So many words stung, more words healed. Today, I celebrate where I have been – though I could never have articulated it as magnificently as Shane Koyczan. TGIF all..
A poem that resonates with many I know and love…and you know who you are. Have a fantastic day – thank you for being here. Much love, m
(a letter of self-worth)
Yes you, you who thinks you are not enough.
You who tries tirelessly
to do everything you can to show that you are deserving of love,
worthy to be here in this world,
but always worrying that it is not enough.
You that feels it is what you are able to do that shows your value instead of who you are. This letter is for you.
Because here is the thing –
the day you were born the world sang;
for never before was there anyone like you, magnificent you,
just for being.
So now as you try to fill your days doing things that make you feel valuable the truth is:
your true value is in being the one and only you.
No matter your successes,
the way you choose to live your life. You are Enough.
I know you think that all…
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You all know I am a fan, and though I’ve offered many reasons why – here’s another. Happy Monday all
Late (LATE) start. Galileo’s Sun is up. I look up and bask in its warmth. I start my run into a cold headwind. Fingertips tingling. My eyes, fill with water. Like mist on cold air over warm waters. This will clear.
Run by the corner of Noroton and Post Roads. Church Corner. Ascension Episcopal. Noroton Presbyterian. Christ Scientist. Churchgoers are filing in. Man cradling baby in a papoose. Families striding briskly, holding hands with their children. Lady holding kerchief in place from wind gusts. Elderly couple shifts right to let me pass. Community. Peace be with you too.
I usually run too early to see churchgoers. Not today. Guilt washes over me. Eric joined his friends in attending a eulogy yesterday. “Weird,” he described it. “Awkward not having been to church in years.” He lights my fuse using less than 10 words. Jung scolds: “Everything…
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Remember that poem that began “Monday’s child is full of _____; Tuesday’s child is _____” ? I forget which child is endowed with what characteristic. I was a Saturday child, and regardless of what I am supposed to have, I do have smiles. Earlier this week, Ray’s mom at justiceforraymond.wordpress.com accorded me the award for ‘Most Influential Blogger Of The Year’. I appreciate her vote of confidence, especially given the substantive and important issues she raises on her blog. By comparison, I am arguably the “Lightweight Blogger Of The Year” – seriously. I don’t want to diminish my appreciation with self-deprecation, tempting though it is. I do want to express my appreciation for her high praise. And thank her doubly because the only requirements in accepting such an accolade is to share it with others. Clearly this is an abbreviated list – and I tried to include a mix of old and new. These are people who prompt me to think more, feel deeply and enhance my life. Thank you again Ray’s mom – drumroll please (two fingers working in syncopation on a table works well too):
keiththegreen.wordpress.com (A Western Buddhist’s Travels)
ivonprefontaine.com (Teacher As Transformer)
Now – I’ve got more, but I realize that this list is getting quite attenuated. To those I adore and didn’t mention this time around – trust me, the year is young. To me, each person I follow is The Most Influential Blogger Of The Year.
Were we old friends? In the very broadest sense of the word, I think. We traveled in the same pack of prepubescent kids, falling over each other and ourselves like puppies, but far too gawky and awkward to ever be considered really cute. In retrospect I see us all as adorable and goofy, hypersensitive and phenomenally clueless, not fully prepared to be accountable for our words or deeds, yet quick to pass notes and judgment on the unforgivable behavior of someone else.
So after forty-some-odd years, I drove into DC looking forward to seeing Alan and wondering if I’d recognize him in a crowded lobby. We are friends on Facebook, so there are some elements of his life that I have seen. His magnificent wife and daughters – pictures posted which require no artificial light for they seem to glow with the richness of love. There is no contrivance or pretense; they look like people I would like to know and more importantly, like people who are genuinely enriched by each other. He has built a successful greeting card company (greatarrow.com – their graphics are really lovely and unique) and is also an extraordinarily gifted photographer. His photos capture the magnificent moodiness of the sky, the sun in fits of pique. He has an impressive collection of Stetson hats and wears them well. All of this is well and good – but how do you find someone in a hotel lobby? I told him to look for a short, blond woman in her renaissance.
Fortunately, the lobby wasn’t crowded – but I would have known Alan regardless. Something about his walk (though the Stetson helped). Bobby used to walk a bit on his toes, Jo’s heels would scuff the cement, Bruce kind of pulled the sidewalk along with each step and Gary had a sort of walk/run. Alan’s shoulders were a little rounded, his eyes looked directly ahead despite the suggestion of the angle of his head and his feet always seemed to touch the ground gently. Our pack traveled in relative quiet – our shoes reinforced with layers of rubber. The cooler kids had metal taps on their shoes – stepping in a perpetual dance with sound and rhythm. Perhaps our development was more muted. It seemed loud to us, though I think for the most part it reflected sounds only we could hear.
Where do you pick up after lifetimes have passed? You can’t really say nothing is new, for to the listener everything is new. I didn’t know he thought I had a great voice, he didn’t know that I thought he had an artistic and thoughtful aspect I always liked. He designed sets for theatrical productions; I performed in them. He went to Stuyvesant (a high school for the seriously smart); I went to private school. We all dispersed for college. So it goes.
And yet after two and a half hours, we still had stories to tell. More than the memories of who we once were, we shared an understanding of those invisible threads – the ones that constitute the preliminary stitches which outlined the design of who we became. He became a warm, loving, devoted, creative man. I chose a career that required decades of performance and appealing to wide audiences.
Alan will return to DC next year for another annual meeting. I hope we meet again same time, next year. Were we old friends? We are older, and yes, I believe we are friends. We share seminal moments in our respective histories, and the comfort to quote Samuel Taylor Coleridge, of “a sheltering tree”.