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Posts Tagged ‘Growth’

I thought I broke something the other day. Something I’ve been trying to be really, really careful with. Something that is important to me. And holds much emotional value.

 

In fact, it’s something that plays an integral part in me not only functioning, but also in my happiness. And health. So you can understand why I’d want to make sure it’s well looked after.

 

But accidents do happen. Even when we’re being mindful and as it were, it slipped from my grasp. Have you ever wished you could go back in time? Years? Maybe just a few seconds? To alter an action? Change the outcome?

 

I have to admit my heart plunged along with it as it toppled to the floor. And as I watched it go down, all the things it’s come to mean to me over time swirled ‘round inside my head. And while I immediately wished the mishap hadn’t happened, it ended up being a good opportunity. For insight. And growth.

 

I hurried to pick it up. Save it. Examine it closely. Look for chips. Cracks. And to hug it close to my chest. Amazingly, it seemed to be intact. Although changed. And I got to see it in a different way.

 

I do know the cracks could be hiding. Deep inside. Unseeable. Lying in wait to open towards the sky.

 

And disconnect everything.

 

So, I’ll be even more careful from now on. Treat it even more delicately. Respectfully. With kindness. And a soft hand.

 

Because when something means the difference between being happy and barely breathing, you know it’s a big deal. And if you’re able to trust that its cracks are simply openings for new light to enter, then every little thing will be all right.

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I was born without fingernails. Eh, not really, but I bet I nabbed your attention and at least a split second of your sympathy. Admit it. You were picturing me thumping away at this keyboard with my nubby little fingers and their fleshy raw tips. Truth be told, I did come with fingernails. They were just nothing to speak of…or to show anyone for that matter. Ridged and wavy, they were thinner than paper and peeled easier than the fine layer of skin that flakes off after a blistery sunburn.

 

I was forever ashamed of them. Always finding reasons to have the tips of my fingers curled into the shelter of my palms or my hands hidden deep inside my pockets. Yes, there are worse things. Much worse things and we all know shoddy fingernails aren’t among them, but hey, they’re good blog material. (We won’t mention that that is probably a matter of opinion)

 

After trying vitamins, supplements and various potions over the years, I’d given up on my nails. They were what they were and when that wasn’t appropriate, at times like holidays or Christmas parties, I learned to cover them with esthetically pleasing plastic.

 

Alas, I’m veering off the path of this posting.

 

As you know, I managed to transfer 798 of you over to my new .org site and I’d really like to know how you feel about that. I need to know because maybe that will help me figure out how I feel. Right now, I’m not too sure. I was really looking forward to seeing you use the new plug-in “Comment Luv” (not allowed on .com) and to just having more freedom for things like that in general, but I’m second-guessing myself. Help me out. Let me know.

 

When I asked my “Wordpress Happy Engineer” Sam (we’ll call him Sam because well, that’s actually his name) if transferring you back is an option, he said that can be confusing for you guys and that multiple transfers lead to unhappy followers. I should mention that he also said that if I came to the conclusion that that’s what’s best for all of us, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

 

As for my nails, I decided that giving up wasn’t an option. That they still mattered. So I chose to try one last thing. And guess what? It worked. My nails became, by some miracle, long and strong. I’ve even had to cut them back or file them down a few times. I seriously can’t believe it.

 

I take it as proof that we need to keep trying new things. There’s something out there that will work for everyone. We just can’t give up.

 

MY nails!

MY nails!

 

 

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Oh dear. My 150th post and I screwed it up. I knew you guys were discerning readers, but never did I think you’d shy from one slightly rare serving!

Where do I go from here? Is it too late to say I’m sorry? To promise I won’t do it again?

No, it’s not too late. Yes, you’re discerning, but I’m pretty sure tolerance, compassion and forgiveness are in there somewhere too. That has to be true or we’d have parted long ago.

And it’s a good thing, because I’m trying desperately to be a writer. And to quote Thomas Mann; “A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.”

 

Make no mistake – we’re friends because you’re particular.

 

It could be argued that what I did the other day wasn’t writing, but I stand firm that all writing is writing. I started this blog to bolster my commitment. I hoped knew it would hold me accountable for producing something on regular basis. I wanted it to make me think.

I dreamed of it making you think.

I spent years writing in journals. They didn’t suddenly stop selling them in the stores. I didn’t run out of pocket money to buy one. I chose to display my trials and tribulations on a public forum. I decided I wanted you to witness my stabs and my stumbles.

Some things I write to reflect and some things I write to connect, so neither of us should be surprised by the odd, rare roast post.

It’s how I get to know you.

It’s how I hope you’ll get to know me.

It is how we’ll get to well-done.

Heart shaped meat

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I may embarrass myself here, but I’ll go out on a limb and assume I am not the only person in the world who didn’t know squat everything the moment I was set free to roam this earth.

I didn’t know there might not always be enough, that things aren’t always as they seem, that there isn’t a constant pillow, doors won’t always be open, love might mean pain and that you shouldn’t wear a white bra under a white shirt. C’mon, ‘fess up…there was a time when you didn’t know that either.

Christina Aguilera "Back to Basics" After Party at Marquee in New York City

But, as we grow older, we learn.

We discover what it is to be vulnerable, to fight and dig, to be damaged and repaired, to feel lost and found, to eat and be hungry. Things aren’t perfect and life isn’t a plate of endless French fries.

And, we’re learning that it’s okay.

Trials and tribulations are normal. Mistakes and misfits are par for the course. The Smarties aren’t all gonna be pink and we’re not always going to be in the front row .

Slip-ups, snafus and side streets are how we mature and thank goodness for that, or we might be in the picture alongside Christina. Tragic.

But man, that girl can blow.

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Sad and hidden

She wrapped herself in the crooks of looks and nooks of books, cloaked her face with hair misplaced, hid her smile, for a while, in the cover of much denial.

She grew small it seemed. Making her way, suppressing things dreamed. They laughed at things she thought she’d hid. Talked of things she never really did.

Friends were enemies and enemies the same, taunted by voices not knowing her name. Lonely a thing she came to grasp well. A soft blanket she knit out of personal hell.

She didn’t know kind and missed out on close. Pieces of heart limply strung by a ghost.

Until a day one reached out. Offered the help she’d long lived without.  A strong hand extended, a friendship made. A thing never had, a wish that wouldn’t fade.

It’s all it took to live and love and because of this she rose above. The hurt, the pain all overcame. The weak, the cursed, all reversed.

She ate from the orchards of strength and pride, found a new life, chose to decide. To believe she had worth and deserved a new birth. To start things anew, become what is true.

Not one to forget what it is to be small; she’ll be never be far. A net for a fall.

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