"You are exactly where you need to be"
Wise words that are not my own, but words I fall back on often.
I have been listening to a lot of podcasts lately. My podcast feed is fed by my interests and most of what I hear feels like it was meant just for me on a given day. What surprises me, is when I end up listening to something I've already heard and I hear a brand new message the second time around.
"Laziness does not exist"
Devon Price says on the We Can Do Hard Things podcast.
Interesting. When your body shuts down and you cannot do more than sit on the couch and watch TV, that is okay. Hmmm?
I have had numerous people within my enabling circle of family and friends tell me this. I tend not to believe them because they really have no idea just how LITTLE I do when I say I have literally done nothing for the entirety of a weekend. But wait just a second. When I do nothing, I am still. I am listening. I am absorbing little nuggets of information I may or may not remember. I may spend an afternoon playing Freecell on the computer. But I am listening to podcasts the entirety of that time.
In the time I feel as if I am sleepwalking through the hours, the neurons in my brain are firing. I could be more productive. I will be more productive. I am thinking. I am learning. I am expanding my ideas. I am listening to other points of view.
The myriad of podcasts I've listened to have motivated me to reserve and borrow books from the library written by those interviewed. I am reading again!
My interests are expanding outside of my own small little vantage point within the universe. I hear nuggets of information I have heard replayed in the world outside my head. I am literate in life beyond my own.
I will be attending an event where I will be among people I saw four and a half years ago. I was running on a tank so empty that when politely asked what I was going on in my life, I honestly answered, "Nothing". Period. End of story. A kind soul listening in answered for me and within that response, was what I used to do. I didn't do that anymore.
I felt defeated. Small. I wanted to fade into the scenery. Who was I when all I could be defined by was a version of who I used to be?
I will see these people again. The conversation will be completely different. We will be at a memorial honoring two people within that small grouping who are no longer here. The focus will be outward but I feel more grounded. I am becoming more of the person I used to be, with a dash of growth and perspective added.
"Listen to dread. It is such an important direction. There is something not right about the situation."
I had been waking up physically, emotionally and spiritually filled with dread for quite some time four and a half years ago. I cried on my way to work. I could feel it in my heart, my soul and my bones.
The sensation was mixed with grief at first. I had been feeling this way before Mom died. Running out to see her was running away from the angst I felt at my job. Mom listened while I talked. What I remember most about our last mother-daughter-life-as-we-remembered-it supper together was her asking me "What is your ten year plan? You do know your "bread and butter" [income sources] are both over the age of 80, don't you?"
I didn't make ten years. Mom knew my answer before she died. I pushed through six years before I gave a year's notice to leave the work that was killing me softly. I woke up dreading the day. I didn't act upon it. I can still feel the way I felt driving to work those days.
How old do you feel?
A question Julia Louis-Dreyfus asks every guest on her "Wiser Than Me" podcast.
My answer never changes when I hear her question. I feel the age of whoever is in my presence.
I have started two new jobs recently. I may be the oldest in the office but I am surrounded by people younger than me. I envelope whatever age they may be and feel at home in their company. I remember feeling the same way when I ran my daycare. I was of a grand-mothering age and could have easily been most of my parents' mothers. We had young children in common and I felt like a fellow-warrior in this parenting role. Then I started working with those who were over the age of eighty.
I'll leave that thought alone.
There are many who are older than those I worked with and they are life affirming and young in spirit. But those I was keeping company with were in a state of decline. It took all I had and perhaps a little bit more.
Mom's words of wisdom were "You need to be around youth". She clarified she was not talking of my daycare crowd. The full time responsibility of fifty hours a week tending pre-schoolers was a little too excessive. At least for me.
I abandoned my daycare career at Mom's urging and can now thoroughly enjoy those exuberant, youthful little people. There is little that brings more joy than listening to contended children at play. I can even appreciate a crying child who is not dependent upon me.
Everything in moderation.
I feel a sense of balance being restored within myself and the life I am living. Life is bubbling up inside of me once again. I am feeling the energy of surrounding myself with the energy of those who are regenerating little pieces of myself that were lost to me for a while.
I feel open and receptive to the messages the world has to offer at the moment. My "openness" ebbs and flows with the tidal waves of living and I am always grateful for the moments of clarity that seem to appear when I am able to be still, listen and absorb all at the same time.
That is exactly where I am in this moment.
As I tuned into CBC television to await Charles' coronation, a podcast by Gavin Crawford called "Let's Not Be Kidding" was advertised. When googling Gavin's name, the first line of his bio states: "If laughter really was the best medicine, Gavin Crawford would have cured his mother of Alzheimer’s disease." (https://www.cbc.ca/listen/cbc-podcasts/1387-let-s-not-be-kidding-with-gavin-crawford
He had me at "hello". Thank you Gavin, for your first hand recollection of oh-so-relatable memories and situations, and also to your co-starring cast of those who are or have walked the path of caring for a loved one with any form of dementia. Adding a dose of humor to a disease that isn't the least bit funny helps make the situation more palatable. Hearing first hand, of those who have walked a mile in these shoes is truly a gift.
Once I listened to Episode One, I was hooked. I listened to all seven episodes concurrently (and made a few salads while I listened - the most painless cooking I've done in a long time). Thank you, Gavin. Thank you!!
An email from the library, reminding me that my book is due in a few days propelled me straight toward Michelle Obama's book "The Light We Carry" this morning.
I put down Michelle's book last weekend to open Harry's book "Spare" and had forgotten the way Michelle's writing spoke to me. The moment I reopened the book this morning, I was hooked. She had me at "Good morning!".
The only pitfall to reading Michelle's book is the tangents of thought I get carried away with. Any stories relating to her parents, the way her mom was raised and the way Michelle was mothered had me comparing and contrasting my own personal memories of my own siblings, along with Mom and her siblings. "Life back then didn’t revolve around kids. For the most part they were seen and not heard", Mom said. "It’s more like they were heard of and never seen" her sister added. Which triggered a long list of thoughts and perceptions as I compared Michelle's lens with Mom's ...
It didn't end there. As Michelle continued to write, she continued to ignite memories, thoughts and words that I'd like to sit still with one day. I grabbed a notepad, scribbled down my thoughts and filled two (small) pages. Wow! I may still have some inspiration and words within me after all. Thank you, Michelle. Thank you for helping me find my own light!
Ping! Ping! Ping! My brain was on fire and I was having a hard time absorbing Michelle's words, so I got up and got some chili simmering in the slow cooker. Wow. Salads AND chili!! "If I cook it, WILL they come?" I wondered as I prepped a few salads to go and a few more to stay. I'm really on fire!!
I cannot wait to finish Michelle's book so I can focus on Harry again. I have an audiobook/library book combo so I'm listening to the first part of his book as I drive, while I fast forwarded to "Part 3" of his physical book. He has a lot to say and I don't want to miss a word. In fact, I'd really like to chat with him in person after the day he had yesterday, at his dad's coronation.
The clock is ticking the morning away and I still have a few things I'd like to get done before the clock strikes twelve. I feel like Cinderella but my clock is chiming at noon instead of midnight. And after all I've been learning about royalty, I'm sure not waiting for Prince Charming's arrival on the scene.
So much to do, so much to think, so much to write. I feel alive!
Thank you, thank you, thank you to those who fired me up and reignited some spark within me that has been starved for oxygen. Thank you!
"What will I blog about today?" were my closing thoughts of my three handwritten pages of morning thoughts. I can't remember what I thought at the end of that page. That was 2 hours and 12 minutes ago.
Since that time, I've dipped my toes into my bookkeeping work day, balanced my credit card record books, paid a bill, wistfully wondered how I am spending my hard-earned pay cheques, listened to Glennon Doyle's "We Can Do Hard Things" podcast (accompanied by Glennon's sister, Amanda and her wife, Abby Wambach) ... (if you are interested, you can listen to it here: We Can Do Hard Things - My Hardest Thing).
I wish I could sit down in person with Glennon and simply listen. Listen, because only she holds her own answers. Listen, because that is what we most need - the need to be heard, when we are ready to put words to our thoughts. Listen, because that is where support is rooted. In the listening.
If Glennon was silent and looking towards me for input, I would guide her back to herself. I would say, "When I don't know where to turn I have, more often than not, found my answers in my own writing." Life has a way of repeating itself. In rereading one's own experience at a distance, one can feel the familiarity of someone you trust, who has been there. That someone is yourself.
Taking a step back and listening to your own words is the greatest gift of writing down your thoughts in the middle of the messy middle. It gives you the opportunity to pat yourself on the shoulder and say to yourself, "There, there my love. You've been here before. You've found your way through a similar fate. Take what you can from the lessons you've learned from the past. I know, I know ... it IS hard. It IS different. It IS easier to say than to do. But when you can, if you can, reread your words. Your answer is within, even if that answer is to look outside for the assistance you need to wade through and beyond the middle of the hard part."
I have not walked the walk another is going through. As much as I try, I cannot know what it feels like to be in someone else's shoes.
Glennon has written, spoken and lived her way through some of her life experience. She has parented three children. In my imagination, I think of Glennon as being a valuable role model, teacher and a strong support to each of her children. One of her children (Tish) wrote the song "We Can Do Hard Things" which is played at the end of every Tuesday morning podcast. As I listened to Tish's song at the end of today's podcast, her words, the melody, the message of Glennon's teachings all wrapped up in four minutes and eighteen seconds broke my heart wide open. It felt like a soothing balm on an open wound.
Thank you, Glennon for your masterful artistry of putting words together to form sentences, paragraphs, pages, chapters and books for us to read, absorb and instill in our lives.
Yes, we are the only ones who hold our own answers. But opening yourself up and finding those "I'm not the only one?" and "Me too!" moments within the world around you feels like a warm hug on a cold day (or "Like Bailey's in my coffee on a cool camping morning", a phrase stolen and badly paraphrased from a conversation I just heard).
P.S. It was only after I posted this, that I realized I couldn't have chose a more inappropriate title to a post that is honoring a recovering addict. Sorry, Glennon.
P.P.S. Also, please note that much of what I have written in today's post has been written and spoken of by Glennon herself. Glennon often puts words to a way I already think but is so easy to steal once a vocabulary on the topic has been formed. I discovered Glennon on March 23, 2013 (I wrote about it here - Climbing the Mountain of Life) as "proof" that I did have deep thoughts before I met Glennon through the interwebs)
I watched the movie "The Color Purple" for the first time yesterday. I may be one of the very few who had not yet seen this 1985 movie. I'm a little behind the times. This story has been brought to my attention on several occasions over the past 35 years. Most recently, in light of the racial inequities that have been brought to light, I was once again reminded of "The Color Purple".
I was well into the story before I realized there had not been one Caucasian person enter the scene. I smiled when the first white character was introduced as a person who drove one sister to the her sister's home. I loved the irony - a white person driving a person of color. I later realized this "driver" was delivering the mail. But my original take on this minor character remained. He was a person serving them, not the other way around.
The story was based around the main character but had other strong characters and story lines. I loved Oprah's character, Sophie, who was strong minded and full of spunk. Until ... the scene where the white people dominated the screen, brought her to her knees and stole everything she was from her. When "whites" were introduced into the story line, they were the villians.
As I played out this scene and compared it to the realities minorities face each and every day, I was embarrassed to be part of a race who has committed such injustices.
I continued to reflect on the vantage point this story was told. I considered the different stories that could have played out, had the tale been told from a different person's vision of the same set of events. I dared to consider what the story could have been, had it been told from the white person's point of view.
The slant of the story, the perspective, each individual's history places a different emphasis on how a story is told. The adage "there are two sides to every story" is an understatement. Each one of us is a compilation of our history, our perspective, our state of mind and health, who and what we may be protecting. When prejudice we have unknowingly been raised with and exposed to, plus racial biases are added to the scene, it is little wonder there is conflict within this world of ours.
Racial privilege is a term that is new to me. I hang my head in shame to think that my view of the world is so very small and with a privilege I simply happened to be born into. I think of the babies who come into the world and know only the life they have been raised in. They become adults with their own personal biases stemming from the vantage point of their circumstances.
I think of the very small life I have lived and I try so very hard to consider the story another would have told of the exact same circumstance, from where they stood. When I retell the stories of my life I am conscious to speak of the other person's vantage point. I strive to tell my stories so there are no true heroes or villains. But I know even at that, my view is tainted by personal bias, history and lack of a full understanding of the other person's side of a story.
Stories are told from the vantage point of the person narrating the tale. Seeing, hearing and feeling the narrative from the main character's point of view provides us with limited insight unless the story is told in a way to bring each character's perspective into focus (which, may I add, "The Color Purple" did an amazing job). It is up to the audience to mine for the gold that is hidden within a multilayered depiction of events.
It would serve us well, if we dug deep to find the truths within the headlines of today's news and the stories we are told as we live our lives.
An often quoted adage going around the Internet these days is to be kind to each other. You have no idea what another person is going through. Or as Ellen Degeneres says, quite simply, "Be kind to one another". Without condition, without bias, without assumption. Just be kind. Look for the story behind the story.
