Forgiveness

One of the hardest things I am learning to do is forgive myself. Not because I maim and torture puppies, drown kittens or am generally a horrible person.  Not because I cheat or steal or live my life with a careless disregard for others, but for sometimes taking too long to see the truth; for allowing fear to get in my way; for sometimes unintentionally hurting people I care about.

That's how I am starting this year, with a need to forgive myself.

Perhaps my expectations of myself are too high for wanting to be able to step outside who I am and already be who I am in the process of becoming.  Perhaps I need to remember that the mistakes and the consequences that come with them are the process that makes the change possible.  Perhaps I need to remember that my intentions are almost always set with only the best outcome in mind, even if that's not the outcome I reap.

If I was watching a friend encounter what I am going through, I would generously tell him/her that they were being way too hard on themselves. That they did the best they could at the time and if that's not acceptable then so be it, but it's not a friend, it's me.

It's hard enough to watch people hurt, harder still to know I'm the reason for it.

Possibility - Poem

I held his heart

so closely that I could

feel it beat inside me.

I could taste the breath

he took into his lungs.

When he ate

my belly became full.

His laughter bubbled and

spilled from my lips

while moisture from his

tears clung to my lashes.

Now his sadness echoes

through my empty chest,

His hot despair rides the

current through my veins and

acid leaks from my eyes

masking my beauty

even from myself.

Still somehow the knowledge

that love's light lays in

our eyes and God's goodness

is embedded in the

very thought of our touch

penetrates the illusion.

My heart holds fast to the truth

and has no ears to hear differently

So I open my hands

and my hears in hopes that

he will feel

me beating inside  him.

That he will taste the hope

I breathe into my lungs

and that when I eat, he

will become full with possibility.

- Vera

Failing Greatly - Me, Not the Book

I first read Dr. Brene Brown's book Daring Greatly just over a year ago.  At the time I felt so encouraged and inspired to authentically share myself.

After this last week, when I found myself stuffing very raw and very real emotions down into every dark corner I could find within, I realize that I need a refresher course. A reminder of how not just appropriate but necessary it is for me to show myself.  If not to everyone then at least to a few somebodies.

The funniest thing about vulnerability is that I can't really hide it.  

Mask, yes.  I can make it look like anger, like sadness, like incredible competence or, wait for it...I don't give a shit and you can't make me."

Depending on the depth of my challenge, I will rub through the list once or twice which is really handy for keeping people wondering what the fuck is going on but also robs me of the opportunity to get my needs met. 

As emotionally savvy as I think my magical mask makes me, I haven't found a way to make my vulnerability look like happiness or joy or anything else that remotely resembles a positive emotion.  

So, here I am on January 4, me who doesn't make resolutions, gritting my teeth and preparing to give myself a kick in the ego by rereading this book.

I would like to say I'm surprised I need the reminder, that I expected the first reading to sink in and take root, forevermore providing me with courage an wisdom.

Truth is, I am a voracious reader and it is one of only four books that I keep at my bedside. One, out of all the thousands of books that I have read which has the ability to put out my emotional flame while setting my soul on fire.

This evening I will be pouring my glass of wine, adding bubbles to my bath and setting out on this journey so that 2015 is as joyous and fulfilling as it is meant to be.

A Walk Along the Beach

Being in Destin Florida has allowed me to indulge one of my most decadent desires...daily walks along the beach.

Day after day miles and miles of white sand squished through my toes and adhered to most surfaces of my skin. I didn't mind the sand. It's one of the best parts, really. It's unpredictable and shifting nature causes me to slow my gait and enjoy the walk. Standing still, feet firmly planted in wet sand as the sea rushes in to wash over me is especially delightful for as the water recedes, it slowly erodes the platform on which I stand, reminding me of how impermanent everything is.

Almost every day, I have taken some time to examine and collect seashells. I like picking them up to admire their colors before running my fingers over their various textures. Some shells I keep, others I show to whoever happens to be sharing my walk before I let them fall back to the sand. On any such walk I would find uniform shells, exceedingly smooth, startlingly white and available by the handful. I'm always surprised, however, by the ones that find their way into my pockets. They are decidedly different from each other, suggesting to me that I don't have a set criteria.

On New Year's Eve I took one such walk. I bent and picked, bent and picked my way down the coastline until I found myself standing a fair ways down from where I started holding this shell in my hand...

I turned it over curiously. As always, it was different than any of the others I had collected. It was far from uniform in shape. I guess some might even call it broken, yet it was also totally perfect for whatever calm seas and stormy weather caused it to wash up on shore.

I didn't stop to look for the missing pieces...didn't ponder why it doesn't look like the others. Rather I palmed it, admired the gleaming innards, stroked it's ridged exterior, ran my thumb along the jagged edges then placed it in my pocket. In that moment I was blessed with the knowledge that I have found a handful of friends who do the same with me.

As I moved farther down the beach I tilted my head toward the darkening sky and opened my heart to everything the universe held in her open hand.

On The New Year

There's something to be said for the end of the year... that moment of simultaneously looking forwards and back.

If I knew what I know now at the end of 2013, I would have spent more time in the looking back than the looking forward.

Alas that was last year and time, as we know, waits for no man. So we stand on the cusp of 2015 and I look backwards with the clarity of one whose glasses are tinted by time and also with joy and disappointment.

I look forward with a hint of skepticism, remembering the heart-thumping anticipation of past New Year's Eves and how much of it was more optimistic than warranted.

Looking back more than forward, however cynical it sounds, gives me a chance to review.  To look for the lessons I learned and the ones that I missed.  To consider the roster of people I have spent my time with and those who I allowed to fall by the wayside. To reconsider the choices I made from the light of a new day and reveal how emotion, or lack thereof, influenced me duly or unduly.

Looking forward, in this moment, I wish I was one who believed in New Year's resolutions.  Who with hope and good intention could vow to be or become something. But I have never been this person and really, if I have to wait until December 31st to make vows to myself and the universe, how important could they be?

I would like to say that I learned a lot in 2014.  I hope I have.  Some of the lessons have been hard, some of the teachers have been unexpected, some of the pathways have been dark and treacherous. I would not like to revisit some of the emotional roads I have traveled but 2015 awaits and with it, I'm sure, new lessons and teachers and roads.

You who have been a part of 2014, thank you.

Those with whom my path will cross in 2015, let's go!

Happy New Year to you all!

The Wind

The Wind

Wind hurls

against window

Shakes walls

Rattles pane

Scurries children

Alarms adults.

Strong gusts

Compete,

Dance,

Probe,

Seek,

Retreat.

Return determined

Tree limb held aloft

Glass breaks

Allowing

Winds of change

To enter.

- Vera

Black Friday...Still?

I get the Black Friday hype...I get that people want to make as many Christmas purchases as possible as cheaply as possible.

In a country with minimum wages which run from $5.15 an hour in Arkansas to $9.50 an hour in DC*, lining up for 6 or even 12 hours to potentially save hundreds of dollars on electronic items is well worth sacrificing sleep for.

There have been many years that I have considered crossing the border to experience the energy and excitement.  Imagine hundreds of people in a frenzied dash for a limited number of items that they can't afford and or don't need.

The desperation alone of trying to make their dollar stretch as far as they imagine the child/ren's smiles when they unwrap that coveted item from under the tree is both attractive and repelling. I have never managed to convince myself that I wanted any single or combination of items enough to witness such sheer desire for stuff.

In the last few years, Black Friday has managed to creep its way across the border. I forgive Canadian retailers for jumping on the bandwagon in an effort to exploit the US holiday and boost their sales.

I have a problem though...it's Wednesday and I am still hearing Black Friday ads on the radio!

Black Friday savings are supposed to be rock bottom unsustainable prices that are so big and so deep that they only come once a year...for one day, sometimes two...three max.

After that, it's just your everyday run of the mill weekly flyer sale.

After that, they're telling me that I'm a victim of their marketing scam.

I don't like being victimized. Any retailer I hear still running Black Friday (radio or print ads) will go on my boycott list and have to sustain itself without my measly dollars.

Take that!


*http://www.ncsl.org/research/labor-and-employment/state-minimum-wage-chart.aspx