“Life doesn’t get easier or more forgiving, we get stronger and more resilient.”
Steve Maraboli
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Tag Archives: Self improvement
More Than Words
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When I was ten years old, I experienced something that would stay with me my entire life. I don’t recall how it happened, but I managed to find To Kill a Mockingbird. At the time I was interested in the story as I thought it would help me understand my father’s upbringing. He was born in southern Georgia in 1924. For much of my life, I lived a stone’s throw from the Mason Dixon line. It didn’t provide me with the environment and history that he would have encountered in his youth. It felt foreign to me and I thought for certain that this book would provide me with the background that I was seeking.
Now, as an adult, I realize the content might have been an eye opener for someone whose life experience was only a decade in the making. I remember there were subjects and terms that went over my head. At those times, I would turn to my father for an explanation. Once I remember asking him what a “war” lady was. As my father had a hearing impairment, he looked at me quizzically and asked me to repeat the question. I asked again what a war lady was. When my pronunciation wasn’t getting the job done, he finally asked me to spell it. W-H-O-R-E. At that point there was a clear understanding and I was given a clear explanation. Other questions I posed might have shown my lack of knowledge but this one proved my innocence. Now, with a slight grin on my face, I realize that time has replaced the embarrassment with humor.
Although To Kill a Mockingbird was published over 60 years ago, it has remained a mainstay in my life. It was not a coincidence that I had a pair of cats named Scout and Atticus. Scout is the only one who remains and she is often thought to be male due to her name. Calling her Jean Louise would not have felt right. When I recently saw that Richard Thomas was in the current stage production and would be performing at the Kennedy Center, I knew I had to be there. Admittedly, there was a teenage girl’s voice in my head saying how exciting it would be to see John Boy in person. Aware that his role in the Waltons was relegated to history and my crush had long since faded there was still every reason to want to see him. He has a reputation for being a fine theater actor and I relished the idea that the portrayal of my childhood hero was entrusted to him.
I was enthralled by the production. I didn’t need a reminder why the book has always been so special to me. I have long acknowledged the importance of respect and human dignity. I believe it fueled the professional success I have had working out in the community all these years. Atticus exemplified living the golden rule. He was a role model to his children but was challenged by his neighbors when doing the right thing. It comes down to truth and the struggle between good and evil. As the show was coming to an end I found tears in my eyes. I didn’t look to see if others were moved in the same way. Could it be the enormity of the subject matter struck a nerve, the same as it did when I was child? Maybe it was the simple fact that I could only spend a finite amount of time stepping back into the past and into the embodiment of one of my favorite stories.
I left the theater with a ticket stub, a program and a vivid memory. I had adhered to the rules and didn’t even try to sneak a picture. There was no last-minute grab for a souvenir at the stand. I was content, actually, more than content. It was a bit of an epiphany. Upon the end of the production, I walked out with an experience and I didn’t want anything more. This revelation won’t leave me, much as the impact of reading To Kill a Mockingbird all those years ago. The words printed on the pages of the book are tangible but its effect is where the importance lies. Tom Robinson was unjustly found guilty, Boo Radley had come out, and I will continue to climb into someone’s skin and walk around in it to try to understand their perspective.
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“Having a simplified, uncluttered home is a form of self-care.”
emma scheib
Airing Dirty Laundry
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With a smile on his face, my father would often proclaim that God only made two perfect people and one was crucified. He, obviously, was the second one. I have further added to this statement. I have said that I accepted the mantle of my father as he passed decades ago but the joke is on me. The apple might not fall far from the tree but it doesn’t come as a big surprise that I can’t claim perfection.
Although the themes I share by way of my blogs aspire to living a good life and being the person God intended me to be, I am still very much a work in progress. Recently, I have been focused on preparing for some upcoming surgery. I want my home to be neat and organized for several reasons. I will need to be able to maneuver during my recovery without any surplus items in my way. I also want my home to be orderly in the case of having visitors who might come offering assistance. If you are able to read between the lines you will see that maybe tidiness has not one of my strong suits lately. Honestly, I have grappled with two major shortcomings when it comes to housework and I can’t tell you why they exist or what might have caused them.
I will own up to dragging my feet when it comes to emptying the dishwasher. I didn’t always have a dishwasher throughout my adult life. When I washed all my dishes by hand they were put away once they air dried. To this day, items that are hand washed find their way back into the cupboard much quicker than those in the dishwasher. What is the difference between clean dishes on the counter top and those in the dishwasher? Out of sight, out of mind? One day I hope to learn how this aversion was created and know how to overcome it. Until then, the dishwasher will be emptied but under no circumstance would I receive a medal for breaking any records to get it done.
Another household task that has never held any interest for me is finishing the laundry. Translated: I don’t enjoy folding and putting clothes away. The clothes I wear are clean and if I see they possess wrinkles I don’t delay in using my steamer. I enjoy being able to go to my closet or drawers and choose an outfit but somewhere there is a disconnect. Again, I don’t know why this is so firmly planted in me but it’s far time that I address it. My dryer must have known I was going to own up to my shortcoming and has decided to give me reason not to worry with it this weekend. There is no need to fold and put clothes away when the dryer has stopped working and everything has remained wet!
As you must have surmised by this point I have owned up to my quirks surrounding some of my tasks at home. I took a deep breath and decided to come clean and share this with you. I am at the point that I must take action. I have the good fortune to have a friend that has come to my assistance and will ensure my home is clean, neat, and tidy prior to my surgery. She has been an answer to prayer, one that I didn’t realize I was uttering. There have been times that I simply felt overwhelmed due to fatigue and often a lack of time. There would not be any happy ending to this saga if I didn’t allow my humility to come to the forefront and accept help.
I have decided that it is important to show my authentic self. That was the foundation that I determined this blog would be built upon. Due to my independent nature I have long struggled with accepting assistance. I have not only opened the door to this aid but I have been able to swallow my pride. I am relieved that I didn’t choke on it as it went down and it has not been difficult to be gracious. I know that when it is time for my life review I won’t be judged by my housekeeping duties but rather my acceptance of the gifts that have come my way. I am hoping though, that I do get a few extra points for living in a home that is not screaming for attention.
Gifts
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We are all familiar with the time and thought that goes into selecting the perfect gift for someone. The selection could be the consequence of knowing them so well or maybe it is the result of a conversation that never left your memory. The satisfaction of giving could be equal to the delight of the recipient. To witness the joy in one’s eye or the smile that lights up their entire face is a reward in itself. What if that moment is only fleeting? What if you never see them wear the outfit or never witness the item displayed in their home? I wonder if God feels that way when we don’t incorporate his gifts into our lives.
I imagine God patting each infant on their head and sharing with them the main gift he is bestowing upon them as they prepare for their transition to a mortal existence. To some he generously offers teaching and the ability to enlighten children or inventing creations that will be immeasurably helpful to mankind. Some might be given the opportunity to continue to add to the beauty of the earth as a stonemason or landscaper. Others could add beauty through artistic endeavors: sculptor, photographer, musician and poet. This generosity doesn’t stop at talent but also has a combination of personality traits that could allow one to be compassionate, empathetic, kind and generous. God would know the appropriate talent and trait for each earthbound soul. I imagine he smiles, satisfied, as each one of his creations begins their passage through life, supplied with gifts, talents and traits.
I also believe that no one who is given the breath of life gets off free of charge. There are challenges interspersed along the way. I have learned that they too are blessings. They present us with the opportunity to look at the source of our creation and ask for help. I am certain that we don’t stand alone. When we were sent on our journey in life, God didn’t treat us like the candy on the conveyer belt in the I Love Lucy episode. No matter how swiftly life and its events seem to move, he hasn’t let one piece escape him. It’s okay if we have a complaint as customer service is always open. I don’t feel I am being irreverent but rather, because of my gifts, I have been able to maintain humor in light of challenges experienced.
Sometimes gifts are uncovered quickly, others take a while to develop and some might require a lifetime before they are integrated into someone’s existence. Not all talents are necessarily destined to be a professional calling. They can be a passion that sparks your imagination and brings delight. No matter how those abilities are presented, sabotage and a lack of confidence can be an individual’s worse enemies. Their pull can be so strong at times. It may be cliché but true, each day presents us with another opportunity to try again. There is only one expiration date on the goods we have been given. I don’t know about you, but when I reach my expiration date, I want to know I haven’t left any of my gifts unwrapped.
Pandemic Scar
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I don’t believe there is anyone whose life hadn’t been touched by the pandemic in some way. There could have been subtle changes and inconveniences or a major upheavals, like severe illness or death. Without much warning or choice, we were collectively thrown into that reality. Although steps were enacted to prevent infection and lessons were learned, I feel the general public has been ready to sweep all of that under the rug and get on with life. I have moved on as well but there has been a loss left in the wake. It appears that when the tide went out it took my previous views with it.
I consider myself fortunate to exist within several social circles. I can claim friends that are former classmates, some that I have acquired through the work force and others have been met through mutual friends and other organizations. When out and about I appear to be quite the extrovert but what is equally true is that I can enjoy solitude along with the best of introverts. When the decision had to be made about how to handle exposure to COVID, I had to use my best judgement with the input of my doctors. It was strongly suggested that if I was to contract the illness the odds of survival were stacked against me. That was all I needed to hear in order to tip the scales. For the following year I worked remotely.
There was a trade-off, working from home didn’t tempt illness, but social interaction was no longer a part of my daily life. There didn’t seem to be much preparation taken on my part. I remember years ago, while with Red Cross Emergency Services, we would meet and plan for such an event. We discussed how to safely provide food delivery and how to handle a surplus of those who had succumbed to the illness by utilizing ice rinks for morgues. All those discussions came back to me in swift succession. Faced with it in reality found me poorly prepared emotionally, yet moving toward isolation at lightning speed. I would soon live my life with my view to the outside world through the glass of my storm door.
Those who know me are aware of my health challenges. I’ve not known anyone to be critical but rather understanding and compassionate. During that year my friends were extremely helpful and respectful of my choice of isolation. I was not milking the situation but rather holding myself to a rigid environment to keep any infection at bay. In hindsight, it is hard to comprehend the apprehension I felt about opening myself up to any potential exposure. I was adjusting to my self-imposed quarantine when a friend came to visit and I didn’t invite her inside. She told me that I was making too big a deal of the situation. At no point during this time could I be called a hypocrite. If I was not going to work or allowing any other social exposure, I was not going to invite anyone inside my home. She left and with her went a long time friendship.
I have thought about how this loss came to be and why it still exists. There had been overtures from this individual to talk and I didn’t find it difficult to be gracious and engaging but I have never made a point to initiate contact myself. I’m not one to usually hold a grudge and normally take the stance of live and let live. Yet on the heels of the pandemic, I find I view life differently. I have come to identify certain aspects that I might not have paid much heed to originally. I now realize that I do take my illness seriously. For years I have had a somewhat cavalier attitude toward health but now I no longer approach it so casually. I also recognize what a precious commodity time is and that it shouldn’t be squandered. I clearly can see the importance of who I choose to spend my time with and how I choose to spend it. Possibly the rest of my thought would be I don’t care to have others sit in judgement of me, nor I of them. In sharing what I have come to believe, I acknowledge that every day is a gift. I have no desire to address the Almighty and advise him that I would like to return it. There have been times that I felt that the gift I was presented didn’t fit perfectly but I have since grown into it. Now that if fits well, this is what I will continue to model.
Sorry
I have been told that I am a complex individual. I am certain this opinion is the result of my eclectic interests. I am a self-professed political news junkie who is equally comfortable watching the old Walton reruns. Another contradiction might be the fact that I make a concerted effort to save money by my weekly dump runs rather than pay for trash pick-up at the house. It’s ironic that this habit allows me to enjoy purchasing a donut with coffee on a Saturday morning and suddenly not be overly troubled by the expenditure. Surprisingly, a trip through the drive thru recently provided me with an interesting lesson at no additional cost.
Although I get no financial kickback from Dunkin Donuts I will share that this is the location that I frequent when in the mood for caffeine and carbs. One such morning found me ready to announce my desire into the speaker. I was the only one in line, which was very unusual. I placed my order and drove around to the window. Again, with no one ahead of me, I didn’t feel like I had sufficient time to retrieve the payment from my wallet. I quickly pulled the funds out and handed them to the clerk at the window. He accepted it and offered my change directly. I took the money, prepared to return it to my wallet, which had me momentarily turn my back on the clerk. When I turned around again, he had my order at the window. Automatically, thinking I kept him waiting, I told him I was sorry and without missing a beat he said I had no reason to be sorry as I had done nothing wrong.
I looked at this clerk, who appeared to be barely out of high school, and wondered how someone so young had such a capacity for wisdom. I was still the only one in line and my purchase wasn’t holding up any other customer. The clerk would be paid, whether or not I took up any additional time at the window. There was no pressing business beyond my transaction, yet I professed that I was sorry. I realized that this was an all too common knee-jerk response. Although Elton John will sing how sorry seems to be the hardest word, it’s my experience that it rolls off the tongue much too often.
As a female, raised Catholic, I am an expert on guilt. When did it become the norm to be responsible and sorry for everything? It is uttered in personal conversations, professional settings and everywhere in between. It is professed regularly, without much thought or sincerity. Don’t misconstrue my missive as promoting a lack of civility. As I become cognizant of the countless times I utter “sorry” I find I’m trying to better express myself. I now apologize or ask for forgiveness when it is necessary and appropriate. I currently try not to jump to the all-encompassing contrition and chalk it up to additional self-awareness.
Before you accuse me of being extreme, by mentioning this habit many of us have, let me explain further. I will admit that offering the automatic remark of sorry is not going to upset the balance of the universe. Upon reflection though, in general, I sense that conversations could be more meaningful if engaged with active listening and spoken with additional thought, compassion, empathy and truth. Not every statement must be profound and there will always be room for teasing, silliness and humor. A cliché comes to mind: Say what you mean and mean what you say. The reality is that once words are spoken or shared through a chat or text mode, they can’t be retrieved. As I age I have had the sad experience of recounting what would be my last conversation with loved ones. I will make a conscious effort to never leave a conversation that takes on a tone of harshness, disagreement or anger. Bottom line, I will continue to express myself but in the end I remain hopeful that I won’t have any reason to be sorry.
Ivy
It is sad to see an empty home, especially one that has stood on its foundation for decades. The vacant porch no longer hears the creaking of a rocker or the tinkling of ice in a glass of sweet tea. The living room is silent, conversation and music no longer heard between its walls. The kitchen is devoid of memorable aromas. The bedrooms, once the keeper of dreams, lay vacant. A home that once was a safe haven for a family is now unoccupied and may only have deterioration in its future.
I notice empty houses and wonder who once called it home. I am curious about its past and wonder what the future might hold. I am not the only one. Mother Nature has a way of reaching out to a lonely old house. She will often send out tendrils of ivy, in a possible attempt to offer misguided comfort. I can almost hear the whisper of the ivy as it slowly caresses a wall. It offers a greeting and upon no response invites more of its legions to join. Soon there is a blanket of ivy offering to help shelter the house and help keep its secret of abandonment. The house falls victim to the whims of Mother Nature as there is no one there to offer any resistance.
Although there are examples of well-tended ivy that enhances the appearance of a home it can also be detrimental to the surface. It can find its way into cracks and crevices and expand those joints, opening and inviting rot. Painted walls can become discolored and stucco can find that it is no match for the adhesion of ivy. Something so natural, that happens so gradually, can become lovely when carefully cultivated yet damaging when its growth has no guidance.
I look in the mirror every morning to perform the obligatory check on hair and clothes. It is nothing more than a passing glance. I believe it is time to look a little longer and a little harder to see what appears in the reflection. What type of ivy is being cultivated? Have I been successful in producing a healthy, vibrant crop that enhances the gifts I was blessed with from birth or am I letting the ivy run rampant? Is the growth acting as a mask, trying to hide something much like the ivy on an empty house? The good news is that there is always a season of growth. It is never too late to correct the direction of the ivy. It is not always easy, but cutting it off at the root or working diligently to change the path, a healthier harvest can be produced. I’m committed to checking its growth. Will you join me?
Harvesting Life 