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on not being anyone else

November 1st, 2011 | 4 Comments »

It sounds pretty simple, actually. Be yourself. Be true to who you are. Authenticity is a word tossed around frequently these days, a word used with abandon, but sometimes with little affect. I’m really hoping it doesn’t become some new buzzword, like ‘green’ has; a word who’s meaning has faded into a vapor that really means nothing anymore.

I try to focus on that real sense of me, both here on this blog and in my life, wishing to be true to the meaning of ‘authentic’ “not false or copied; genuine, real.” (Websters, 2010) It’s not a word I use loosely, in some effort to sound like something I’m not. I long ago gave up the sense that I had to be something in order for people to like me, and surprisingly (with a big ‘Duh’) once I dropped the stage act that I had no idea I was portraying, my life opened up and the blessings, friendships and opportunities rained down like a mighty monsoon.

But following your heart, and being true to who you are is hard. Reaching deep inside yourself to find the very pulse that makes you tick is a daunting task, and often filled with questions and fear. I firmly believe that each of us has within us an inherent wheel that pushes our life, and we are called to find the power that drives it. Most do, but many don’t. And I know it’s challenging. I’m still on that journey, the long road stretching out before me, and I can’t see over the horizon. But that’s good because it keeps pushing me forward, trying to find what’s over that next rise on the road. There have been moments on this road of mine, moments I’ve dropped to a crouch to fend off the absurdities of life, pulling my head down against the gale winds trying to knock me over, and I’ve stayed there, blind and scared to stand up, to continue on. I know people who’ve simply given up in this manner. There they sit, and there they’ll stay.

That’s not for me.

But being true means you need to admit when you’re scared; admit when you’re facing something daunting, or embarking on a new venture that’s both perfect and frightening. It means you reach out to people who can help talk you off the ledge. It means you say ‘I don’t know.’ when you really don’t know. It means you tell someone ‘No, I can’t do that. I’m sorry.’ when you can’t possibly fit another task on your calendar. It means you need to sometimes tell a truth that will hurt someone, like your spouse or your child or a close friend that just isn’t getting it, and it means that you shouldn’t have to apologize for being truthful. But it’s also being able to apologize when you’ve done wrong, accepting forgiveness from others, being able to forgive others and stick by that. It involves letting go of grudges and inequalities. It means calling a friend and saying ‘I screwed up.’ and being willing to come clean with your mistakes. It means making cookies when you want them, and making the exact ones you crave instead of what you think everyone else will like. It’s saying ‘I just can’t handle this, can you please help me?’ It’s about taking a walk, alone. Or just going to the library for quiet, for an hour of reading mindless magazines, or staring out the window or browsing a bookshelf whether you want to read or not. It means understanding where you fit in life, and recognizing that not everyone will be your friend, but the ones that keep showing up when you reach out, when you suggest dinner, a drink or morning coffee, are the ones you need to focus on the most.

And it means that even when every facet of life is pulling you all crazy, like a wild rubberband, that you have to grab the nearest anchor and tell the world to stop. Listen to your heart screaming ‘ENOUGH!!’ Forget the laundry and the shopping and the cleaning. Because the world will survive without you, for a day or two. But your heart will shrink, and your soul will crumble if you don’t give it the rest it deserves.

This is me; the real me. Who I am is plain to anyone in my circle, those drawn to my truth.

 

 
It’s Just Write Tuesday, the Eighth. Stop over at The Extraordinary Ordinary to see everyone.

change……

September 27th, 2011 | 8 Comments »

I’m writing today, just because. Because I love writing, and I love Heather.
Just because it’s almost October and change is everywhere. The trees, the clothes in my closets and shoes on my feet.
There is change in the foods on our table, the light at dinnertime, the sound of school buses on the street; 7:15am and it’s the Middle School, which returns at 2:45 and the high school bus roars by at 8:00am, back again at 3:20, or thereabout.
There is change in the house as my boy navigates his Senior year online, via a virtual high school so that there is no more despair trudging to a bus that takes him to a school where he’s never connected with anyone; a despair that leaves my strong boy in tears sometimes, who begged for a change. And this change? This is good. My boy is content, focused, happy. Focused. You should see this boy concentrate on his school work. I am in awe. And so proud of him.
There is change in me. My iced tea pitcher lays abandoned, the electric teakettle hums now for me each afternoon, and Sir Earl Gray has returned, kindling our chilly weather love affair with bergamot and steam. The salad days are gone, and the oven sings and whirs and the sugar has disappeared from our cupboards because I bake sweet things for sweet men who love me. 
There are apples. It is Fall. My head swirls with possibility. I finger the skins, red and taut, dreaming of crisps, cakes, bars, breads.
And the breadmaker stands on the counter, and grinds out a loaf, filling the house with warm yeast, a tall dome rising on the countertop, burnished crust and heady crumb. I think, as I savor the flavor, that there is not enough sweet cream butter in the world for my bread addiction.
There is change in me. Did I say that already? Fall does that; the melancholy it brings, the sense of impending cold and snow (which I love) and the way that Winter forces me to stop, to think, to dream as I gaze on the white landscape, to slow down and appreciate the warmth of home and flickering candles and knitting. And soup. I miss soup by the time September rolls around. There are different birds in the yard that I watch carefully, noting their features and comparing them to the book kept close at hand. Migration fascinates me, the instinct that drives creatures from warmth to warmth, seeking the means that nature has to sustain them. I am always seeking new birds to add to my list.
The garden has certainly changed. We had frost, and it nipped the tops of the plants, but left the fruit intact. Tomatoes are ripening from sheer will, I believe. The peppers too. Herbs survived, and thrive in the cool September. I cross my fingers that it makes it to my table, sweet and luscious. It does. And I am grateful. By now, by early October, I am ready to bid the garden goodbye, as bittersweet as it is.
Change. It’s good. It’s normal. It happens and we roll with it. From season to season, month upon changing month, moon phase from a slim sickle to a full round orb of light, we shift through change, mostly without knowing. I embrace and revel in it.