where cake meets frosting

For a long time, I held fast to the idea that lasting memories have nothing to do with the buying or giving of things.  Those moments with my family, wherein we talk about our days, wishes, and dreams, those were what I determinedly held onto as the end all, be all.  True, they were and are, fun, funny, loving.  In a word, cake. Subtly sweet, with hints of the sublime.  At the same time I thought the extraneous things of life; a closet full of shoes, a dozen watches and/or sunglasses, a holiday abroad, etc., as frosting.  I didn’t realize I had become rigid with an either/or on those ideals.

I was like a kid who keeps the peas segregated from the mashed potatoes.  It turns out I have so much to learn.  Life as I saw it had to fall into parameters I understood, and when they mixed I kept my perspective tightly focused on what I felt was the most important part, the cake, eschewing the frosting.  Was I afraid of becoming superficial, that I’d miss the real stuff because I was focused on shiny bits?  Maybe.

What’s really fascinating to me is that when all the changes started happening, and I can’t pinpoint when that was, but somewhere in there I let things mix together, and I enjoyed it.  What I had thought of as strictly cake moments, became sweeter, and the formerly rationed frosting magically appeared with it.  Now I get these awesome bites that have the perfect balance of cake and frosting.  I am floored, and get this, nothing changed except how I savor each bite.

Okay, (shyly admits) it’s possible that it also has to do with allowing myself to have it in the first place.  Why didn’t I hear about doing this ages ago?  Sigh, I’m sure several people led me to moments where I could have lapped it all up and chimed “How sweet it is!”  And like the stubborn horses of cliche fame, I would not drink.  Forget singing, heck, I probably wouldn’t allow myself to be led, because I can be ridiculous that way.  (another thing I want to look into changing)

Baby I’m lapping it up now though, and I recommend giving everything another taste, adjusting viewpoints, trying something new, whatever it takes.  Why did I ever pigeon-hole the way I enjoy what life has to offer?  I can’t explain what makes it more so for me, and I’m not certain what could change that for anyone else, but I’m loving this and I suggest whole heartedly to everyone to find a way to taste it all.

considerations on conflict

Isn’t it interesting that every story we want to read, watch or listen to has conflict in it somewhere?  To write a compelling story, the rule is, there has to be some kind of conflict.

Yet, so many are trying to live a life without conflict.

I wonder if it is the core of our human struggles, that we have an overall desire to create, experience, or at the very least be a voyeur of, conflict?

Would we know what to do with ourselves, with our energy, should we decide to let that need go?

I’m going to stop there and peruse that idea for a while.

That’s no lemon, it’s a gift

I see things most people don’t.  At first I was scared to see lights around people.  Sure it was strikingly beautiful, but don’t crazy people see things that aren’t there?  I remember squeezing my eyes shut and telling myself, “I’m not seeing this.”  When I opened them again, it worked, the lights were gone.  I walked out choking back tears as I recalled the breathtaking beauty of a mall full of people shining with light.

Over time I’ve had to adjust to seeing more than lights around people, a heck of a lot more.  It’s been a crazy ride to say the least.  Some would call it a gift.  I didn’t, it made me unhappy to be different in a way that made so many people … uncomfortable.  Namely me.  Aren’t gifts supposed to make a person happy?  I wasn’t happy, I was questioning my sanity.  Thankfully, getting messages confirmed, when there was no way I could have known specific information, helped quite a bit.  That was a load off.  All the same, I spent a lot of time telling myself this is nice, but not really necessary.  I’d list the things I want to do with my life; raise my kids, travel, write, help people see the better parts of themselves in the least unusual way possible, and all … that other stuff (makes broad hand gestures to the side), didn’t make the cut.

I keep all this in the proverbial closet, which strikes me as fair since I didn’t ask for it.  I dust it off once in a while for close friends, the occasional stranger who has an especially persistent spirit around them, and I secretly use it while working with clients, who are often amazed when I can pinpoint their issues so well.

The other day I used the gift for a friend.  It was her birthday and as we chatted, loads of calls came through from passed on loved ones, and I told her about them.  People I never knew or heard of sent messages of love.  At the end of the exchange, they showed me a phone booth with a line of people waiting to use it.  They were laughing and sort of nudging me with this visual until I realized, I am the phone booth.  It turned out I wasn’t just relaying messages to a friend, but getting one for myself; follow your passions, follow the love.  The clincher came when someone else asked me how I felt when doing this work, and how I felt afterwards?  The whole time I feel the joy and love being sent, and afterwards I’m full of energy.  It’s pretty cool to have a part in showing people there is more love in the world than they knew.  I’m happy with that, thrilled even.

So, taking a deep breath, hearing Sam Jackson in my head saying, “hold onto your butts”, and shrugging my shoulders at folks who’ll invariably think I’m off my rocker, here I go.  Time to fully embrace this gift.

setting intentions

If you’ve heard the term, set your intention, but weren’t sure what it meant, allow me to explain a little and use an example of how it might work.  Every morning I quietly focus on an intention such as; let me be open to new ideas, I am open to lots of laughter and play, etc.,. etc.,.  Somedays I get more specific and focus on being patient with my mom, kids or clients.  Other times I put the focus of patience on myself if I notice I’ve been harshly criticising how I write (me and grammatical rules remain at a stand off), how I look, how I … anything.

As the knowledge that people are all connected continues to deepen for me, I’m ceasing to use ideas  I do not agree with, as reasons to shut folks out.  Did that make sense?  We all use different ‘reasons’ to separate ourselves don’t we?  Whatever it is, politics, weight, occupations, clothes, skin color, religions, (coughs) rednecks, hippies… we think things along the lines of, I don’t like what they stand for.  And we try to live our lives pretending they aren’t there, or get angry when we see them or hear about them, or a combination of both.  If we can’t physically move away, we mentally build a huge fence.

Down the street lives a family with a truck that had the stars and bars painted on the hood.  The hair on the back of my neck used to go up when walking past their house, especially if the old white man was sitting out in front.  I tried waving, smiling or saying hi as we’d ride by on our bikes, but he’d remain still and silent.  I told myself he didn’t hear or see us.  And maybe he did, I don’t know.

One day I noticed a small bus in front of their home to pick up a young man in a wheelchair.  The driver of the bus would have to get out and assist with all the equipment and safety checks necessary.  In rain, cold and summer highs of over 100F, this driver doesn’t just pull up and honk a horn, but gets out, greets the old man and teen, and does what it takes to put him safely inside the bus.  I’d see this as I went back and forth, taking my kids to school.  I went from seeing that truck and mentally flipping the bird, to noticing the old man looking haggard, and told myself I should send a positive thought their way.

Making that little change took some doing before it started happening naturally.  That surprised me.  Was I really that wound up in my own, gulp, negative assumptions of who they were, and/or my own fears, to not allow my own mind to think a new thought?

Then came the day there was a new bus driver, a black woman was now helping get the chair and rider into the bus.  I’d see her smile at the old man and be surprised to see him give a genuine smile back.  Sometime around then, I noticed the truck hood got painted over.

I like to think life presented an opportunity for the old man and his family to see things differently and that maybe, something clicked for the better in the way they see people.  I know that’s what happened for me.  I could be wrong about them and the reasons behind the truck.  But the old man nods hello at us now when we ride by, sometimes he even waves.  Who knows, maybe if I take the time to have a chat with someone who strikes me as a world apart from who I think I am, I just might learn something, maybe we both will.  I am open to surprises like this.