The Ugly Duckling

Paddling on the water, I spotted this array of birds and asked myself: When is the last time you were willing to be mistaken for The Ugly Duckling?

What happened to the me who was comfortable planting herself in an environment full of seemingly different others? How did comfortable come to mean similar?

Why did I need these birds to remind me that it isn't a problem if I am mistaken for an ugly duckling, it is only a problem if I try to be so much like them that I forget I am a swan.

The Living Dead

On a canoe ride in Cootes Paradise this week, we stopped to enjoy a picnic under this tree. I love trees. I am drawn to them. They inspire me to explore deep thoughts and emotions. As we sat I was not surprised my mind turned as it did.

More interesting to me than the limbs that thrive, are the dead ones. The ones that still cling to the trunk, some longer than others, evidence of the time and energy invested in their growth before their lives were terminated.

Even though they are dead, as the limbs age, rot, then are torn away from the trunk by a gust of wind or under the weight of winter ice, even then, the tree long thought to have dealt with the loss of life will find itself healing anew. Ten, twenty or fifty years from now the wound from the loss will never heal so fully that one who sits under it won't be able to see where the tree has been wounded.

Still, the tree grows majestically. It reaches it's thriving limbs out across the water. It drinks deeply. It provides oxygen, shade, food, shelter for wild life as well as for the pair of us looking for a place to catch our breath; feed our bodies; renew our spirits.

As my thoughts continue on to myself, I consider the number of ideas, dreams, and relationships that had to die in order for me to grow. Like the tree, the remnants of my abandoned things either cling to or have wounded me. I wonder how much easier life would be if my wounds and yours were worn externally or at least openly.

When we climb back into the canoe, I rest my hand on the tree, feel its strength. I glance back at the tangled bare limbs, thank them for their nakedness. In the moment we push off from shore I am deeply grateful for the beauty, for the truth. I look at all the places the tree tried to grow; tried and succeeded for some time before failing.

I see life. I see me. I see you too.

Garbage

Literally and figuratively we all have garbage.

We quickly and routines take out the physical garbage in our lives, prompted by the cycle of our Municipal System which cues us each week to do so. When we forget, our other senses kick in to remind us with visual clues at the end of a neighbour's driveway or olfactory clues in the form of terrible smells.  

But what about our emotional garbage? Without external clues, how many of us routinely sift through our junk and remember to eradicate it from our lives?  How many of us bury it deep down hoping its stench and toxicity it will not show up in our lives?  How many of us throw it out back hoping that hiding it in plain site means that it's hidden?  If you checked you emotional backyard right now, would it be clear or would you find it littered with garbage from your last relationship? From your mother? From your father?

Do you invite other people into your yard and ask them to help you pretend they see a well-manicured lawn adorned with blooming flowers or do you allow them to point out the weeds and make suggestions for improvements?  Do you ever ask them to help you?

If you have ever seen a therapist then I would say yes, you have either taken out or at least tried to organize your garbage.  Not enough of us see therapists to clear our emotional garbage. We more often do it to stabilize ourselves during emotional crisis.

Sometimes, on garbage day, I'll spot a neighbour putting their garbage at someone else's curb. It's innocent enough, really.  They just want to take out their trash and the truck has already passed so they cross the street and plunk it down before the truck doubles back. Perhaps you do that. Perhaps you dump your garbage on someone else and walk away with the satisfaction of knowing your trash can is empty.

Unlike the literal garbage, however, I guarantee you that no matter how often or how well you think you dump your emotional trash on someone else, it won't take long before you discover the mound in your life has not just returned but increased.

Paddling out in the canoe, I see this garbage on the side of this hill and I wonder why anyone would leave it there. I wonder why they don't get a friend and clean it up. Then I remind myself...some garbage is better off out in the open. 

FLOAT!

I don't always know why I am moved to take a picture...not always in tune with the reason it appeals to me. As I flipped through some photos from this summer, I found this one and the word that rose up inside was FLOAT.

Floating... it's one of the easiest things we can do in the water which is why it is one of the first thing they teach young kids once they are comfortable in the pool.

Float, they say.  Just let your body relax, let the water hold you. Like the new swimmer, we fight it. Or I do anyway. I can do it, for a while. Flip onto my back, let the water take my weight while my eyes scan the sky or close against the brilliant sun.

Most of the time I find myself resisting the float. Even if I manage to make it onto my back, after a moment or two I start kicking; start feeling a need to direct my course or reach my destination faster.  I forget that I like the slight prickles the sun makes on my skin; forget that opening my eyes and finding that I have been magically teleported to a new place can be exciting, rewarding, inspiring.

Floating requires us to let go of all sense of control.  To trust that the water will keep us, that the current can guide us.

Floating also requires so much less energy than trying to reach a destination, yet we direct ourselves. In spite of the number of times, we reach our target only to realize it isn't nearly as interesting as we thought from across the water and we have to turn around to swim back to where we started.  Or the number of times we find that what we thought was a direct line turned out to be the long route; or even tire ourselves swimming against a current rather than patiently wait for the tide to change before heading out.

FLOAT...it's my word for the day. It's what I'm going to do more of both in the water and in my life. Laugh if you must as you motor past but I will keep floating. I may not get where I think I want to go... or get where I go very quickly. 

I may get somewhere better.

Into the Light

When I saw these rocks, a question came to mind. One I had to answer for myself and one which, maybe you too would like to contemplate.

What holds you up?

As solid and heavy as these stones are, they are also stacked one atop another. Some are the foundations on which others are able to stand tall above the water. No matter how solid the rock or the foundation, still some lean.

Perhaps they were not originally placed this way.  Perhaps over time the wind, the water, have caused shifts, created crevices which needed to be compensated for. Perhaps some have even met the bough (or stern) of a boat lost in the darkness.

Regardless of the why, the question remains.

What or who provides me with a solid foundation. What or who keeps me from falling.

Like the water, my answer has shifted through time. Like the rocks, in the darkness, I can't always see what lays beneath, or what I have used to prop myself up or leaned myself into for stability.

It is not until the day breaks that I am able to look around and recognize the changes which took place int he darkness... the shoulders I am standing on... the hands that fed me... the arms that encircled me... the things and the people that saw me through.

As I look at the stones I know that like in my life, there is even more unseen going on beneath the surface of the water.

More propping, more leaning, more foundation to be unearthed and be grateful for. It's something which I continue to contemplate in hopes of discovering the truth about myself and my relationships. Recognizing my who's and what's is enlightening but also heartbreaking. It's a question which, when answered honestly, has the power to change you.

What holds you up?