This just felt right today. It’s raining. It’s Father’s Day…and he’s been on my mind.
This just felt right today. It’s raining. It’s Father’s Day…and he’s been on my mind.
I’m admittedly sad this is my last day to share the words I love most. I want to thank my dear virtual friend, brandewijnwords again for the inspiration he always finds a way to elicit.
I’m of course breaking the rules, again. I couldn’t decide on one..so I picked five. There are just too many. (more of my favorites, visit @summoningmagic)
My response got a bit intense, but I guess I’m a little intense, so…
“There are no half measures in love, only all or nothing. And if it doesn’t make you tremble and go mad at the very thought of its absence, you should move on.”
~ Beau Taplin//Move on
“I understand now that I’m not a mess but a deeply feeling person in a messy world. I explain that now, when someone asks me why I cry so often, “For the same reason I laugh so often- because I’m paying attention.” ~ Glennon Doyle
“She loves deep and fast. With all of herself, or not one bit. She’ll give people all of her light, in turn struggle to understand when they don’t pay that back. She wants you to think she can’t be hurt, but truth is, she gets hurt easier than most. She is fierceness and tenderness, within the same breath. This is her beauty. In her total lack of in betweens.”
~ Carson Patrick Bowie
“I have this terrible urge to be reckless…and I am dreadfully frightened of becoming old and having no memories at all. And I know climbing forbidden fences is wrong, so I’ll stick to falling in love with the wrong people and falling off metaphorical trees. I am just dying to do something worth remembering. I suppose there is no logic, not really…only that if I bleed now, I’ll have a lifetime left to heal.” ~ Sue Zhao
“It is both a blessing and a curse to feel everything so very deeply.”
~ David Jones
I’m not sure where to go with these, other than to address the underlying theme- feeling…to a point that defies logic. It is, in fact, a blessing and a curse.
The blessing-when I feel love or joy or see something beautiful, it fills me up completely, every part of me. You can see it my eyes and hear it in my voice. I’ve been told it’s infectious, affecting, even altering the mood of those around me.
But this is exactly why it’s also a curse. When I’m hurt or sad or angry, I wear it like a cloak. It penetrates every part of me…and also affects those around me.
It doesn’t last long. I can usually find ways to escape getting caught up in it. Most of the time, anyway.
I wish this was something I could manage better. But I’ve always been like this. I’ve always been extremely sensitive and seem to hurt easier than most. However, this never stopped me. I risked it every time. I’d feel a connection with someone and immediately love them with everything I had. And I got hurt over and over again.
I get hurt, over and over again.
Except now, it has intensified. I was too reckless. I got hurt to the point that something shattered. And it still feels like there’s a gaping wound in the depths of what is now my foundation. I can’t see it, but I feel it, always.
Now, every time I feel something, good or bad, it grazes that part of me that’s now exposed. It’s become sensitive to the touch, so much so, almost everything brings me to tears.
So it’s not just when something hurts, but also when I see or feel something beautiful…a feeling I never thought I would experience again. But when it’s something painful, it immediately takes me back to that place, that time, when something shattered, and I’m afraid it really will take a lifetime to heal.
But what’s the alternative? I play it safe, detach myself, avoid the risk of getting hurt, even if there’s the chance that it could be everything I want, that it could be magic?
I can’t. I won’t. I’ll keep trying, risking the fall, feeling everything…even it means getting hurt, over and over again.
Here is my humble attempt at day two of a challenge offered up by one of my favorite blog gurus, brandewijnwords. The task at hand is to share my favorite quotes for three consecutive days.
This has proven to be more difficult than I anticipated. I have so many quotes swirling around my head right now. But this one is the first that came to mind, so I’m going with it. (You can visit @summoningmagic to see more of my favorites.)
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure…our playing small does not serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you…and as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.”
~ Marianne Williamson
This first time I read this, I realized I had done this my entire life: played small. There were several reasons why I chose to do this, the primary one being I desperately craved love and acceptance from those I loved…most who didn’t exactly know how to reciprocate. Regardless, it became very clear to me that being the center of attention was not unacceptable.
I never understood it, really. It was next to impossible for me to believe I had any redeeming qualities…precisely because those were not to be cultivated or celebrated. They were to be stifled.
So, for survival purposes, I stayed in the shadows. And it truly was to survive. For me, being rejected by the ones I love the most was and is my worst possible fate. Being the smartest or prettiest or anything that threatened anyone else was simply not an option.
So I played small.
This meant that I constantly attracted people who demanded the spotlight, and I gladly gave it to them.
I’m not sure when the shift happened, but I know this quote fueled it. I imagine being a trainer/coach also contributed. That was my first experience having someone look to me for guidance or want my permission to shine. It changed me. On a fundamental level, it changed me.
There is nothing more beautiful than to be a part of someone realizing their worth.
So I still gladly offer up the spotlight, but it’s no longer for acceptance. It’s for the joy of seeing someone shine from the inside out.
As for the ones who feel they need to steal the light from others, I think I understand it now. They are simply doing what they think will prevent their biggest fear- their worst possible fate- to be rejected by the ones they love the most.
I was chosen for this challenge by brandewijnwords FOREVER ago. I am honored that this talented, brilliant soul is interested in what words inspire me. Anyone who follows me on Instagram (@summoningmagic) knows how obsessed I am with quotes. All to say, here is my very belated response. I hope it fulfills my intention to inspire…or just make you feel.
I wrote these a couple of weeks ago, still grappling with the sting of what feels like a perpetual string of heartbreaks.
I do feel like our greatest heartbreaks in life eventually change us, define us, for better or worse, depending on what we choose to do with the aftermath. It’s so easy to fall prey to bitterness or self-deprecation, letting them build an impenetrable fortress around our hearts until they callous.
I actually wish I could do this at times. I assure you, I’ve tried. I simply can’t. It’s a result of muscle memory, I suppose. When we experience it- the kind of love that makes us feel whole…the kind that changes us- it becomes impossible to settle for a life void of it. That’s been my experience, anyway.
So I take the risk, over and over, incapable of moderating what’s inside, begging to be released…refusing to succumb to the aftermath.
Okay, so the rules (which I’m not exactly following, as shocking as that is):
1. Thank the person that nominated you.- check
2. Write one quote each day for three consecutive days (3 quotes total)- will do my very best!
3. Explain why the quote is meaningful to you. – check
4. Nominate three bloggers each day to participate in the challenge- probably not
I will deviate a bit on #4…the unwavering ‘rule-breaker’ in me, I suppose.
I’ve been a bit consumed of late with an article that has proven to be more painful to write than expected. (see Your Mid-life Manic Pixie Dream Girl). It’s pissing me off, actually, mainly because the truth that lies beneath is a bitter one.
All to say, I got sucked into re-reading my posts from my time in the Democratic Republic of Congo. It’s been interesting to revisit that fearless, free-spirited girl who was in her element…which was usually placing herself in situations completely out of her element.
She was full of life and passion, she felt loved and still believed she could change the world. I miss her, to be honest, and wish I could get her back.
But for now, tales of her adventures remain, and an adventure it was…
I had no idea what to expect when they told me I would be helping out in the sanctuary, and I can’t say that I came away from my first day feeling excited about my second.
When I asked Christophe, who manages the staff, what time I should be there to prepare the chimps’ meals, he started listing off the hours…which pretty much spanned the entire day. I almost laughed but refrained and tried to explain that I was here to write grants and try to get money for the sanctuary. He shook his head, looking just as confused as I was.
Herein lies the problem; I’ve lost a lot of the French I had learned in Paris. To complicate things further, Carmen, my supervisor, is Spanish. So I spend most of the day speaking Spanish, trying to remember French, and reading and researching in English.
I’m basically a linguistic hazard at this point.
With all the different languages flying around, trying to learn the very regimented procedures in the sanctuary is a bit of a disaster. We work mainly in the food prep room/kitchen area. The extent of my knowledge regarding kitchen utensils and food preparation is limited in English, so not exactly a category I mastered in French.
The animals (54 chimps, 74 monkeys, and a turtle) get fed three times a day, and each piece of fruit and vegetable (usually around 8-10 different types) has to be weighed and portioned out.
You can imagine the scenario: Christophe asks me (in French) to grab the bowl on the table filled with ‘choux’ (cabbage), cut it into 5 pieces and place each piece in the bowl corresponding to the specific animal or group of animals outlined on a piece of paper taped to the wall.
I laughed out loud and then went into a complete state of panic. Christophe was mildly patient, but my insecurities took over and I translated every encounter between him and the staff as, “Wow boys, we got a real gem this time; she can’t speak, follow directions or chop an ear of corn into 6 pieces with an extremely dull knife.
But, I wanted an adventure…
My first experience with the chimps was intimidating, to say the least. Despite the 6-meter electrical fence between us, when dozens of full-grown chimpanzees start dropping out of trees, jumping over bushes and hurling themselves toward you…I somehow suppressed the urge to scream and took a BIG step back.
They all stopped as close to the fence as they could get, looking me up and down for long enough to feel a bit awkward. And then the silence broke and the spectacle began: utter chaos ensued, all of them trying to solidify their position in the spotlight- beating their chests, stomping their feet, tackling each other…sheer mayhem.
But even with all this going on, I couldn’t help but notice his approach. Kongo slowly came over to sit directly in front of me with an undeniable sense of authority. The other chimps honored his arrival with screams of delight, each competing for the chance to be close to him and granted grooming privileges.
But Kongo brushed them all aside, his gaze fixated on the new visitor. He looked at me intensely, straight in the eyes, but more as a question rather than a threat. His presence was commanding to be sure, but comforting at the same time; his gentle demeanor and air of wisdom juxtaposed with his size and rank.
I was smitten. But did he like me? Did I exude whatever it was that one should in order to win the affections of an ape?
I began to walk slowly along the length of the fence. He immediately stood up, trailing behind me by a few steps until I stopped. He would catch up, taking his time, then turn to face me and sit down. I would walk, he would follow, I would stop, he would sit. This continued along the entire 5 acres of the fence. I took it as a sign…I think he likes me.
Tom Being Tom always has a way of saying what I can’t about a subject that enrages me to the point where I can’t see straight enough to type.
His post, Fueled by American Rage, is as eloquently written as it is poignant.
I’ll let him have the stage, but I will say this:
We have problems- horrific, unbridled American problems. And they are so rampant and seemingly insurmountable that we feel paralyzed. So we polarize…even more.
I can admittedly go there politically, but this goes way beyond politics. It’s how we function as a society, as communities, as families. I’ve become acutely aware of this after living in different countries, both developing and developed.
We are checked out, utterly distracted by trying to climb the ladder to have more. But more is never enough. So we work harder, climb higher…to get more. We aren’t present for our kids or parents or neighbors or friends.
I know it’s more complicated than that. Even if we want to be present, we are distracted by just trying to get by. Cost of living is virtually impossible for lower to mid-income families- healthcare, our student loan nightmare, housing costs…shit is just broken.
So yes, there are absolutely loving parents and healthy families and supportive communities out there. But I’ve also been on the receiving end. I’ve experienced a good dose of what fuels the anger of these kids. I don’t have the anger gene, not one I could direct outwardly, but I understand where it comes from…more than I’d like to.
Our kids feel isolated and sad. And they are angry.
I don’t have children. I am not a single parent or couple struggling to support their kids. I am not a teacher or coach or counselor who is overworked, underpaid and has little to no resources. And I can’t sit behind my computer and claim to have the solution.
But my god, how many more times does this have to happen before we stop prioritizing our guns over trying to understand why our kids are using them.
Let’s focus on the issue at hand, though: we need to preserve our right to bear arms; and make sure the industry thrives; and work ourselves into the ground so we can have more of them than our neighbors. We can’t be bothered with finding the time or resources necessary to take a closer look at why our kids are desperate enough to kill.
We are failing them and we are losing them.
Dimitrios Pagourtzis shot and killed 10 people. Why? We don’t exactly know. But there were signs, blatant signs. We just weren’t paying attention…
I do want to offer this disclaimer. I am by no means an expert on the various factors contributing to gun-related deaths. But I did find this article in the NYT by Nicholas Kristof to be insightful, offering a well-rounded perspective from various angles…worth a read. How to reduce shootings
Jared Black, age 17
Shana Fisher, age 16
Kyle McLeod, age 15
Sabika Sheikh, age 17
Christopher Stone, age 17
Christian “Riley” Garcia, age 15
Cynthia Tisdale, teacher
I vividly remember the first time we met. It was a bizarre exchange when juxtaposed with the way our friendship evolved.
You came up to my table and introduced yourself, said you noticed I was here every day, asked me what I did…
It was the first of many lengthy conversations, but this one didn’t end so well. Somehow we landed on the subject of gorillas, then zoos. I, in my overly-opinionated, self-righteous fashion, blurted out that I thought zoos were prisons.
You snatched up the card you had given me, visibly irritated, said something to the effect of “we’re done here”, and walked off. I didn’t fully understand what had just happened, but I felt terrible. I tried to apologize. You weren’t exactly receptive.
The next morning you walked over to my table and started listing off links I needed to look up. It wasn’t an ask, and you weren’t going anywhere until I did. You proceeded to explain all the projects your family had funded to improve the major zoo where you grew up. I acknowledged their contribution and apologized again. You seemed relatively satisfied and went back to your table.
The next day you walked in and came right over to me. Had I seen it? The huge gorilla painted on the wall next door? You were excited and adamant; I had to go right then and look at it. So I did, smiling as I walked out.
I was redeemed.
You were a talker, no question, but your stories were riveting- tales of celebrities, ambassadors, extravagant galas, exotic girlfriends, President Kennedy discussing the fate of our country at your kitchen table. You had lived a charmed life… but that was a long time ago.
We never went into details, really, but we both understood we were in similar places- everything had fallen apart and we were trying desperately to piece our lives back together. It seemed like you were, and you were determined to help me do the same.
You were always coming over with ideas- where I could publish, jobs I could pursue, people I should contact. I would ask how things were going, and you would always respond. “With me? Oh, everything’s fine…ya know, just pluggin’ along.”
The holidays were approaching and you knew I was struggling. You would check in every so often…”How ya holdin’ up, kiddo?”. “Fine”, I assured you, “…just pluggin’ along”.
Right before Christmas, you asked what my plans were. I avoided answering and assured you I’d be fine. You waited until I went to the bathroom and slipped an envelope under my computer on your way out. It was $100 bill with a message written on the envelope. “Just go do something fun, will ya?” By the time I saw it, you were nowhere to be found.
I still have the envelope.
Almost every time you walked by my table, I would hear a single ‘doo-da-doo”. I wondered why you did that, but it always made me smile. Maybe that’s why: your way of telling me to keep my chin up.
The last conversation I remember having, you came over announcing that you’d just been paid. “Let’s go to the grocery store and stalk up. We can go right now if you have time”. “Absolutely not”, I replied. There was no way I would let that happen, regardless. But I also knew you weren’t in the position to do it.
But it wasn’t about the groceries, was it? You wanted to do something kind and you wanted a friend to spend time with. I denied you both. I could have just went to keep you company. But I didn’t. I was too busy ‘pluggin along’. I thanked you several times, but no, I couldn’t possibly. You looked disappointed and left.
We didn’t interact much after that. I knew you weren’t doing well on some level. Every time I looked up, you were engaged in conversation with someone new. You weren’t reading as much, just talking. It bothered me. I’m not exactly sure why, but it did. It seemed exhausting for everyone involved. As if you were desperately trying to be heard, to convince everyone that your life wasn’t always like this…to be remembered.
But no one else seemed to be bothered by it. Because you were charming and intelligent, interesting and kind. And it was never just about you. You genuinely wanted to know all about the person you were talking to. You asked questions and listened attentively. You gave advice, and without fail, I would hear, “Good for you” from across the room.
You truly just wanted everyone to feel good. You wanted to connect and encourage and lift everyone up. And you did.
You didn’t show up Monday or Tuesday. By Friday, we started to worry. We knew you had to move out of your place. Were you just in the thick of moving? The following week we sent you an email. You didn’t respond. Nobody had your number.
‘J’ came over to me this week and asked if I’d ever heard back. He handed me the card you sent.
You were clearly saying goodbye, but it didn’t seem like that goodbye. I emailed you again.
But you didn’t get it. You were already gone
I’ve moved to a different spot. One where I can’t see your chair. The one that remains empty. Except now, it’s not empty because you decided to move. It’s empty because you’re dead.
And one thing has become painfully clear: your presence always filled the room.
Now, so does your absence.
Look at you, just up and disappearing on us! I would be mad at you if I wasn’t so concerned.