Tag Archives: Positivity

Going, Going, Gone

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In an ironic twist, I recently found myself making purchases at both a flea market and an auction. After my last post, More or Less, bringing items into my home appears to be a hypocritical choice. As much as I find it necessary to simplify my life and lessen the load I have collected over the years, I have never lost a certain level of sentimentality for certain items. Our mother, Rita, lived for twenty two years after the death of our father. Her home was filled with items acquired over time, permeated with copious amounts of love and memories. When she gave up housekeeping, I brought many of her items over to my home. I continue to call my style Rita Revisited.

I go through stages when I invest my time in auctions. I can remember the first one I attended. I tagged along with our father to one being held very close to our home. I don’t think I caught the main purpose of the event and I don’t recall if our father bid on anything. I do remember, being a child short in stature, I couldn’t see over the people standing in front of us. Our mother was much more a fan of yard sales as auctions made her nervous. She and Dad would spend Saturday morning scouting through others’ junk to find their treasures. They would pass items along to us that they thought might be helpful or needed. Maybe it was their hobby that now has me discern if I truly need something prior to bringing it home.

I have enjoyed auctions, although historically I am outbid. Many of them today are buyer friendly as you can review the items and place your bids online. The last time I attended an auction in person, I came home with sore feet and a sunburn. Recently I had picked up my online high bid items from an auction in my old neighborhood. I was aware of the house from living in the area. Being that it is well over a century old, I suspected it held character within its walls. I was right, it was apparent that the house had aged with charm. I had the opportunity to speak with the family on that bittersweet day. They lamented that they couldn’t keep all of their late uncle’s possessions but they would keep the memories of him and all the special occasions that they gathered there for holidays and events.

You might be curious about what items I am allowing into my home after sharing my battle cry about purging. I have begun collecting vintage handiwork: quilts, embroidered pieces and crocheted doilies. My plan is to repurpose them which pays homage to the time and talent it took to produce them and also gives them a new life that makes them available for daily use. I have a collection of these pieces from my maternal grandmother and her sister. I never had the opportunity to know them but I currently find it difficult to repurpose these pieces that they lovingly toiled over. My paternal grandmother was also very talented with needle, thread and crochet. In my own way I honor them. No longer present in this world, their legacy is very much a part of my life, but I am just not ready to take scissors to those items.

As I pay tribute to my ancestors, I question what legacy I may leave. I believe that each and every one of us is put on this earth for a reason. The majority of us will never know fame or fortune but within our small and personal realm there must be something that is left. I think of it as a ripple in a pond. Those concentric circles can continue on and reach farther than we might have intended or realized. For a long time I worked within my community. My hope was to make a difference in my small corner of the world. Now that I am beyond work and retirement is my reality, I revel in the fact that my time is my own. Satisfied with what I have achieved professionally I don’t want to drop the ball now. In the future, if there is a handcrafted item that brings joy to someone, than it was worth the effort. Putting words to paper brings me great joy and if there is something I have shared and it touches just one soul my time has not been spent in vain. Who could possibly be the proverbial high bidder on what is behind? I don’t mean our household goods and property but rather something we personally created. We have this one life, before it is going, going, gone, let’s not squander it.

More or Less

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I recently began a new stage in life. I crossed the great divide and am now retired. As in all life changes, this prompted an introspective look. Am I content with my accomplishments? Are there things I have left undone? Are there important items on my bucket list that I feel I must accomplish? Like life, the answers to these questions present an ebb and tide in my mind. Depending on the day, the answers, contentment and resolve can often change. I do recognize there is a thought that seems rather pronounced. This transition has brought a personal perspective that others, my contemporaries, might have also come to realize.

When I was young, I wanted more. I had my whole life ahead of me. As cliché as it sounds, I truly did feel that the sky was the limit. My aspirations where not far from others in my age group. My plans for a higher education didn’t pan out exactly the way I would have liked but a bright future appeared to be within reach. My contemporaries and I might have shared the same checklist which had marriage, home and children. Looking back I can say: check, check and check. I wanted my professional life to be a reflection of who I was. I wanted responsibilities and programs that I could build with foundations that would remain strong and exist well into the future. I wanted to leave my mark. I would say I also desired more money but my career in nonprofit work would not ordinarily allow for it.

I have never considered myself materialistic, yet I still wanted more. A closet full of clothes was an acceptable quest. Vacations were something that were planned and enjoyed yearly. My home was filled with décor I enjoyed, trinkets and souvenirs. It was the normal and acceptable way of life. Again, it didn’t mean I wallowed in shallowness as this drive was even a part of my faith life. It was not enough to attend services on Sunday, I felt it necessary to be part of the church leadership. This also extended to other volunteer activities. I didn’t dare be a hypocrite. How could I ask someone to give their time if I didn’t do it myself?

I am not clear if this is an observation or a confession. Either way, it invokes exhaustion. I thought I was going with the flow but in retrospect it looks like there were times that rivaled what felt more like white water rapids. There were moves and new starts in different communities. A divorce and two professional positions that were eliminated had me muster both perseverance and flexibility. Those might have been the times that my original drive and passion for more began to chip away. I might have even accepted the realization that the status quo was something I could live with and still be content.

Now my retirement looms brightly before me. I laugh and say the losses in life gave me the gift of frugality, which will be helpful as I navigate the years ahead. I am content in the little home that I share with my quirky cat. I now find the need to clear out the items that I thought were once so important to acquire. I still enjoy a change of scenery but souvenirs are not nearly as important as the memories. I recognize time spent with family and close friends is priceless. Once consumed with “more”, a lifestyle of “less’ is what I now most desire. Would I change anything in the years that are now history? I don’t lose sleep even questioning it. What has taken me a lifetime to realize is that I am grateful for currently being enriched by less.

Lost

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I was looking forward to the day. It would be the last time I would be meeting with this group of colleagues. I wasn’t concerned about the drive that would take one hour and a half. Our agency is spread over several locations and I was used to driving. Virtual meetings have increased greatly since COVID made them a necessity and I now gladly accept the opportunity to meet face to face as it has become the exception rather than the norm. My clothes were set out and my lunch was packed the night before. I was set.

The morning came and I was ready to leave as I took one last look at myself in the mirror. How did I not notice that something had bled on my blouse in a previous wash? It was much too noticeable at that time and I scrambled to decide what to wear. It put me a little bit behind but not by much as I had given myself an extra half hour for travel. Translated: I gave myself time to access the drive thru at Dunkin Donuts and treat myself to the companionship of coffee and a donut on the trip. Once my purchase was made I put my coordinates in my phone and was ready to let GPS take control. It had been well over a year since I drove to this location and it was not committed to memory. I soon learned my phone was offline and there was no cajoling it to bring up the appropriate directions. I pulled out the cell phone provided from work and realized I couldn’t come up with the correct password. One attempt warned me that it would take five minutes before I could try again. Subsequent attempts pushed the time limit set for new efforts further out by fifteen minutes each. All of a sudden I felt I was trying to climb a mountain of shifting sand. It was the previous day that a conversation led me to state that I could read a map, but who carries them in their car anymore, even though my car doesn’t come equipped with GPS? If it wasn’t my last time, meeting with this team, I would have decided to change my plans and drive to my office. It didn’t seem like much of a choice as I enjoy the company of these people and knew I had to make the trip.

It was time for an executive decision. I would return home, a ten minute drive, and access maps on my laptop and go old school. I reached out to my manager to share my situation and that most likely I would be late, but eventually would be there to join them. I texted my son, who happens to be an IT guru, and asked for his input. This is a good time to let you know that my printer at home didn’t work and I jotted down the directions. I thought at the time it was enough to jog my memory and ensure me a successful drive to the location. I was wrong.

It is difficult to read directions when you are on a road whose speed limit is over 50 mph. I inadvertently turned down a road that was evidently incorrect. I believe the route number was correct but I couldn’t locate the connecting road. I was deep in God’s country. I never realized how many orchards there are in the area. Again, reaching out to my son by text, he suggested that I find a fast food business that would allow me to use their Wi-Fi and get back on track. I had to let him know that there was nothing like that for miles. I was in a location that remained untouched by progress for decades. He tried texting me directions with the sketchy information I was providing him. I was beginning to feel a bit frantic.

It was at this point that I noticed that the programed oldies station had dissipated and a Christian station had taken its place. I was not familiar with the songs but I didn’t need to be. It was the nudge I needed to fall back on the well-known: Jesus is my copilot. Additionally, I realized that I had a sign from my late sister in law. It made me laugh. I don’t know if I really trusted her directions in life and wasn’t sure if I was safe doing it in death. I pictured her in the passenger seat. It seemed so natural as I happen to be driving her former car. With these observations I made others. I was driving through some beautiful countryside. It was a gorgeous day with a bright blue sky and my gas tank was full. The backdrop was a luscious green from the vast amount of rain we had received and colorful beds of flowers could be found in every direction. I located a road whose name was familiar. Thank goodness I enjoy Civil War history as I recognized the road, knowing it would take me to the battlefield. I could easily find my way to the office once I had made it to this neighboring town.

When I reached the office, it was much later than I anticipated. I had missed a good portion of the business but it didn’t matter. I made a grand entrance with a joyful countenance. I had a story to tell and a lesson learned. Although I was physically alone in the car, I didn’t feel like I was driving solo. It took me a little longer than I would have liked but the realization that prayer is always an important option calmed me. Although I am still not sure I would trust directions from my sister in law, it was a pleasant reminder that the love continues once someone has transitioned to the other side. My son will always be my life line and I will think of him as my greatest blessing for so many reasons. I continue to trust that I am where I am supposed to be, when I am supposed to be there, regardless of my plans. As I enter a new stage in life, I am reminded I am not alone. There might be some unexpected detours along the way but I will reach my destination. I need to acknowledge that I have support, appreciate the scenery and enjoy the ride.

My Vote

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I have given myself a challenge. Would I be able to write a blog, with politics at its foundation, and not raise anyone’s hackles? If I were to issue myself a second challenge, it might be finding a reason to use the word “hackles”. We live in a society where there is bipartisan bitterness at levels that are both unhealthy and unproductive. Being a self-professed political junkie, I have a definite opinion on policy, but I also try to carry a healthy dose of respect for others. As I wish not to be ridiculed for my opinions, I diligently try to be accepting of others, no matter how divergent our belief systems might be.

Recently, the 2024 primary election was held in my state. I was prepared to go into the polling center and be approached by those who volunteer to bolster their candidate’s chances at success. As usual I decline the pamphlets and brochures of the candidates who will not be found on my ballot. I do so with a smile and don’t shy away from pleasant small talk. Interestingly, my rejection of printed material caught the attention of the local president of the opposing political party. He invited me to join them and offered to bring me over to what he deemed the correct side. The conversation that ensued was filled with lighthearted banter and laughter. It carried me into the polling place where another pleasant conversation followed with a poll worker who was knitting in between her role in assisting voters.

Once my vote was complete and inserted into the machine, I headed for the doors. On the other side, conversation resumed with the volunteers outside. As it winded down and I was almost to my car, the local president told me he liked my attitude. With that, I was soon headed to the parking lot exit but not before waving to those to whom I had just spoken. It might have been the first time in a long time that an encounter, due to politics, brought a smile to my face.

I live in a small town and enjoy the atmosphere that it provides. Although I would be considered a transplant I have made friends, connections and consider myself comfortable in my surroundings. Something that has given me pause lately is the vitriol that I see coming to the surface because of the unyielding nature of some political supporters. Our community has a group on Facebook. It has been a helpful resource to know that the traffic is backed up on the interstate, which businesses or people come recommended for their services and other pertinent information. I am having a hard time understanding why sarcastic and mean-spirited political comments must be made on these timelines or as something as benign as a person seeking their lost pet or sharing that they found one.

There is solid reasoning behind those who hold themselves to the adage that it is never wise to discuss politics or religion. In the proper venue, with the appropriate decorum, any subject matter can be debated. We are all unique individuals, and it is that uniqueness that makes this world an interesting place. Our journey is a personal one. We might invite others to join us, but odds are that our path is not their path, our preferences are not theirs. I am not longing for the good old days. I can vividly recall the threat of Communism, the Vietnam War, the Civil Rights movement, and the unrest caused by all. No, I am praying for a world that has peace and acceptance at its core. Now that I think about it, I wish I had used that as a write-in on my ballet. That is what I would like to see leading all our communities.

Full

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I count myself a very fortunate individual. I can be inspired easily by mundane surroundings. Observations that are truly unique may seem rather comical. If I tell you that seeing a septic truck brought creative thoughts to mind, you might think I have a need to talk to a professional. I think not and I will share why I feel that is the case, at least this particular time.

First, let’s discuss what a septic tank is and what service it provides. Then I will touch base on the importance of septic trucks. A simple search on Google will tell you that a septic tank is an underground chamber made of concrete, fiberglass, or plastic through which domestic wastewater (sewage) flows for basic sewage treatment. That is a rather delicate way to describe how to keep up with human waste. Those who live in a more populated or metropolitan area will rely on a sewer system which carries the waste off through underground pipes that transport it to a treatment plant. I understand if you think this topic may be bizarre but I promise you, there is a point to this blog.

I grew up in a household where we did make use of a septic tank. We were a family of seven, three adults and 4 children. That would equate to a lot of water usage and disposal. My father would try to combat some of that collection by having our washing machine drain outside through a hose. That way all the used water would not unnecessarily fill the septic tank and there were no concerns about it being a biohazard. You can imagine the amount of laundry that our family generated. It was a world of woe when the tank would reach its limit and a call was made to bring in a septic truck. I don’t recall what would trigger that request and it is probably just as well that I don’t remember. I do know it was a big deal when it happened. The truck would come and the driver would access the underground tank and pump out its contents. I don’t know what leads someone to choose that as a career but it remains an essential service.

Now let’s get back to my original premise, that inspiration can be found everywhere.  Whether it be a sewer or a septic tank, everyone needs something to rid one’s life of collected waste. The human condition insists that it exists. I’m asking you to use your imagination and not refer to bodily waste but rather negative thoughts, unkindness, nastiness or anything that could be considered within the realm of hatred. We don’t need to maintain it as part of our life and it is so much more beneficial if we rid ourselves of it and make room for the good. Life has so much goodness to offer. There are glorious experiences, relationships and positivity that exists. Just because this unpleasantness lay dormant below the ground, or under the skin, it not recommended that it be allowed to stay and fester. It is much healthier to wash it out of your system and purge yourself of it. Life is much too short to expend energy by lugging that heaviness around with you. Burdens find it hard to exist within the lightness. One more observation comes to mind. Be watchful and don’t let your tank ever get close to overflowing. Keep your thoughts and actions in check so the septic truck doesn’t need to make a house call. No one wants to be full of it!

Empty

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I believe everyone has a bucket list. They might not call it that, but there are things in life that we all wish for, strive for, and want to put in our “accomplished” pile. There are other things that fall into another category. They are experiences that no one necessarily wishes to have happen, but often become a part of one’s life. They are the type of items that you find in a social media questionnaire: broken bones, ambulance rides, or being locked out of your car. I feel like I now have membership in a club I didn’t plan to join.

I attended a seminar one weekday evening in a nearby town. By the time the event was over, nighttime had fallen and the skies had opened. I was aware my gas tank was low but I had no desire to stop and fill up on a dark rainy night. I knew there would be no trouble getting home. Making a mental note, I planned to fill up the next day. I also did some mental calculations and thought I could get to work without any trouble but would need to fill up on my way home. The message on the dashboard nudged me into action: Fuel level low. Usually the message allows for the number of miles afforded you prior to the tank going empty. When the mileage number hits fifty, the message changes and you are left to your own devices to determine where you are within that fifty mile limit.

When the workday ends, I find myself driving home, usually with a joyful countenance. Not a care in the world hangs over me. It is because of that carefree exuberance that I overlooked the fact that the car needed gas. I passed several opportunities to fill the tank but none of them jogged my memory. I was almost home when I realized I had overlooked this important task. I am frugal by nature and usually I cross the state line to purchase gas as it is much cheaper. I live close to the border and ordinarily it doesn’t present a hardship. I said a silent prayer and kept driving. There were no other options left by this time and the usual drive through pastures and farm land was neither pleasant nor relaxing. With whiten knuckles, I continued on my course.

Just prior to reaching the location of the little country convenience store, there is a traffic circle. As I approached the circle I could feel the difference in the car. I asked for a miracle, that the large truck ahead of me would have no reason to slow or stop and we could both manage to make our way around the circle. It was necessary to stop for oncoming traffic. Starting again, I made my way around the circle, followed by a quick right turn and found I had exhausted even the fumes in my tank. I was just a few yards from the entrance of the gas station. I had an odd feeling, a calmness came over me. I edged the car to the right shoulder and turned off all the accessories. Putting my emergency blinkers on, I wanted to avoid a careless driver running into the back of the car. I opened the door and with my left leg out I knew it was not possible to push the car any further. Years ago, as a young woman, I had been successful pushing the VW Beetle off the side of the rode when it would intermittently die on me. Those days were long gone and I made a plan that I would hopefully be able to purchase a gas can and resolve my problem. Fortunately, I didn’t have to execute that plan.

As a car pulled up behind me, the driver, a young man, rolled his window down and asked if I needed help. He was out of his car and behind mine in a matter of moments. The driver behind him reacted in the same way. Another driver, advancing from the opposite direction, pulled his car into the parking lot and came running across the street. I sat back down in the driver’s seat and put the car in neutral. As the three men pushed the car I was steering it to the closest pump. It was over just as quickly as it had begun. Feeling foolish, I did make a point to thank all of them for their kindness. The only one that seemed to linger was the gentleman who had pulled into the parking lot. As he walked out of the convenience store, I found it odd that he thanked me. Evidently he was looking for a reason to stop and purchase a lottery ticket. I was his excuse. I would be interested in learning if he received a windfall as payment for his gallantry. Even with the purchase of his ticket, I realized that it took me longer to fill my tank than it did to have strangers see my plight and rectify it.

I suppose it isn’t all that bad that this was the first time that I experienced such a misfortunate event. Actually, it was refreshing to be the recipient of this gracious act coming from strangers. Upon retrospect though, I realize this wasn’t the first time I have run out of gas. As I approached my divorce I found I was deplete of energy, physical and emotional. Professionally, I had experienced the elimination of two positions. Again, I was running on empty. These, and other challenges, have miraculously still let me arrive at my destination. Sometimes I had to rely on myself to find a way to get my vehicle back on track. Other times I was assisted by a solid support system that helped push me and allowed me to find my way. I have come to the realization that we all have run out of gas one time or another. It could be literally, figuratively or both. It has taken me a considerable amount of time to realize that life isn’t a race but we need to remain driven. The course may change but sitting it out, by the roadside, should never be an option.

Random Conversations

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I am one of those people who strangers talk to in a grocery store. I’ve checked and there is no signage on my forehead that invokes conversation. I have often thought I might possess a resting bitch face but if I did, I doubt people would want to talk to me. Those who know me, generally call me a positive individual and perhaps that is the aura or demeanor I project. Either way, it is interesting what a total stranger will offer in conversation. What I have to share is not a scientific study, rather observations made when paying attention to those conversations within a twenty four hour period.

I was making my way through a checkout line on a Friday afternoon. I told the cashier that I was glad the weekend was upon us but I recognized that I wouldn’t feel that way if I worked retail. The cashier, with joy in her voice, said she was going to be off on Saturday. I shared that I was going to take my cat to a vet appointment. She asked if she was sick and I explained that I had adopted her within the past two months and she had severe arthritis. I was taking her in to the vet for her monthly shot. When asked, I did reveal the cost of the care she was being provided. The cashier blessed me for taking the responsibility of pet ownership to heart. It was not lost on me that the next customer also responded, although not with the spoken word. Her eyes bulged out to the point that she reminded me of a cartoon. I had almost expected to hear her actions be accompanied by a sound much like those animated characters, a-wooga. If I was ever looking for an opponent to play poker with, I would select this woman.  I gave no evidence that I witnessed her reaction.

It was clear, the customer behind me, thought I was foolish for the money I was spending on my newly acquired cat. I let it go. The next day I also kept my thoughts to myself when having a brief conversation with one of the attendants at the local dump. I have definite ideas and interest where politics are concerned but I withhold them until I’m in the proper setting. Many who spend time with me on a regular basis probably don’t have a clue where my beliefs lie. I have learned to be polite and keep my mouth shut. It is always wise to choose your battles but it makes no sense to pick a fight with a total stranger. The attendant at the dump would have made it easy. I am still shaking my head over how Groundhog Day could be cloaked in politics. It never fails to amaze me how views can vary. In my opinion, bringing an innocent groundhog into the mix goes beyond the pale.

Not to fear, I won’t leave you with anything but a positive note to end this blog. While I was shopping in a craft and fabric store I saw a woman with the most beautiful bolt of soft fleece. It had shades of turquois, chartreuse, and other colors that would put you in mind of a tropical seascape.  I was drawn to both her and the material. She shared that she was going to make a bed jacket for her sister. Did I know what that was? I certainly did and went on to tell her that I had my mother’s for many years. She correctly guessed that it was made of satin. It was pink satin with lace. She further shared that her mother called them lady linens. It seemed like such a practical type of apparel. How did we get away from wearing something warm over our arms as we read in bed? We both enjoyed our brief walk down memory lane and went on our separate ways.

My thoughts about this very unscientific study seem to be clear. Most people enjoy talking and the topics go far beyond the weather. Just as I have a well-defined perspective on most topics, others do too. It is those diverse opinions that show how we are all unique in our world vision. I believe what might separate us is the ability to filter those thoughts or know when it is appropriate to share them. I will happily go through my day making conversations with strangers on inconsequential topics. If I should come across someone who seems not to respect the ground rules of keeping conversations about politics and religion out of the fray, I will remain polite and let it go. I learned a long time ago that opinions are seldom altered, especially by a brief exchange. I am not easily offended nor do I feel I am a hypocrite but rather an individual who enjoys chatter and banter that leaves a smile. Who needs a scowl, especially if your face were to stick that way?

Quotations

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“New year—a new chapter, new verse, or just the same old story? Ultimately we write it. The choice is ours.”

Alex Morritt

Because I sometimes have trouble deciding on a flavor when the choices are plentiful, I offer you these quotes focused on ice cream:

“Scoop up the joy; it’s ice cream o’clock!”

unknown

“I like my ice cream in a waffle cone, and my days in sprinkles.”

unknown

Solitary

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What makes us who we are? Is it heredity, environment, experiences or innate personality? This question has resonated with me various times in my life. I often feel that I fall in the minority of what most consider the norm. None of us should exhibit cookie cutter uniformity and our uniqueness should be celebrated. That being said, being content within one’s choices may come into question by those who choose another path.

For the last twenty years I have walked solo through life. This comes as a result of divorce. It’s not that I am against relationships. I dated and married. My son and I are close, my immediate and extended family care for one another and I have a large and varied circle of friends. Yet for the past two decades I have not had a romantic relationship. To be honest, I looked around when I was newly divorced and spent some time cruising through the dating sites, yet I could not bring myself to seriously pursue it. It might have been the expected activity but throughout my life I have always bristled at following the standard.

I could safely say that I would have been considered a tom boy. I thought my future was to either join the Navy, following in my father’s footsteps, or be the first female player for the Baltimore Orioles. The second would have never happened for many reasons but mainly because I was no athlete. I did have a sense of propriety as I matured. I chose not to take typing in high school as I knew I didn’t want the role of being someone’s secretary. The ability to type was remedied later as it is difficult to exist in the professional realm or as a writer without having command of the keyboard. As I look back at this time in my life I see where I was laying the foundation of individuality.

I would like to return to my original question. What elements in life contribute to one’s personality? I evidently never saw a wedding as a glorious event to dream about starting early in life. When I turned eight a friend gave me a bride doll. She was about six inches tall, covered in what appeared to be a satin and lace gown. As a miniature bride, she was showcased in a cardboard box with a cellophane front. The doll stood before a fancy backdrop and that is where she would stay. I remember those at my birthday party being envious of such a beautiful doll but it did nothing for me. She would never have the opportunity to escape her display and mingle with my Barbie and all her friends.

I was responsible for the fate of my bride doll and I continue to fashion my own. I don’t let life stop as a result of not having a significant other. I go to concerts solo and have the realization that I am there to see the performance and not to chat with someone sitting next to me. I take vacations without a travel partner. My house is decorated as I like yet there are times when I think it would be nice to have someone else living under the same roof. Those times are few and far between. Honestly, the only time I have felt that way would be the times I had to step up to do something undesirable. The removal of a black snake from my dining room was one such time.

Is my choice of a solo lifestyle so unusual? I can recall my late mother often saying that she wish I had someone in my life. I appreciated her love and concern. I also recognized she was part of a generation where you married and your husband took care of you. I am grateful that I am not bound by those constraints. When I look in the mirror I see an independent and courageous woman. I can appreciate someone as being attractive or an interesting conversationalist but I don’t need to have another individual in my life to feel whole. I am not critical of those who do seek to share their life with someone. I revel in their joy when they find that special person and admire their dedication and commitment. We are all on a personal journey and the path we follow should be our own. It may be cliché’ but the time tested practice of live and let live should be embraced. Our passage through this life will be so much more rewarding if we follow the course meant for us and let others navigate theirs.