Lost Myself for a Moment

As you can imagine, anxiety plagued me the entire week before the women’s retreat.  As the days and hours ticked closer to the start of it, I grew more and more pensive and uncomfortable — but I had agreed to go… and go I shall. 

Once we got to the campsite, I started mentally checking off items on my ever-growing anxiety list.  The more I was able to check things off, the more comfortable I became.

• Indeed, I was free to come and go as I pleased.  There were no locked gates or barriers that prevented me from leaving.
• The site was an opened campground, with an outside kitchen, a covered meeting area, and a mobile unit that was used as a community center meeting room.  If the nights were too cold for camping out in tents, we could sleep on the floor of the mobile unit.  There were also outside showers and bathrooms. 
• Trees and foliage created small, intimate areas throughout the property.  These peaceful coves created natural, private havens for people to set up their tents — as well as provided shared common areas where groups could freely gather.
• Although participants were encouraged to spend the nights there, we were free to leave and return in the morning if we preferred.  I chose to do the latter, although most everyone else stayed the nights.
• Instead of being blindly led from one activity to another, we were given a flexible agenda, so we would know what was planned for the weekend — with the understanding that things could change along the way.
• I didn’t have time to feel out of place because as soon as we stepped onto the property, the spiritual leader put us to work — setting things up for the night’s festivities.  [Hint:  This is one of the fastest ways to make members feel part of a group — having them work together on a common task or goal.] 

Even with all our prep-work, as the weekend progressed, the differences between the group and me became glaringly apparent.  There was no preventing it… no hiding it.  I was, indeed, labeled “vanilla” — as we had predicted. 

At first, this unnerved me.  I wanted to fit in; I wanted to be liked; I wanted to be accepted… and when I was labeled “vanilla,” I felt as if I had failed. 

Katherine took me aside and reminded me that I needn’t force anything.  All I needed to be was myself and I will fit in.  Simply be.

  

Simply be. 

To “simply be” meant to acknowledge the truth of the situation.  I am different from the group; there’s no denying it, no hiding it, and no changing that fact…

Once I became grounded in that simple truth, another truth surfaced.  This group of women didn’t care that I wasn’t like them.  They were confident women who weren’t concerned about our differences.  They didn’t use every moment to work on me — to conform my thoughts and beliefs to theirs.  They didn’t spend their weekend trying to change me.

They were warm and welcoming.  They were giving of themselves without taking anything from me.  They managed to create an encouraging, open, and protective place where we could share our experiences and dreams without fear of ridicule or rejection.

They were very comfortable with themselves, which allowed me to be comfortable with myself — probably for the first time since my last women’s retreat (20+ years ago).  They accepted me for who I was at that moment… appreciated where I was in my journey… and invited me back to join them for future gatherings.

Yeah, the weekend went far better than I could have imagined, and I am very glad I took the risk. 

Yeah.  It is good for me to get out of my comfort zone and expand my experiences.

Don’t let Katherine know I said this… but she was right, damn it! 

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Time to Move On

I took off work early to go to the dentist.

What’s eventful about this dentist visit is that it would be my last visit with Dr. Bodo.  He’s an 80-year-old man with a gentle touch, kind soul, and patient temperament — and he’ll be retiring from the profession in a couple of months. 

I know it’s time for him to move on — but I don’t like it! 

He’s been in practice for 56 years — longer than I’ve been alive.  My mother first took me to him when I was too young to climb into his chair.  As the years have gone by, I’m the one, now, taking my mother, and she’s having difficulty climbing into his chair…

It takes us more than an hour to drive to his office, and in all these years, we’ve never considered finding another dentist closer to home.  Now, we’re forced to…

Yes, this is hard for us.  It’s hard for him, too.

He tells me that he is sad to have to close up his practice.  He’s not just closing a business; he’s saying goodbye to a part of himself.  Many of his patients have been with him for so long that they have become like family to him.   

  

But he has family of his own.  He has kids and grandkids all over the country; so I was imagining his retirement would give his wife and him the freedom to visit family and friends… but this isn’t the case.

Instead, he’s retiring to take care of his ailing wife and disabled son.

There’s no time for traveling.  There’s no time to enjoy the fruits of his labor.  There’s no time to relax.

As I grab for the door for this last time, I’m struck with the realization that I will never, again, hear his warning to drive safely home, and see his warm smile, waving me on my way…

Yes, it’s very hard for me to say goodbye to this 80-year-old man with the gentle touch, kind soul, and patient temperament… knowing that I’m not going to be coming back... to him.

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Share Your Light

I got one of those annoying update notices from a business network website.  It was telling me who changed their profile, who’s linking up with whom, who wanted me to join their network, etc.

Because I don’t have much contact with these individuals, I usually just delete the emails without opening them, but for some reason, I opened this one.

In the email, one of my old high school acquaintances looked back at me.  She looked like she was on a sailboat, having fun.  The picture made me happy for her, so I looked down at her recent post.

It was a post that took my breath away.  The post was actually a memorial to her.  It stated that:

 

She was an intelligent and courageous woman. She had the courage of trying to reach for her dream of running a successful assisted-living facility. Her dream was bigger than reality could allow. Sadly, when she recognized this, she was unable to cope with it, and she took her own life on October 19, 2010. She will always be remembered for her loving, joyous, and bubbly personality.

Even though this happened in 2010 and we're embarking on 2012, I sit here numb… and wishing that I had done something more than I had. 

If I had done something, would she have made a different decision?

You see… about two years ago, she found me on this business network website and invited me to join her on this network and on Facebook.  She said that we had gone to high school together and were the best of friends back then.  Even though she was in Texas and I was in Florida, she wanted to reconnect.

I couldn’t remember her as well as she remembered me, but I accepted her invitations, nonetheless. 

Soon after that, she called me.  She recounted scenes from high school like they were yesterday. She’d rattle off names from the past and revealed her mission to reconnect with all her close high school friends.  Those years were the happiest times for her.  Her goal was to resurrect those connections.


In this first contact, she was so happy, bubbly, and full of energy that she spooked me a bit.  I remember mentioning the phone conversation to Katherine, commenting on the intensity of her need for connection — and how sad it was that she was having to reach out thousands of miles away and to years gone by — to the high school years — to find the connections she was thirsting for…


She called me a couple of times after that — and we’d spend hours together over the phone.  In those calls, she told me of her failing business and how that was negatively affecting her marriage... but she’d always end our conversations saying how much I made her feel better… how I made her laugh…  She was always upbeat and excited when we hung up.


This makes me wonder:  If I had called her more, would things be different?


It’s a sobering reminder for the New Year:  We don’t realize how important our presence is to another human being.  We don’t realize how, even as strangers, we can reach out to others — through an understanding smile, an encouraging compliment, a phone conversation, a simple FaceBook post.  We can share our light with others, even if it’s only for a brief moment.


We don’t know what others are going through in their lives.  We don’t know what battles are being lost or what struggles are being managed. 


We only know that our actions affect others.  If we could use the power held in the gifts of focused attention and positive connections more, we could abolish a host of negative and draining emotions that live within others and us. 


Just as the absence of light sustains darkness, the absence of relationships highlights the necessity of them.  Loneliness and despair grow in the dark abyss of one’s soul when the light of human contact is absent.  By reaching out to another and openly sharing ourselves (i.e., our “inner light” or our energy) — even in the smallest of ways — we can dispel the darkness in another human being — if only for that brief moment — and it only takes a moment to affect someone’s inner light.

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Hostess of Memories

On the eve of another birthday, I’m reminded exactly how long I’ve had the desire to write...

Here’s one of my first pieces that was actually published in a local newspaper.  I was teenager at the time.  Gosh… if only I pursued this dream that many years ago, I wonder where I would be today.

Anyway… the piece is called Hostess of Memories.

The yard was filled with flowers and tall grass that waved in the wind. Hidden behind a tree stooped a little girl who was hunting her cat, which in turn was stalking a bird.  A car's horn blasted somewhere in the distance and the game was over.  In search for another prey, she eyed a butterfly which flew too high for her to catch.  Finally, she reached her destination....

She loved this house.  It was old and breaking down, but it still stood tall and strong.  Everything it touched would excite her.  Even the trees that surrounded her castle were special.  In a tree, she would sit very still on her wooden throne and hear the wind sing to her as the flowers and grass bowed down to her.

Sneaking around the corner, she would creep pass the old man in the rocking chair.  His snoring helped cover the squeaking floorboards under her; but, just about passed him, she would notice that the snoring had stopped.  Embarrassed that she got caught, she would shyly turn around to talk to her grandfather.

When she was younger, she used to be afraid of him.  Hands behind his back, he'd stand above her with his stern eyes piercing through his bifocals.  His gruff voice left her cold and frightened.  As she grew to know him, his eyes turned from stern to tired.  Even his bifocals lost their sharpness.  Now they would silently slip down to the tip of his nose, where they would rest.  He still would stand tall and fearful, but she knew that behind his back he held a box of cookies to be shared.

Hand in hand, they would walk inside.  Their castle was dark and musty.  The only sun that would come in was through the stained-glass window above the stairs.  With this light, the stairs gave off a magical silence that spread throughout the house.  When the house was alive with cousins, uncles and aunts, she would climb these stairs and let sounds of laughter and smells of cooking float over her.

Lying in the colorful shadows, she would spy on her family.  Through the window, she would see Grandpa rocking and nodding.  Her uncles, resting their feet on the shaky banisters, would joke with each other, while her cousins ran around, yelling in the yard.  Soon, she would get tired of being invisible and would run to join the others playing in the yard.

But she liked the house best when it was still and quiet and she had it all to herself.  Alone in the living room, she would climb onto Grandpa's favorite chair.  Bouncing on this green cloud, she'd look through the stack of magazines and newspapers that were in easy reach of the chair.  Hearing Grandpa coming, she would scuttle off the chair and onto the floor.  She would pretend to be hard at work on her log cabin and would steal glances to see if he suspected.  He, in turn, would pretend not to notice her sudden fluster.  Grandpa would sit in his chair, start up a cigar and pick up his paper and glasses.  After a while, he'd put down the paper, lean over and suggest new ways of building the cabin. 

The house was quiet.  All that could be heard was the old clock and Grandpa's quiet coughing.  She loved it here.  She wanted it to stay this way forever.  But it couldn't.  Grandpa died--and so did the house.

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