I Can Only Imagine

I recently listened to a podcast where the well worn phrase "I can't imagine" (what someone else is going through) was brought into focus and dissected. Of course we can imagine. If we are saying the words, we ARE trying to imagine. As I listened to the discussion, I immediately thought of the words "I understand" (what another person is going through) and how in people's desire not to assume what another person is enduring, could easily utter the words "I can't imagine" with the best of intentions.

When I hear of news that touches me deeply, it is most likely because it has touched a familiar chord and brings up my personal memories of a time when I was touched by a similar fate. I have been feeling deeply and remembering a time when I faced a similar situation a lot lately.

The loss of a parent is unique to each and every one of us. The relationship we have or didn't have with them; the arsenal of memories, good, bad or indifferent; the longing for what we had or wished we had ... the list is endless. Though we cannot assume what the one who has suffered a recent loss is enduring, if we have a parent (and we all do), we can try to imagine what it may feel like if we were to walk in those shoes.

I could fill a notebook with my own personal thoughts, reflections, lessons learned and significant memories to my experience but I want to silence my words. I simply want to listen. To hear what another is feeling as they walk into uncharted territory.

My story isn't important. I have walked a parallel path. I can empathize. I can listen. But I can only imagine what another is going through.

When I say "my thoughts are with you", I mean it with every fiber of my being. 

I can only imagine...

It's Not My Story to Tell

After almost three months of blogging silence, two months of writing morning pages and years of censoring my thoughts and words, the title of this blog post was born.

"Don't air your dirty laundry"; "Be careful what you put in writing"; "Don't give up your guts" are a few of the spoken and implied mantras I grew up with. I worked in the banking industry for decades where confidentiality was a part of my job description at the time and I have carried that forward into my present occupation. I hold confidences and try my best not to betray trust that has been bestowed upon me. 

In the past, I could pull the lesson from what life had in store. Something evolved over the course of time and the words, "It's not my story to tell" became my guiding light. 

I have tamped down my words, thoughts, emotions and reactions as I navigated this time of great withholding. It was this morning when the words came to me (at the end of my third page of morning writing). "My story is how I navigated my side of other people's stories. If I write about my journey, not theirs ... to tell a story without telling ALL ... I think that is the key. My side of the story. Learning as I go. Love and loss and parenting and change and acceptance and curiosity ... and the never ending goal of seeking JOY."

The path I have walked has been mine alone but the other side of the story is still a privacy I want to respect. There have been lessons learned, perspectives gained, a broader understanding and a lot of learning. 

"You need to write from a scar, not an open wound"

 ~ Glennon Doyle wrote this, but I'm unsure who gets credit for the origin of the quote

It is time. Wounds have healed. I'm writing from the right place. 

(the challenge will be to make time to write again)

Free at Last!

Five weeks later ... construction on our street is complete!

 It is a small thing but it feels so big. 

From decisions about what groceries I felt like carrying from where I parked the car,

to how often I deemed it necessary to roll out the garbage and recycling bins for pick up.

What I felt like lugging through the cat-walk between our home and where I parked my car became the basis on how I decided what to take home from or pack up to take to my little oasis-away-from-home.

From vacuuming the car to washing the bugs off the windshield after my highway travels,

to how safe I felt about my car parked out of my sight after my daughter's car window was broken.

The small pleasure of being able to park in our own driveway/garage last night was doubled because the road adjacent to ours (which had been closed off at least a month prior to our road closure) has been reopened which makes the simple act of "coming home" straight forward and easy.

To top it all off, the new traffic light installed at the corner where we turn off was green when I came home last night.

Oh, the little things in life.

It is a shame we often don't appreciate what we have until it is taken away.

The Future is Looking Good

My thoughts are scattered lately. I have been thinking of everything, nothing, trivial and important. Not one of the aforementioned categories have dominated my head space. I have let my thoughts waft in and out and through me.

Am I concerned about some things? Yes. Are they trivial matters or important ones. Both. Do I have control over any of the outcomes? Hmmm. Therein lies the crux of the matter for me.

Whenever I find my thoughts dominated by a predominant matter, I usually formulate an outline of what is within verses what is beyond my control. This reinstates a sense of calmness within.

I strongly feel that things will work out exactly as they are meant to be.

Work verses retirement? My steadfast answer is "I will work as long as my work lasts. I do not want to look for a new job and am willing to trust that all will work out as it is meant to be". I need the income and my employer(s) need what I have to offer. It is a mutually beneficial situation.

Enter my potential retirement home. I find myself longing for the day this will be my full time residence. I feel a sense of anticipation about the future which is new and exciting. 

I have wandered through the phases and stages of my life without much of a plan. Life always necessitated a move. Getting married. Having a child. Leaving a marriage. Moving to a new province. Changing jobs. Relationships. Parenting. Loss... 

Moving on and moving through each major life event has created a life I am very comfortable living. I am exactly where I am meant to be. 

Yet I'm longing for something. There is a feeling of unrest within. 

I want to fast forward through the next few years. I am finding myself eager to get through the messy middle of the present phase I'm living. I have one foot where I want to go and one foot securely placed in where I am.

There is so much out of my control. Yet I could take the reins and navigate the terrain to place me where I see myself wanting to be.

Life is complicated. There are so many valid reasons I must stay the course. I feel it in my bones. I am exactly where I am meant to be. The groundwork has been laid for a promising future.

I like where I am and the future looks good. I can't remember feeling quite this way before. There is a ominous feeling churning within me as I anticipate the unknown. 

Is it another sign?

I'm On My Way

From my limited personal perspective, a lot of good things came out of how I navigated throughout the COVID-19 pandemic. I have several examples but one of my all time personal favorites (though it may come after working from home) is online grocery shopping.

I take our grocery list and casually add items to our cart while I'm enjoying my morning coffee. I love the handy dandy Easy Reorder feature. I like the friendly reminders of personal favorites and regularly ordered items. I feel less alone in the fact that my grocery shopping cart is very similar from week to week and there is no judgement that comes with those reminders. Yes, it is a well documented fact that convenience foods and chips are staples in our household. 

I enjoy the convenience of being able to come back to my unsubmitted order and modify my choices. It gives me every opportunity to always remember to buy everything we need (even though I am usually starting my next shopping list moments after hitting the "Place Order" button).

The time I save by being able to order from home is by far the best byproduct of online shopping. I am less stressed. I don't have to navigate the aisles/people/line-ups. Someone does the shopping for me, rings it in and loads it all in my trunk. Shopping doesn't get much better than this!

The joy I feel when I press the "I'm on my way" on the shopping app is like no other.

One quick stop on my way from home from work and voila! I let them know what parking stall I am in and the color of my car. All I have to do is pop the trunk when I hear them coming.

I am not a fan of shopping at the best of times. I am so grateful the pandemic has introduced me to a method of shopping that suits me to a "T".

"I'm on my way" - one more little sign that simply makes me happy.

You're Almost There ...

It has been an interesting week. My goal of getting up an hour earlier than usual has been met with unforeseen obstacles which have hindered my ability to start my mornings with leisurely writing. Here is one more tale of my saga.

I start my mornings by signing into my work computer, checking emails, banking and taking care of any immediate work requirements. I proceed to make my morning smoothie and head into our den to do my online puzzles, check into the blogs I follow, do my own personal banking and utilize any leftover time to stop here to write.

As you can see, my morning routines are pretty wrapped up in the ability to access our internet. This was the message that started yesterday morning:

I panicked. I thought the problem was related to my work computer alone. Then I decided to check my personal computer. Then my WiFi access on my phone. No internet.

Our internet provider also provides our telephone and cable services. I checked the phone. No dial tone. I turned on the TV. Our cable connection was still alive and well.

I called for technical assistance. They weren't open yet. So I did what any logical person would do. I made a cup of coffee and sat down to watch TV. It was the only convenience available to me, wasn't it?

No.

As I sat and savored my coffee, I started counting my blessings. We had power. I had a cell phone to use while our house phone was out of service. There was nothing stopping me from writing but simple lack of motivation. 

A day without internet and a telephone started to take on a whole new look. I could clean up and organize my office files. I could shred my personal documents. I could vacuum the house; wash windows; tend to the weeds that are overtaking the catwalk beside our fence. 

Oh, the things I could do without the outside interference of a telephone and internet connection. I started to feel joyful at the prospects for the day.

But I had to persevere. Telephone and internet access are a big part of my work-from-home requirements. So I continued to call our cable provider every hour on the hour until there was an answer at 7:00 a.m.

I have only applause and praise for the person who answered my call and walked me through the hour that followed. 

Apparently my problem was my problem alone. It wasn't something affecting our area of the city. It was specific to my account. I was promised I would not be abandoned. "Please be patient with me and I will not end this call until your services are restored".

As promised, our call did not end until I had a work-around for every issue (and the issues seemed to compound as our call went on) and I was able to function within my home office as required.

Again as promised, I received a follow up call when all emails were restored, to ensure all my problems were resolved. 

I was in awe of a second incident of Excellent Customer Service within the first half of my work week. I thanked this customer service person profusely and ensured they knew how appreciative I was of everything they did to assist me.

The unfortunate part of my story is the original "You're almost there ..." message continues to be displayed every time I try to access my webmail on a Chrome browser. I've found a workaround solution to the problem but am haunted by the words. 

I have been re-watching the Gilmore Girls for the umpteenth time. I recently watched the episode The Road Trip to Harvard: 

"We're almost there and nowhere near it. All that matters is we're going." ~ Gilmore Girls

Hmmm ... is this yet another sign within the many signs that have been appearing within my life? 

You're almost there ...

Shattered

Monday mornings are a jolt of reality infused into our lives whether we want it or not. Monday can feel hard. Harder yet, when your mode of transportation has been vandalized.

A broken car window was the catalyst of this week. This is what I swept off the ground and out of the car and all that remained of a rear passenger window:

I uttered orders like a drill sergeant. "Call work. Tell them what happened and that you will be late. File a police report. I'll clean this up."

Bam! Bam! Bam! We shot into action and went forward from there. 

The car, minus a window, was drivable. I stayed home and proceeded to make phone calls to track down replacement glass for a 26 year old obsolete vehicle. 

After calling and investigating every source I could think of, I thought the only answer was to replace the car. I have been seriously considering upgrading my own 19 year old car anyway. It just wasn't in the budget quite so soon. But perhaps it was solution to the problem.

One nudge from my son, telling me he had found a place that could order in and replace the window was all it took. Unfortunately I had misinformed him about which window was broken so the story did not end there. 

I took a lunch break and resumed my search. First phone call after my break, with a little more information to go on, and voila! The window replacement was found, ordered, delivered and installed 48.5 hours later. At a cost that was almost $80.00 cheaper than my son's original quote.

The service from Unique Collision and Glass was second to none. Every promise was delivered as expected. Plus they provided not only shuttle service to work but also delivered the car to my daughter's place of employment when the work was complete.

An act of vandalism (the window was merely smashed - the doors were not even unlocked, nor was the car ransacked in any way to indicate theft was the motivation) had the power to shatter the hope of a new week dawning. But it didn't break us.