and a deep sense of gratitude for mercies that truly are new every morning. May each and every one who reads these words experience love, joy, peace and many reasons to be glad. Happy Thanksgiving!
This post was first published seven years ago today. During those years, the losses, illnesses and struggles have multiplied, at times to the point of seeming almost unbearable. Yet I can say honestly that I have never been without the knowledge– at times only in my head rather than my heart, but there nonetheless– that I have been, and continue to be, richly blessed. May this season find each of us counting those blessings that remain in our lives, as we hope for new ones yet unknown.
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.
Poetic memory
Drew and Matt at Kepaniwai Heritage Gardens, Maui, 1991
“The brain appears to possess a special area which we might call poetic memory and which records everything that charms or touches us, that makes our lives beautiful.”
— Milan Kundera
Memory, we are told, is highly selective and not always accurate. We may remember a time or a place as being so full of wonder that it’s hard to imagine a reality that could live up to our recollection of it. Maybe we are looking back on a mentally enhanced version of what actually happened, as if it was retouched in some sort of cerebral Photoshop.
Or maybe not. Sometimes, as in the photo above, we have clues that our memories are not mistaken; in the words of Dave Barry, we are not making this up. Sometimes the poetry was present from the beginning, not composed over time by nostalgic delusions about a magical moment frozen in our consciousness.
I think Kundera is right about the poetic memory. It’s a sort of neurological scrapbook; the repository of all that has made life wonderful for us, and when the present moment becomes almost unbearable, we can wander into that corner of the mind, and see the colors and hear the lovely cadences that can’t be captured by grammatically correct sentences.
What scenes from your past sprang to mind when you saw the words “poetic memory?” What verses will be added today?
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 quiet of power
Quiet and strong, two oxen stroll down Duke of Gloucester Street.
Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia, October 2005
…slow things are beautiful:
The closing of day,
The pause of the wave
That curves downward to spray,
The ember that crumbles,
The opening flower,
And the ox that moves on
In the quiet of power. – Elizabeth Coatsworth
Recently I read a book that discussed the pervasive effects of technology on how we view ourselves. The author explained that the increasing speed of computer processing leaves us feeling less intelligent when we cannot keep up with the machine’s pace. But he pointed out that humans have capabilities that no machine will ever be able to duplicate, and there is more to ability than speed.
Our world seems little inclined to value a slow pace in anything. We expect gadgets, cars, service providers and even schoolchildren to deliver the quick results we want, and waiting for anything taxes our ever-decreasing stores of patience. Pursuits that can be done more rapidly by machine or assembly-line procedures have consigned such arts as sewing, cooking and woodworking to the category of “hobbies” rather than occupations.
Sometimes we sense that life is not meant to move at such breakneck speeds, but we feel vaguely guilty and inefficient when we slow down — and even if we are enjoying our deliberate pace, someone else is likely to come along and pressure us to step it up. Exhausted, we fall into bed each night with tomorrow’s “to-do” list nagging at us from a far corner of our brain, if not the front and center of our last waking thoughts.
We have heard “time is money” so often that we may begin to think we can never have enough of either. That might be true, but only if we allow it to be. Time pressure can create the illusion that frenzied acceleration will serve us, but haste really does make waste in some circumstances. Power need not depend upon speed; often, it is quiet and steadfast, as with the drops of water that gradually wear away solid rock.
Today, I invite you to celebrate with me the beauty of slow things. Turn off the television’s frantic voices of urgency, whether in the news or on commercials, and turn on some Debussy or Brahms or Enya. Fill the kettle to the top and watch the tiny bubbles gradually forming as the water comes to a boil. Breathe deeply, taking in the unique aroma of the fruit or bread or coffee you enjoy. I wish you blissful hours that pass at a relaxing tempo, leaving you serenely smiling at day’s end.
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.
A fine autumnal day
A brilliant addition to my pictures of people taking pictures!
Susan photographs a tree on our walk to lunch, November 2015.
“It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day; the sky was clear and serene, and nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always associate with the idea of abundance. The forests had put on their sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet.” – Washington Irving
The most wonderful thing happened in early November. Remember that fabulous photo of New Hampshire that Susan recently shared with us? Well, she decided to zip on down the coast to Florida, and along the way, she was able to visit with Raynard, Mary and Ms. Ella, and the next day, with me. So not only was she able to share the fall foliage of her home with us; I was able to share what remained of Virginia’s autumn colors with her too — live and in person! I’m always excited to meet people I’ve come to know through this blog. Each face-to-face encounter feels like a sparkling little miracle.
Washington Irving might well have been writing about us instead of Ichabod Crane when he penned the lines quoted above. Susan’s visit happened to fall on a day when the weather couldn’t have been finer. We decided to walk to the café for lunch, and I had not been outdoors for five seconds when I decided I didn’t even need the light jacket I had on. It was sunny and clear and gorgeous, and even with a short-sleeved shirt on, I was as warm as if it had been summer.
As I’ve written here before, I love taking pictures of people taking pictures, and Susan was a good sport about it. In fact, she was a good sport about everything. At the time she arrived, I had been having one of those days when I was distracted by large and small worries. Our time together was a wonderful respite from business as usual. We took a few extra minutes to stroll down the lovely wooded walk behind our home; you may recognize it as the one I shared in this post, though it looks different in the fall.
Ever patient, Susan paused for another photo during our woodland walk.
Thank you, Susan, for being willing to interrupt your trip for a brief visit that shone a bright light into my day! Thank you, Washington Irving, for your description of autumn that lives on with as much relevance today as when it was published nearly 200 years ago. And special thanks to our blog community here for being with us through these words and photos. You’re all invited along on our next adventure. Stay tuned!
This post was first published seven years ago today. Newer readers may not realize this is the same Susan you see (and read) frequently in the comments. Now you can see her beautifully smiling face as well!
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 transporting wonder
Despite a devastating diganosis and a grim prognosis, some things remain untouchable.
Jeff and Matt reading, November 2012
“Those of us who know the transporting wonder of a reading life know that…when we read, we are always inside, sheltered in that interior room, that clean, well-lighted, timeless place that is the written word.” – Alice McDermott
All of my life, reading has been a shelter for me, and never more so than in the past three years. In the roller-coaster sequence of events fraught with emotional highs and lows, I’ve depended on having that cozy, well-lighted, dependable world awaiting me.
Reading calms my soul when I’m too exited or agitated, and it comforts me when I’m lonely or sad. Through books, letters, and now blogs, I can play host to people long passed from this life, or visit with others whom I’ve never met except through published words. When a rainy day keeps me indoors and deprives me of the sunshine I crave, what might be a gloomy spell is instantly transformed into cozy contentment with a book and a cup of tea. When I’m tossing and turning in the frustration of insomnia, a book (especially a scholarly or devotional work such as the Bible) can lull me back to sleep, or at least provide company.
Whether you are battening down the hatches for another winter, or preparing for the heat of summer soon to come, I hope you will stay in touch with fictional friends and narrative neighbors who will be ready for you when you need them most. And may you draw wisdom, consolation and refreshment from holy scriptures, classic poems and other timeless works that have survived for centuries to remind us we are never alone.
Settle down for a nice chat with C. S. Lewis, or whisk away to enchanted worlds with Harry Potter and his friends. Make a friendly visit to a charming town such as Mitford, or travel backward or forward through time with any number of imaginative guides. Explore Ireland with Maeve Binchy, or go to India with Jhumpa Lahiri, or savor the warmth of Botswana with Alexander McCall Smith. The transporting wonder of a reading life is ours to enjoy! And it’s available free, or at very little cost — how fabulous is that? Where will you spend time today?
This post was first published seven years ago today. In the six years since Jeff’s death, I have depended on books more than ever. I thank God daily that I am able to visit with so many souls, thousands of miles away or long departed, through the amazing gift of the written word. I hope you will not leave this beautiful gift unopened in your own life.
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.
Learn to look passionately
New York City, with and without advertising. March 2007
“…it is even more urgent that we learn to look passionately and technically at stories, if only to protect ourselves from the false and manipulative ones being circulated among us.” ― George Saunders
Tomorrow is the third anniversary of this blog. For the past year, I’ve published posts only twice weekly, instead of the daily posts that I wrote for the first two years. So it’s fitting that this year’s celebration would be less of an event than those of the previous two birthdays (see pages linked above under “Thank you!” and “Celebrate again” for more on those festivities). But it’s still a milestone of sorts, and I wanted to mark it in some way.
This year, I decided to give myself and the rest of our blog family a different sort of party favor by doing something I’ve wanted to do since the very early days of Defeat Despair: we’re going ad-free here.
In the beginning, when I was new to blogging, I had no idea that advertising would appear on my blog, or that I would have no control over what type of ads they were. Since I hate have a low opinion of advertising and the ever-increasing role it plays in our culture, this really bothered me. I never see the ads myself when I’m signed in on my own computer, but over the past three years when I’ve happened to see my blog on other people’s computers or cell phones, I’ve found it quite distasteful to see those commercials perched just above the gravatars and comments of readers in our blog community.
My longtime disclaimer “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain” (at the sidebar to the right) has at long last been rendered irrelevant. It never really made me feel that much better, anyway. From the start, I wanted this blog to be a place of respite from all that was annoying, disrespectful, manipulative or depressing. I also wanted it to be a respite from the bombardment of advertising that is everywhere we go, including the sneaky product placement messages embedded into a lot of what passes for content. But I was too cheap frugal to pay the big upgrade fee. Well, no more. Happy Anniversary to us!
Y’all can help by letting me know immediately if you see any ads here, and I’ll sic my cyber outrage hounds on the perpetrators. In the meantime, I hope you will enjoy these nuggets of wisdom from far better writers than I am, who give us much food for thought in their commentary about advertising. Let’s continue to focus on the inspiring stories among us, and defeat despair by refusing to fall prey to false and manipulative messages.
“All the papers that matter live off their advertisements, and the advertisers exercise an indirect censorship over news.” ― George Orwell
“Ads sell a great deal more than products. They sell values, images, and concepts of success and worth…It’s in our biology to trust what we see with our eyes. This makes living in a carefully edited, overproduced and photoshopped world very dangerous.” ― Brené Brown
“It did what all ads are supposed to do: create an anxiety relievable by purchase.”
― David Foster Wallace
“Advertising is the modern substitute for argument; its function is to make the worse appear the better.” ― George Santayana
Advertising is the art of convincing people to spend money they don’t have for something they don’t need…If advertisers spent the same amount of money on improving their products as they do on advertising then they wouldn’t have to advertise them.” – Will Rogers
This post was first published seven years ago today. I’m still paying the ever-increasing fee to keep the blog ad free, so please let me know if they try to sneak any advertising onto this site.
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.
Be one of the rare few
Returning Home by Otto Karl Kirberg,(1850-1926) Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
“Never despise the mundane. Embrace it. Unwrap it like a gift. And be one of the rare few who looks deeper than just the surface. See something more in the everyday. It’s there.” – Lysa TerKeurst
I’m a practical person in most respects, so I tend to give gifts that are useful or inexpensive modestly priced. I enjoy taking a humble present and wrapping it in gorgeous paper with a lovely fabric bow. While some might see this as false advertising, it’s really just my way of adding to the fun. I’ve noticed that most of us like surprises, even little ones, and the trimmings add to the suspense.
I suspect it’s also a sort of reverse twist on a phenomenon that seems at least a little bit regrettable: too often, the most precious and priceless aspects of our lives are camouflaged, hiding in plain sight behind unremarkable appearances.
Have you ever injured your thumb or foot, and found yourself realizing how much you have taken it for granted? It happens with many blessings, I think. Whether it’s a really comfortable pair of shoes, a sturdy and reliable appliance, or an old car that never fails to get us to our destination, we are surrounded every day by things that make our lives easier and more pleasant– things we scarcely ever notice until they are no longer available to us.
Even more truly, we are blessed with aspects of the natural world that require only our attention to bring us joy. A quick walk to the mailbox can show us a tiny wildflower or a spider’s intricate web, sparkling with dew. Ordinary animals, both indoors and out, warm our hearts and put smiles on our faces. And some of the most endearing and fascinating people are the least flashy or glamorous.
There is almost always more to anything than meets the eye at first glance. What will we see beneath the surface today? So much is there, waiting for us to notice and celebrate.
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.
Power to gather
Choose a flower to study, and be filled with joyful wisdom!
Daffodil doubles, April 2015
…he is happiest who hath power
To gather wisdom from a flower…
What is your favorite flower? That’s a tough question to answer; I tend to be fondest of whatever I happen to be seeing at the moment. But if I had to choose, the delightful daffodil is my favorite.
I gather many bits of wisdom from this perky blossom. Its early appearance each spring shows me the radiance of hope for sunny skies on the way. Its bright yellow hue (or creamy pastel shades in the fuller “double” blooms, as pictured above) and beautiful green leaves teach me the power of color to lift our moods and decorate our lives.
The daffodil spends the fall and winter strengthening its roots, resulting in showy blooms when March arrives. It grows in clusters, and spreads across wide areas in dazzling displays that inspired the famous Wordsworth poem. The daffodil’s exquisite shape seems to suggest openness and readiness; if it’s possible for a flower to seem friendly, this one does.
Tell us about the blossoms you love best. Take a few minutes to do an online image search, and marvel at the wonderful photographs that are freely available to cheer us when this year’s flowers have mostly faded. Have you ever gathered wisdom from a flower? If so, feel free to share it with us here. It’s one of the happiest topics 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.
A festival season
Halloween New England by -jkb- (CC BY 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons)
Just after the death of the flowers,
And before they are buried in snow,
There comes a festival season,
When nature is all aglow—
Aglow with a mystical splendour
That rivals the brightness of spring,
Aglow with a beauty more tender
Than aught which fair summer could bring….
(attributed to Emeline B. Smith, about whom I could find no biographical information)
If you are lucky enough to have kids in your life, you probably have plenty of festivity awaiting you this weekend. Even without trick-or-treating, however, it’s easy to get into the spirit of autumn. Just look at those gorgeous pumpkins and chrysanthemums, glowing with a colorful harmony that suggests they were created to go together.
There are lots of phrases that memorably describe this season, but “aglow with a mystical splendour”* seems as perfectly apt as any I’ve heard. I hope this finds you enjoying a cheery lightness of heart “that rivals the brightness of spring.”
*I left the spelling just as I found it. Emeline Smith must not have been from the USA. Wish I knew more about her…
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.
To be wronged
If you focus on the flowers, you’ll scarcely notice the weeds.
Bar Harbor, Maine, September 2007
“To be wronged is nothing, unless you continue to remember it.”― Confucius
Gardening teaches me many lessons. I love the way nurturing the flowers and pulling the weeds can make such a difference in how beautiful a small spot of ground may be. Left alone, the weeds can choke out the flowers in no time. But if I carefully encourage the growth of what is pleasing, and eliminate the unwanted vegetation, the rewards are evident.
It does require maintenance, though. The weeds are always there, ready to encroach on the beauty and consume the results of effort. Fortunately, the incentive of enjoying the colorful blooms and foliage provides a steady diet of encouragement that keeps me going through times when the weeds seem to be winning.
It’s the same with our thoughts, only more so. I don’t know anyone who has never been wronged by someone else, and most of the people I know have been wronged many times. Even friends and family can act thoughtlessly, and sometimes people can be deliberately cruel or hostile. There’s not much we can do to prevent others from hurting us, but we can control how we react to it.
Have you ever known anyone who was perpetually angry or hurt at someone else? The topics of their ruminations may vary, but it seems that they are continually distressed and venting about someone else’s misbehavior. These complainers often have abundant reasons to be thankful, but they choose to focus their attention elsewhere; someone is always raining on their parade.
How do you feel when you are with someone who lets the weeds choke out their blossoms? Do you find yourself avoiding them? I know I do. Such people feed my own tendency to nurse grudges, and I don’t want to waste one minute of my life that way. Life is difficult enough without re-visiting some real or imaginary slight. I’d rather nurture the joys that surround me and decorate each day.
It’s not easy to shift gears when we are feeling the fresh sting of deeds that were genuinely rude or unfair. Just being aware of our own thought patterns is the first step. It’s okay to feel hurt, but there are loving, encouraging people who will support you and help you turn your attention elsewhere. You have important, joyful and beneficial ways to spend your time, and a great deal of happiness awaits you, if you encourage and nurture it.
Remember not to feed the weeds!
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.
A riot to the senses
Susan is giving us a quick getaway to New England, where the colors are a joy to behold.
She took this lovely photo in New Hampshire, October 2015
“October proved a riot a riot to the senses and climaxed those giddy last weeks before Halloween.” ― Keith Donohue
Blogs are a wonderful way to connect to people all over the world, and today’s photo is one example of the fun that can result. As I write this, we aren’t yet having riots of color here in Virginia, though there are hints that the best is yet to come.
However, New England is legendary for its fall foliage, and Susan sends us a stunning example that she was kind enough to let me share here. I cropped it a bit so it would fit in the blog format, but otherwise it’s untouched by any digital enhancement. No wonder autumn in New Hampshire is so famous!
If your brightest colors are likely to come a few days later than Halloween (or, in the southern hemisphere, six months later) I hope you will enjoy this lovely lakeside scene today. Let’s have a virtual party right where Susan took this photo. Just imagine there’s a ginormous picnic table behind us, loaded with festive snacks. Do I smell a campfire and hot dogs roasting? Pour me some hot cider from that thermos and fill me in on what’s happening in your neck of the woods.
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.
That’s when you start
Isolated, or independent? Triumphant or terrified? You get to choose!
Public domain photo by Julia Caesar, shared via Pexels
“…when you realize that the story of your life could be told a thousand different ways, that you could tell it over and over as a tragedy, but you choose to call it an epic, that’s when you start to learn what celebration is.” — Shauna Niequist
Let me guess: your life is fantastic, a journey you never expected and wouldn’t have chosen, but one you will never regret.
Or maybe your life is a boring slog through endless tasks you don’t love. Maybe you spend a lot of time wishing things were different somehow. Perhaps other people were blessed with gifts denied to you, and you feel trapped by circumstances that keep you from being all the things you once dreamed of being.
The really amazing thing is, most all the people I know well (including me) could point to certain facts about our lives that would support either viewpoint. Some choose the first way of seeing life, and others choose the second, but most of us vacillate between the two. Depending on how our day has gone and how we are feeling and a thousand other tiny and seemingly irrelevant details, we could be tossed back and forth between conflicting perspectives, afraid to be happy but determined not to be sad.
In an epic, things don’t always go well for the protagonist. In fact, things usually get downright dicey. But that’s an inescapable part of the narrative. A story about an endless vacation would get pretty boring, wouldn’t it?
When we celebrate something or someone, we honor the totality of what created that particular event or person. We focus on the beauty that emerges from the complex details. We feel not only gratitude, but a deep appreciation of the many layers of meaning underlying our observation.
Your life is an epic. Really! And you are its star. I wish you the faith, strength and determination to navigate all the twists and turns, and celebrate a happy ending.
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.
Just too used to it
Just another mandevilla flower, blooming in our Alexandria kitchen. October 2015
“I think life is staggering and we’re just too used to it. We are all like spoiled children no longer impressed with the gifts we’re given – it’s just another sunset, just another rainstorm moving in over the mountain, just another child being born, just another funeral.” — Donald Miller
Do you ever read the obituaries of people you don’t know? I do, on those increasingly rare occasions when I give myself a few minutes to spend with a newspaper. It’s sobering and staggering to realize how many people are born and how many die each day. How rich and full, how sad and happy, how triumphant and tragic those lives will be!
Life is totally amazing, when you think about it at all, in any context. Biologically, psychologically, socially, spiritually…it’s all profound. But we don’t stop to think deeply about it very often. We’re too busy with car maintenance and dental appointments and updating the software on our gadgets; with eating and sleeping and talking and (hopefully) listening.
I agree with Miller that we are surrounded by gifts– immersed in them, really– and we are just too used to it most of the time. How many marvelous things do we rush past every single day, too busy to notice? Even the air we breathe, and the ability to draw that breath, is something most of us take for granted.
Today, I invite you to focus on just one gift that you tend to overlook. It can be a flower, or a sunset, or an animal. It can be a person, place or thing. It can be anything at all that brings you joy, or solace, or serenity, as long as it’s something you scarcely notice most of the time.
Is there anything you might delight in seeing today, except that you’re just too used to it? Tell us about something in your everyday life that is wonderful or beautiful or even staggering, and let’s remember what it means to be impressed with the gifts we are given.
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 the slanted light
Feathery grasses and fiery foliage: get ready for the autumn show.
Yorktown, November 2008
All the feathery grasses shine in the slanted light. It’s time to bring in the lawn chairs
and wind chimes, time to draw the drapes against the wind, time to hunker
down. Summer’s fruits are preserved in syrup, but nothing can stopper time.
— from the poem “And Now it’s October” by Barbara Crooker
Just when we were wondering whether our relief at the cool weather was greater than our disappointment at how fast the summer flew by, the brilliance of October arrives to remind us that the passage of time is a magnificent spectacle.
Our years are a long-running pageant of laughter, trouble, love, sorrow, joy, sighs and grief. How appropriate that the waning of the year brings such a combination of emotions, sights, scents and sounds. Nature provides a vivid demonstration of the gifts inherent in approaching death, as even the dried grasses, fallen leaves and faded flowers enrich the soil of new growth in the spring.
Nothing can stopper time, but its sweet fruits are preserved, etched into memories that we will savor through the cold months ahead. Light a candle, put the kettle on and rejoice in the wealth of being right where you are, right now.
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 