The Year I Turned 50-Licious

Yesterday morning, I arrived at the diagnostic imaging department at the local hospital for an annual mammogram, grabbed a number and sat down. Routine.  No big whoop. Just one of those important tasks to accomplish in the day in the life....  

This is what I was thinking as I looked around at the other folks who were there for various x-rays, ultrasounds and boob looksees.  In  no time my number was called and I found myself sitting in front of the clerk as she verified my medicare number and home address in her computer, and made sure my name was on the list.  It was her last question that sent a sharp kick into my gut...... "And your next of kin is still............?"  I said "yes." 

Well, he still is legally and I sure as heck didn't want to complicate the intake interview while trying to figure out who my next of kin is now.  My kids aren't old enough.  My family live in another province.  Neither option was practical. So, I kept it simple.  "Yes."  The question and my answer flooded my thinking and feelings as I found myself sitting in a flimsy johnny shirt coldly wrapped around my naked torso,  by the door to where the machinery was located.  Alone. Processing my thoughts.  In a place full of foreign sounds, sickness and stress, ongoing paging for emergency doctors, and smells one only inhales in the stark reality of a hospital,  I felt the gut galloping shiver of vulnerability.  My stark reality mirrored my environment.  

I leaned back against the wall, closed my eyes and focused on breaths to take away the "reality hurt"  until a warm hearted woman with a welcoming Maritime lilt in her voice called my name.  It was my turn to have a few photos taken. My morbidly self absorbed thoughts quickly turned into wondering how in the hell they do that boob squishing procedure on anyone who wears an A or a B cup???? 

This is the year I turned 50.  From the moment after the clock struck midnight to ring it in when I stood feeling like a pariah beside my husband at a party and there was no loving kiss forthcoming to this very moment as I try to capture the words flying out of my fingertips on this frosty morning.......... the last one of 2010, it has been a year of awakening to loud thunderous change.  

Sometimes it has been so shockingly vibrant like when you get to the part in a mystery novel and all the pieces of the puzzle transform into BIG TRUTHS all at once.  Oh!  I can think of a few of those body churning events!  Though I'm trying to let go of them, they are still the ones that pound on my temples at 4 am with demonic pleasure from time to time.  Not nearly so often.  Not nearly so often.   

Most of the time, however, the thunderous change has been more like the WAKE UP surprise of POP Rocks sizzle bursting in your mouth. You know its going to happen.  You just don't know when. When it does? Your eyes open a little wider, while your first thought is........ "What is that all about???"  And,  "Why did I just put Pop Rocks in my mouth when I know how uncomfortable they make me feel?"  Sometimes someone slips a few of those candies into your tea when you're not looking.  There you are attending to a routine task and kapow! One of those damn things explode and you're caught speechless........for a second.  

"Your next of kin still is..........?"

This is life. It is a cache of awakening moments, some more seismic than others.  Some more life altering than others.  Mine aren't any different than anyone elses.  My feelings and thoughts are not unique.  It is what WE all share......... the ability to think and the blessing to FEEL always!  From the monumental hurts to the ecstatic orgasms, and all the little poetic symphonies that are the very thread that binds the whomping biggies together.  By sharing our hearts and minds, not only do we learn  important lessons from one another that guide us to LOOKING and FEELING from a different perspective....a different reality, we become a part of one another's tapestry. 

This is an awakened life unfolding.  I am who I am because of the experiences I have encountered, embraced, denied, refused, stumbled upon, viewed, processed, created, mourned, celebrated,  respected, rejected and reconciled.  Just like you.   We are offered up little Pop rock morsels.....events that seem inconsequential at first,  but end up providing awareness to where we are in our journeys as a means to process the thunder changes. Shifts happen even when you're least expecting it.  In the poetry of life.  

Yesterday, I texted a friend of mine briefly sharing the hospital moment with her.  She understood how it felt right away, and commented on how these moments makes one realize how the world registers you and how you see it differently too.   In fact, she is the one who has helped me throughout the year "see" how poignancy preys in the grace notes of life....  I told her that I realized it is the poetry of life, not the long storied prose that meaning is found.  Her response?  "What's a poem if not volumes of truth packed into a single glance?"  Blow me away!  Gotta love a friend whom you share wisdom text messages with that are poetry too! 

This year, the one when I turned 50?  Well, it has been jam packed full of events...... poignant, pathetic, pulsating..... life altering snippets.  I'm not at a point where I can say that I wouldn't change it if I could do it again.  That would be silly.  No one in their right mind wants to ever experience the deep gashes from being betrayed.  However, I have laughed with more gusto, and wept with more intensity than I have ever imagined.  I have been hugged more passionately, and cared for beyond what I ever thought I needed. Conversations that once skimmed the surfaces dove deep into heartfelt meaning.  Until this year, I didn't realize just how much we can grow from an original place of pain into a garden of beauty.  I have taken many risks, and every time I think of one I smile broadly because every single risk I took connected me to another beautiful human being and experienced some amazing adventures!  WOW!  

As well, I have inhaled air so beautifully thin as I have encountered a bouquet of spiritual compassion through the kindness of so many people in my life, and through the deeply quiet times I have been alone absorbing the goodness of a faith just waiting for me to embrace. Magical.  Blessed.  Loved.  Lovable.  Gee, I even learned that I am a bit sexy! Who knew?????  Yeah, despite the pliable sagging breasts and the hands that look a thousand years old, I've got a sexy factor happenin'!

I have learned so much..... and hope that I have been able to pass on some of my lessons........  

On this day, the last one of the year I turned 50-licious?  I feel strong and whole, weak as well as yearning. A contradiction I am, I am.   I see the poetry as truth in a single glance.  And I know now how I will answer the question of who my next of kin is........  It doesn't matter who the name is.  I walk with many.  I walk with you.   With a Holy Spirit to guide us along.  Aren't we lucky?

Bring on the Pop rocks!  Happy New Year. 

________________________________________

ps.  I have been keeping an eye on and a journal to capture many of these moments that have occured this year with the intention of pulling them together in a book......... I havent shared many of them on my blog because I haven't had a chance to digest them as much as I want to. Plus, I feel like when it is time to write it out fully, i want it to be fresh.  But, let me tell you, the majority of them are bloody hilarious! Absurdity rules, as does my dark humour.  Stay tuned!!!

hellos, goodbyes and important life lessons

Miss Muskie and her crew of campers, circa 1980 

 I have never been able to encapsulate the intense feelings that accompany an experience of living for an extended period of time amongst a group of people who are all around the same age.  However, when I meet up with someone who has had such an opportunity, there is almost an unspoken smile, a nod and a faraway glimmer in their eyes.  They know.  They know.

For 12 summers during my youth, I spent time immersed in a community that offered this expansive emotional ride.  At age 9, I attended Camp Kawabi for the first time as a camper and fell in love with the place and its energy.  It began as a two week stint, but morphed into one month at age 12, and then the whole summer when I transitioned onto staff when I was 15, continuing until it was time to say goodbye the very last time the summer I turned 21. 

Even though its been more than 25 years since then and many of the events, activities, connections, the late night antics, days off, canoe trips, chapels, campfires, hot summer sunny days and rainy day hikes have blended together, there are moments which are still so crystal clear.   They allow me to revisit a time when I learned how intense a keenly felt sense of belonging can alter how you look at the world and what is really important in life.   Friendship, love, acceptance, trust in others, trust in myself, respect and appreciation for differences, mentoring, supporting one another, helping others .......... all continue to feed my sense of who I am, what I believe in and who I strive to be with confidence.  Most predominantly ensconced however are the feelings which I treasure... ALL of them. 

These are the same emotions and values which we learn from our families as well, but when a person has the chance to step out beyond their own nest into a group and experience the unbelievable joys and sorrows of belonging?  It takes you to a place one can only share with a kindred spirit who has experienced it as well.  Believe me, I've tried to explain this but I've never managed to get it right. 

These thoughts have re-emerged of late as I've done my best to help my children make sense of it.  In the past 5 months, they have experienced this amazing intensity;  last summer for my daughter when she signed on as a Counsellor in Training at Camp Glenburn and more recently for my son, who just returned from a month in Costa Rica with an organization called CISV (Children's International Summer Villages.) Both of them have ventured off our front lawn to live amongst a group of peers, led by trusting people. They have learned many new skills which will come in handy as they grow into adults.  The values we have done our best to pass on to them have been reinforced fully by their experience. And, they have made longlasting heart connection friendships with others who draw upon the same feelings and the same values.  Independently, they both found themselves immersed in a sense of belonging so wondrous that it left them reeling.  

Martha and her Glenburn kindreds, smiles from the inside out

Not wanting the moments to end, they returned home overwrought with the sorrow of saying goodbye to the friends who are like family and goodbye to life altering happenings.  Many stories.  Many questions and new ideas. Big tears.  Big pain.  Big transitions back to the ordinary reality of a home routine and the reconnection to family and friends they had left behind. To say this adjustment is difficult is an understatement.  To say these life lessons are important is also an understatement.  Why?  Because so many internal shifts happen during these opportunities and they happen within a relatively short time frame.  It takes a while to adjust, to refocus, to recognize the personal impact.  It's all positive in the long run, but in the short run, the initial feeling of pulling away from a group your whole spirit was blended into is akin to losing a piece of yourself. I wish everyone could have a chance to go through this ride. 

For some mysterious reason,  I spent their first days home with them alone.   With my daughter, I was the lucky one to pick her up at camp on the last day.  If you've never seen a group of teenage camp counsellors on the morning after the campers have left at the end of the summer, you'd never believe it.  Not only do they look like a train wreck because they haven't really slept much all summer because they've worked their butts off running "the show" caring for the "ankle-biters" and stringing the late nights "hanging out" with their buddies, they have just pulled one last all-nighter as a way to stretch their final moments together.  Believe me, it's brutal!  I've been the sleep deprived counsellor with a mitt full of snotty kleenexes and a heart that feels like its been ripped out.  It is the emptiest bone weary feeling.  Now,  I can say I was the Momma loading the van of half packed bits of summer memories, luring the sobbing daughter to the front seat and then listening through my own tears to the stories and pouring emotions while trying to keep the van on the winding road home. 

My heart broke for her......... the magically lovely summer moments of bonding with kindred spirits was over.  It has changed her in ways she still isn't fully aware of.   It stretched her, comforted her, AND discomforted her.  That's what important learning does.  It offered her a really good taste of independence, of learning how to make decisions, to weigh options, to be herself and to know the unbridled trust you can feel when sharing your deepest secrets with someone who not only "gets you" but accepts you unconditionally.  Those gifts of friendship will forever be quilted to her soul.  I know, because mine still are. And you know what?  I still miss my camp days..... all these years later.  It was that meaningful. The lessons linger...........  The lessons guide me daily.

We talked and talked, just the two of us for a whole day.......... I left her alone when she needed to sift through her memories and I tried to be there for her when she wanted to share a story.  I promised she could have all of her camp friends visit whenever it could be arranged, though I knew it wouldn't be the same.  My empathy was boundless and I knew her transition was going to be a rough ride.  Her friends whom she had left behind at the beginning of the summer couldn't understand her disinterest in coming back to "planet earth...."   It took time........ and a bunch of mini reunions throughout the fall to help her find her footing again while she readjusted to the changes inside herself and to have those leadership value lessons reinforced more fully.

Max in Costa Rica with his arm around his new buddy.....could the smile be any bigger?

My son who is younger than I was to have gone through such an amazing experience......... he's only 12......... also crash landed.  He returned home at the end of January.  His reaction was even more intense because the people he grew close to live in other countries around the world.......... Finland, Sweden, Brazil, England, Costa Rica, Thailand, Guatemala.... this put a whole new spin on it.  

Despite the language differences, and the adjustment to being so darn far away from home, he gathered a whole heart and head full of awareness that he will forever be changed.  Even though the geographical distances are huge and that reality is what hits him the hardest, he is tied to a group of kindreds who also absorbed the same huge lessons ..... global peace, equality, leadership, advocacy, problem solving and many many more.  He has joined a group of multi-cultural kids who have become enlightened while they became friends for life.  

On the day I spent home with my son before he returned to school, we shared tears and talked.   It was probably the most important relationship building day for the two of us.  I shared stories with him that I hadn't before.  He shared stories with me that perhaps he wouldn't have if he thought I wouldn't understand.  Like I did with his sister, I expressed to him how privileged he is to have had the opportunity to feel life as deeply as he has......... AND to know that the friendships he made will always remain with him along with his own learning.  I pointed out that he now has his own group of kindreds he will forever be attached to and that because of his opportunities, he has a responsibility to continue to expand his awareness of the plight of others.  He gets it.  At age 12, he knows that joy is eternally tied with sorrow.......... and all the feelings in between.  

It has been intense, but it has all be very very good. Tonight, I say a prayer of thanks for my own experiences at camp because once again........ they helped me understand what my children were feeling and guide them through big maze of milestones they are coping with in their young lives.  In turn, they have helped me re-evaluate those lessons I gathered up, as well as gave me another glimpse at how important those friendships have been all these years.   

 

Max learning a few new dance moves at a War Child fundraiser on Saturday evening.

roots

If our roots aren't dipped in empathy, how does one acquire it?  If we have only experienced insufferable emotional blows as we grow from our roots, and never have had the experience of empathy immersion, how do we know what it feels like to be bathed in compassion?  If our soul has been pummeled by angry fists and hoofed by steel-toed boots, how do we learn to love ourselves?

We only learn survival behaviour.  Nasty retorts, cowering fear, rage fueled outbursts, or complete emotional shut down numbness..... all for self protection.  No win-win here.  Just a series of serious stumbling over bad decisions, poor choices, ineffective means of connecting.   Still there is a deep hunger to be loved.

Lose-Lose equals  Lonely-Lonely

There's a spiraling effect, which turns into a self fulfilling prophecy.  Believe you're unloved, you will act like you're unloved.  Believe you deserve to be treated poorly, you will act like you don't give a damn about yourself or others.  Sometimes, if you believe you're owed a better life because of all that you've endured, you demand it in a way that stomps on others.  Entitlement overkill.  This perpetual unlovely behaviour squeezes any semblance of empathy right out of touch. It distorts clear minded thinking.  It spoils the sweet aroma of sensitivity and compassion.  It twists logic until it chokes on bile.

If there is a continuous taste of bile and a stomach churning up angry acid, how can you feel empathy?  You can't.  The pain is too red raw........... there is no lining left..... no protective tissues to console.

Is there any way to feed those  roots....the same ones that have been neglected since childhood? Sometimes, it's impossible.  Damage is so deeply embedded that it seems to chemically alter the brain somehow.  Though I am no scientist, I have met my fair share of people who are either born with the inability to feel empathy for others, or whose reslience has been worn down, forced by a life of abuse.  The capacity to dig into the soulpocket where empathy dwells just isn't there. Maybe the learning issue is more than making a choice to look through the eyes of another.  Maybe there is a physical manifestation of psychological damage?  Maybe the roots are dangerously tainted by psychopathology.

Sometimes it IS possible to help someone by feeding their roots.  How?

By choosing to love the unlovely.  

By allowing them to listen to the stories of the people they may have negatively impacted.

By allowing them to tell their story.

By encouraging and encouraging their willingness to change.... to reform, transform, stand on a new platform....... 

By accepting vulnerability as a state of mind worthy of our trust in learning and growth.

By mentoring through actions and guiding....... role modellng the softening melt that happens when forgiveness is the goal.

By recognizing that every single human being is made from the same fabric, the same ingredients.

By wrapping our faith around the belief that we are all players within the Body of Christ. 

It's a lot of work........a lot of effort.  Our natural inclination is to stay within our own belief system... our own way of seeing the world and how it impacts us.  If only we can step out and look through a different lens.  

It's a Grace of God go I thing.........even if you believe there is no hope in empathy transformation. 

ps.... this theory is in the process of being tested.........and continues this week.  

having faith in others and in myself...

Communication is layered with our own meaning....our own needs or yearnings. It's easier to assess where the relationship seems to be hovering when you're face to face. You can hear, see, feel, smell, touch, and perceive it. The person is right there in front of you....and even then, we can still walk away with misguided interpretations. However, any other form of communication between two human beings brings with it many more complicated blips. Some are relatively new forms......email, texting, facebooking, twittering....

There is a discomfort felt in the gut when waiting for a response, a reply. You send out a message, a story, a question. You ask for clarification, or reassurance, maybe information. Then, you wait.... and wonder..... and fret. Even when you cognitively and intuitively KNOW that the person you are trying to connect with is dealing with their own set of issues, life conflicts, busyness, there is niggling poke at the fret button. At least there is for me. Maybe I'm overly sensitive? Impatient? Needy? I'd say all three.....

I begin to question myself, my actions, my own frame of mind when there is a long gap between putting yourself out there through your words and receiving some kind of acknowledgement or interpretive response. If I've REALLY pried open my flesh to spill something emotionally intimate and I get nothing back, I begin to feel anxious, wondering if I have done something wrong, or if I've worded something in a way that may have been misinterpreted. Depending on how I'm feeling and where I am at emotionally and confidently, this type of "stinking thinking" can sink my boat. I may have started off in a free flying craft with the sails up catching the gusts and skipping right along, but if I'm ignored, put aside, dismissed the boat all of a sudden starts taking in water. The wind dies down and I begin to sink into the stinking thinking mode of travel like a castaway alone and bobbing in unfriendly waters.

Irrational thoughts lead to irrational emotions ..... which in turn leads to irrational actions/reactions. Actually, I think it is more a vicious circle which can begin at any point. My mood could be despondent and it will in turn lead to an impulsive action to satisfy me temporarily which then leads to feeling guilt and shame from the thoughts that follow the action. If I happen to be caught in that dog chasing performance, it's difficult to pull out of it before it's too late.

Maybe its because I have a big problem with rejection. I guess its happened one too many times and as much as I try not to let it shade my thinking and feeling, I'm not often competent at that. It seems like it's always there, hovering in the foreground. When I find myself in the middle of another possible situation where this may be occuring, I try to see it as an opportunity to reflect on the refreshed irritation in order to learn how effectively let go of the stupid thoughts and hurt feelings. That way, I can try to step aside from my vantage point to read my own flushed and feather ruffled feelings. Then, I try to explore my own behaviour and actions that seems illicit a non response (and a strong desire to receive one).

It's a value thing too....I try not to do this to others because I find it so disrespectful, so when it happens to me, it rubs against this value button.

Rejection and that sickly sense of abandonment....the fear of being left out or left behind has a strong pull on many of us. It's an ingrained schema we have to fight tooth and nail to overcome. It kicks the gut until it empties, leaving you feel hollow and unloved. Where it comes from is unique to the individual it wants to strangle. But, I have grown to believe that we ALL experience it, some more intensely than others, at some point in our lives.

Have you felt the hollow??? How have you dealt with it??

I have a tendancy to stick my neck out more often than many I think. I do take risks and connect with many people, whether its a brief conversation with the muffin lady at the local convenience store, or someone in my life whom I consider a close friend. Consequently there are more chances for me to be in a position of being rejected....dismissed.... ignored.

For the most part I can walk away and move on. But not when I'm feeling it within a relationship which has deep meaning in my life. Then, if I'm not careful, it can pierce me deeply. This is something I've learned about myself only this year, and when the realization hit me....when those light bulbs went off, I literally doubled over. Why? Because once I knew that the trigger was a fear of rejection, all the times it had happened, particularly over the course of the last 10 years, went flooding through my system and knocked the wind out of me.

Viktor Frankl wrote.....“When we are no longer able to change a situation - we are challenged to change ourselves.” I read this quote the other day and just shook my head. So often, I have tried to change a situation through my actions, thinking that if I kept trying to connect, maybe the situation would right itself. When I read this Frankl quote, my initial reaction was a realization that this is where I am stalled in the challenge of changing myself. Knowing that my behaviour....my need to connect with a few people whom I seem to be slipping away from may be perceived differently than my intention tells me I need to change me. I need to recognize my own triggers, my own emotions, thinking, actions and then perhaps let it be.

I tend to read things into things......I get paid for my intuition and assessment skills. They come naturally to me. But, sometimes they go into overdrive. I read too much into things and then get too emotionally incensed. A lot of times, I'm right. I'm kind of like one of those sniffer dogs at an accident scene. I usually smell it right. Sometimes I'm wrong however, usually when I'm overly anxious to make a friendship work, or overly needy of reassurance.

Right now, that's me. Perhaps in the future it won't be? I won't feel the need to seek out affirmation? I hope so. It would be nice to relax a bit more about the lack of response.

In the meantime..... bear with me. I'm doing the best that I can to pry myself away from stinking thinking......

ps. Ironically, this was not written with the intentions of seeking out empathy. I have found the whole process of learning how to be more confidently patient, to trust a Higher Power when it comes to realizing I can only control my own actions, thoughts and emotions and HOW I react to others' behaviour....interesting and eye opening. It's a universal process I believe .... one which has become more complicated as we have allowed technology and different means of communication into our daily interactions.

what is it all about?

Another Canadian soldier died today from a homemade bomb of hatred. A married father of three daughters. A man who was an elite human soldier from the Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry..... Corporal Nicholas Bulger. They played an interview with him on Canada Day and he spoke of how different it was to be in Afghanistan because he sees how much of a difference our Armed Forces are making. He stated that he saw it when he watched the children play freely when they once weren't able to. "When you look into the eyes of the children, you get a different perspective...." he said. A different perspective.... we could all use a bit of that kind of insight.

I think he saw human universality. He could relate to those children because it connected him to what he knows and sees here, on his home turf of Canada. It was obvious that it touched his heart with inspirational motivation, and in turn it touched me. I connected to this soldier because I was able to see and hear him ..... I heard his emotions .... heard his human-ness. And because I connected from my heart, I am saddened by his passing at a deeper level. I understand what he meant.

One Canadian man died today. 5 other soldiers were injured from the same blast. They were all members of Brigadeer General Jonathan Vance's technical team who toured sites with him, protecting him, reacting to any threats, responding to violence. Every death of a soldier is sad no matter what side of the trench he/she is on. Every death of an innocent victim is sad. Every death from the suffering of conflict is sad.

Violence prevails on every corner of our planet in some capacity or another. It's been there from the beginning of man, which makes me acknowledge to myself that we all have the potential to be violent. Even if I choose not to be, I still have it in me. Everyone does. So, what is it in a person to allow the violence to surface? What lies underneath the ACT? What is it that feeds hate which in turn flames a war? The only thing I can think of is a festering fear.....a fear so intense and so unresolved that it ferments in its own seething irrationality.

What do you fear the most? What are you most frightened of? It's good to know. It's important to consider what it is you fear and why...... AND how it impacts your choices and how you see others, both in your own neighbourhood and beyond. You can't work on those fears if you won't even begin to take a look at them. And they will fester....and they DO impact your choices and your lens. No one is exempt from this.....

I have been haunted by the photo Paul posted on his blog this week.....a man holding a mortally wounded child in blood stained clothes, his body contorted in death... his innocent face striped in his own blood. Maybe before this boy was injured, he was able to somehow get lost in some form of play? Even under those circumstances? I don't know.

The man is carrying this young one (his son? his neighbour's son? his nephew? a stranger to him?) along the drydirt path beside the wall that keeps them in and away from basic necessities, in the line of fire. Violence prevails. It prevails on both sides of the wall only the humans within the cement fortification have no choice but to attempt to survive as prisoners, as sitting targets of violence. Innocents suffer. There are no words.

What fear feeds this hatred? What anguish sucks the marrow out of love? Frightened of the other? Is that it? War and violence stem from our incessant fear of someone who is different? Different religion, different culture, different way of interacting in this world?

I read a story Jean Vanier conveyed about a Jewish woman named Etty Hillesum who died in Auschwitz at the age of 29. In her journal after she had been yelled at by a Gestapo officer, she wrote: "I felt no indignation, rather a real compassion and would like to ask: 'Did you have a very unhappy childhood, has your girlfriend let you down?'"

There she was in a place of living Hell, but she had an abiding belief that each person is a "house" where God resides. She believed that every single person had the potential to carry the mystery of God within the essence of being able to love and to be loved. Through that lens, she saw the beauty in every individual. Etty Hillesum, Vanier wrote, is one of the people who has influenced him the most. I bet Etty projected a calm sense of kindness and compassion as her approach to combatting the hatred fueled in the hearts of the Gestapo who ruled Auschwitz. Through believing in compassion.......one always feels forgiveness.....

I wish we could teach this. I wish we could believe in the power of compassion and kindness....of empathy. I wish we could live by the belief that all human beings are loved and can love. If we have the propensity to be violent, than we all have the propensity to be loving. Right?

We could erradicate the fermentation of irrational fears and turn it into wine instead. Wine to sip and share...... If we really want to. We have to start at looking at our own fears....! Then the very idea of making a bomb wouldn't even be considered. Then maybe walls would come down and little boys could play within the safe haven of their peaceful neighbourhoods. Then we wouldn't continue to mourn the loss of human beings struck down by the violence of wars. But how? How do we turn this world around so that people stop spitting venom and hatred at one another? I think it begins by looking into the eyes of the other. Just like Corporal Nicholas Bulger did with the Afghanistan children. It changed his perspective.
It can change our own. When was the last time you truly looked into the eyes of another human being? It may make all the difference.

______

This week's prompt at Sunday Scribblings is "human." To see more contributions, check out their blog.

home....

We are 142 years old today.

Every year there seems to be more and more Canadian patriotic paraphenalia out there in consumer land for our purchasing pleasure most of which makes me laugh...especially the Moose motif stuff. Gotta love our gangly Moose.

My son and I were in the local dollar store the other day to stock up on a few of these items so he can take them to Costa Rica when he attends a CISV village in late December and use them as traders with the other kids who will be there from around the world. We stood in front of the HUGE display which ranged from hilarious hats shaped like leaves to dancing beavers, maple leaf key chains, tatoos, frisbees, squishy footballs, stuffed moose, neck ties (FOR A BUCK!) and were in fits of laughter over the tackiness of the lot. Of course, we were determined to grab the best kitsch we could. Let's hope he's allowed through customs with that Canuck craziness in his suitcase.

When I was a kid, the annual fireworks were lit on Victoria Day in May. This was the tradition. We all saw it as the beginning of summer.....the first long weekend. Of course as members of the Commonwealth, we all understood the seriousness of celebrating Queen Victoria's birthday in style.....er, I guess...... by blowing off little checker firecrackers and running around with abandon holding onto a sparkler, also known as a piece of wire on fire.

Though we still have the long weekend in May, and the Monday of it is still recognized as her birthday (funny how it changes dates every year). But, somewhere along the line, our country's fireworks celebration moved to July 1rst, Dominion Day.....the day we recognize as the anniversary of our national status within the Commonwealth. Maybe we switched because it was easier to make a cake in the form of a maple leaf flag than the head of a sexually inhibited sourpuss? Or maybe we began to embrace our own sense of pride, separate from another country?

Obviously it wasn't an overnight thing.....one day we scoured at any display of patriotism and the next day we adorned our homes in all things red and white? No. It was a gradual, albeit swift turn around. Even now, I would wager a bet that most Canadians feel an attachment to this vast and magnificent wilderness we call home more so when we cross its borders? But there is definately a different feel to our celebration of our "home and native land...." Hence, the desire to don a goofy leaf pointed hat, pull on a Moose motif t-shirt and go with the flow of our known sense of humour while sucking back a few pints and singing off key?

Did you know Canadians are a very funny lot? Absurdity is in our blood. Satire swims all around us. We crack each other up! And it turns out we do a pretty good job exporting our finest comedians. I think it has to do with choosing to remain on this freakingly cold tundra in February and go about our daily routines like it was just a little irritation to start your car when its -40 degrees and a wind chill? You gotta LAUGH! You gotta bundle up too or you will die!

Then of course there is a that wonderful myth created by the late Pierre Berton who stated that you know you're Canadian when you can make love in a canoe. Ask any Canadian if they've accomplished this feat and they will affirmatively reply, with a sly smile and a look in their eye that tells you..... wouldn't you like to know how this is done? Ah, its all in the balancing between the thwarts. Its in the melodic movement of the gunnels....its how you hold your paddle.... Is there any other country who defines their patriotism through such a lens? We crack each other up.

There are definately benchmark events which foisted us forward into a more contented place. It wasn't so long ago when our national past time was a collectively navel gaze..... where the cry of the "True north strong and free" wasn't an anthem we now sing loudly at sports event and instead was "Who are we? How are we different than our neighbours to the south? How do we define ourselves...." Such nervous nellie self absorption is finally disappearing. We have grown up a bit. We've won our fair share of international hockey tournaments. We gave the world Celine and Shania.

Dominion Day. In 1982, the same year the Canadian Constitution and Charter of Rights was signed, Dominion Day was renamed Canada Day. Hindsight makes me wonder if this was the turning point. Before this significant moment, maybe we were allowing someone else to make our beds? Whatever caused us to stop feeling so damn inferior and to care so much about that fact that the rest of the world doesn't really give a rat's ass about our identity, I'm glad. Why? Because what matters most is how we have come to terms about our own selves as multi cultural individuals who call this place home. The confidence felt is new to us. But it will be our growing confidence along with the accumulative stretch marks from eating the most recent national food concoction...."poutine...." (dont ask! it's gross! I'd rather smoke pine needles) that will allow us to shine on any international stage. Or not.

When I was 18 years old, I flew across the pond for the first time with a backpack on my back and a much searched for Canadian flag patch stitched on the outside of it. I had to look high and low for it. For one thing, there were no dollar stores around, and I didn't live in the middle of a tourist hotspot like Niagara Falls where touristy kitchy gift shops were at every corner. It was a different time. Patriotism was kept under wraps. Patriotism was frowned upon as a tacky display of emotional wanking best left to the flag waving country below the 49th parallel. But, I found one, and proudly sewed it onto my backpack. And I'm glad I did. Because every time someone saw that little flag, they would ask me questions about my home....my country, and I would have to think about how I would describe it's beauty, it's strength, it's people......its history.

Like many of my neighbours, we learned our patriotism....and our heart filled fondness for Canada by leaving it's borders and looking from a far. At age 18, I began to see just how lucky I was to proudly state that I am a Canadian. Though, it was said in a tentative whisper compared to my open flag waving loud anthem singing boldness of today. OH, who am I kidding?? I may be wearing my very best moose t-shirt today, and I will definately take part in some of the Canada Day celebrations this afternoon down on the beautiful Green along the Saint John River. Fireworks are in the plans after a big potluck at a friend's house. But, when it's time to sing O Canada? My boldness will quickly evaporate and my silly red pointed leaf hat will be lifted off my head. My heart will fill with gratitude.....and I will lose my way in the meaning of the words. I'm too much of a softie...... and our anthem always leaves me choked up and in tears much to the embarrassment of my family. It's a good thing they're used to it.

This place I call home......? I loveitloveitloveit.....

Happy Canada Day.....with a glowing heart from me

deception....

Who lives on the island called Fool's Paradise surrounded by a mirage of delusionary hope? YOU DO! I know, I know ... you deny this vehemently ....

Who cries out with incessant histrionics too painfully misguided to be believable except to the one who cries the purple tears? YOU DO! Yeah...sure ... I hear your whacky explanation. I don't believe it.

How does someone function under such fantasies instead of the truth? And why? Why does someone work so damn hard not to be honest about their behaviour, both past and present? Is it because they spend all of their energy living a lie, creating many facades that NEVER interact with one another that somewhere along the line the truth has become so diluted by crocodile tears? Have they been so wounded and abused in the past that they don't have the capacity to act any differently because they really don't trust anyone? Wow, what a lot of work!

For a long time, you tried to keep me close as you manipulated your way through the maze of deception. I saw through your act ages ago. You know this.....and it terrifies you. I have become part of your deepening haunting shadow and you hate me for it. I have joined the previous folks who saw through your convoluted web and into your obsessive need to play a role, to wear a mask, to don a people pleasing persona even though deep down... the folks who clearly see that you think you're better than everyone else on this planet and this scares you to a point where you're determined to try to keep me close. Sad, pathetic, so alone YOU. Yes, entitlement is your achilles heel, as is your unrelenting belief that you are pure and unblemished.....that YOU do nothing wrong. You give, and give and give.....and why does the rest of the world not understand all that you have forfeited?

You trust no one.....NO ONE..... but like a hungry black widow, you keep this secret under wraps. Too bad your hunger is too ravenous, which at times makes you let that false skin down only to reveal your vulnerabilities.

What is interesting is that when you write.....you attempt to describe your vulnerabilities. You choose words carefully..........NOTHING comes out of you that you havent poured your energy assessing, contemplating, regurgitating. But, once someone realizes how wounded you really are, your vulnerabilities, used as weapons to trigger others seem juvenile.... pendantic.... pathetic.

What you hide, you hide from yourself. What you reveal? Here's the secret..... you reveal your sorrowful soul.... exactly what you are trying your hardest to keep under wraps. Why can't you just be honest about how you really feel, what you really think instead of trying to hammer a wedge between others? Why can't you just admit you're threatened and you need help? Why can't you come forward and admit your wrongdoings?

Why? Because the feelings you so aptly write about are feelings you never dare to embrace fully. Or maybe you do, but you can't imagine anyone else feeling the same way. It's like the intensity of how YOU feel outweighs anyone's elses. It's all very strange. I call it passive aggressive foreplay. Play on... by yourself.

What would happen if you did decide to leave the island of Fool's Paradise? Gee, maybe you'd find your soul.......and leave behind the "poor me" fashion and the "Nobody understands me" bullshit. Maybe you'd get real....to admit who you really are and learn to love yourself.

Deception....you intrigue me with your mind twisting confusion because I want to know the reason behind your need to control the relationships you eventually mess up. I wonder how you can keep things straight.... how you keep the revolving door of people in your life straight. Who have you told what whipped up story to????

I guess it comes down to the fact that you don't trust a soul. Always on the tipping point of being revealed as the con artist human you are, you never relax except when you drown yourself in the addiction of choice.....food, booze, drugs.....sex. When does it stop? Can you stop or are you suffering something greater than a good look in the mirror would help.

Can I suggest something? Can I suggest that it's time to seek help.....professional help and begin to admit the reason behind your incessant lies, rouge cheeked faces, your phoney posturing? Its time to stop the emotional manipulation. It's time to lift your veil to reveal you own brokenness. It's time to fess up, deal with whatever demons you harbour and heal.

And please stay clear of my life.... I'm sick of your head games, your lacey cheap perfumed attempts at empathy, and I won't let them or YOU interfere with my life anymore. Your mind games have become boring. The time I have spent trying to help and to figure you out has dried up.

ps....HEY! Anyone out there who has felt the whoring of deception in their lives before?? It's a mindtrip, thats for sure.

summing it up....and looking forward....

17 years ago, I was an instructor at the local Community College. It was a contract position, which in some ways forced me to take on subjects I would never have considered teaching. When I was asked if I was willing to take on another course, I bravely accepted the challenge (and went home freaking while I figured it out.) When you're flying by the seat of your pants, trying to develop a portfolio of marketability, when you're the one paying the bills putting your spouse through university while establishing yourself in a new city with a minimal career network, when you are the lowest on the totem pole, you dig deep into your own reservoir of skills and open yourself up to learning as you go. That's how I saw it. That's how I approached it.

For four years, I worked from contract to contract without a break between them. Because one can't turn down an opportunity when you're a casual/contract staff person I worked my ass off, sometimes teaching by day and night!! However, teaching and facilitating was not how I had envisioned my career. I had never taken a teaching course ever!!!

I had always thought I'd be working with children, and had studied in the field of counselling and assessment of children. I even focused primarily on pre-schoolers and had a few years while living in Toronto at a rehabiliation centre establishing a sensory stimulation program for children with multiple disabilities. The program I created continues today. Needless to say, I was determined at this point in my career to find this stream....to work with children with special needs in the school system or in a hospital setting. I struggled seeing myself as a teacher of adults. In many ways it was so far removed from my perceived career goal. But, I loved it. I loved it.

I remember the first subject I was hired to teach.....Developmental Psychology. It was a night course for childcare workers who were taking courses towards their diploma in their field. I had been given a text book and a syllabus with a bunch of objectives and learning outcomes listed. That was it. It was up to me to lay out the 2 nights a week for 10 weeks.....all of it! Daunting? You bet!! No internet....no computers. I had reference books and a typewriter. I had my knowledge of the subject matter and the field of childcare/preschool. I started by thinking about the teachers I had learned the most from and why.....and went from there. It was an instinctual jumping into the wild. That's how it felt. I was determined to get the class to talk....to share and to learn from one another. It would not be a passive classroom. They were sitting there as experts working in the field. They had the answers. And they did......and i learned. And it worked. Trial by immersion!!!!!

Human Relations, Effective Writing Skills, Family Dynamics, Introduction to Psychology, Early Childhood theory, Working with Exceptional Children, Goal Setting for Employment, Life Skills, Preparation for Employment, Career Orientation, Stress Management, Counselling, Human Services...... I taught them all and repeated a few of them. The Life Skills program, a 4 week interactive group counselling program for people on Income Assistance.....the first step to moving into the world of work.....?? I ran 24 of them back to back. The skills I developed and honed have been invaluable. And somewhere along the line, I accepted the fact that I really enjoyed the field of Adult Education....even took a couple of courses in it after the fact. It was a good fit for me.

One of the activities I did on the side was individual counselling. It just sort of evolved. Students sought me out, and I was more than willing to lend and ear. At the time the College didn't have guidance counseling services on site despite the evidence of how much it was needed. I tried to lobby for it, thinking that perhaps this could be a niche that may lead to full time permanent employment. But, the political will wasn't there. I continued counselling the students, lending a listening ear, encouraging them, motivating them,.....helping them process their own stuff, helping them make some decisions. I kept tabs on the numbers of students I helped in this way in order to prove to the powers that be there was a need. No such luck.

Eventually, I was hired away from the College....there was no job security there.....to work as the counseling specialist in the frontlines of the welfare office. The skills I had acquired and the love and interest I had to working with people who were living on income assistance trying to find a way out of the margins and into the heart of the work world made this job a good fit. And over the ensuing years, I jumped at any chance to develop training, consult, coach, facilitate, counsel, deliver workshops. I worked on special projects, trained staff around the province...... I had my wings....a lot of creative freedom and a respect from the powers that be that I had gifts which they recognized and wanted me to utilize.

For much of the time, I still had a vision that I would eventually make it into the field I had such a passion for ..... Early Intervention..... working with little ones. Somewhere along the line, I was given this opportunity but quickly realized that what I wanted to do in this field and what the bureaucratic jungle wanted me to do was very different, so I dropped that and moved back into the frontlines working with adults. I'd come and go.....working on different programs and projects, being pulled to deliver workshops to staff in other cities, designing and developing, but I always returned to the counselling.

After 10 years of accumulative learning and honing my skills and seeing how comfortably and easily I connected with the individuals I met and walked a mile or two with, a light bulb went on (I remember the moment it happen.....!) and I realized I was living and working in my calling. It hadn't occured to me that I was where I was supposed to be. As much as I loved working with children..... once I acknowledged that my ability to connect with adults, many of whom were in crisis, I felt a sense of calm inside me which I had never felt before. This "calling realization" happened around the same time that my writing returned with a vengeance along with my interest in my faith. I began to see my work in the marginalized trenches of the world of poverty as where I was supposed to be.

Fast track over the last couple of years, which I've written about ad nauseaum on this blog. It has been an unrelenting struggle, working in a place that had changed some dramatically. Fear enveloped leadership, communication consisted of veiled and direct threats. My wings were clipped. I went from being a part of a team who felt like family to being ripped away from them and thrown into another division with a group of people unfamiliar with what I could offer under the so called guidance of a person who obviously felt threatened by my energy and presence.

For two years, I languished in a setting without a gameplan, a workplan, without much acknowledgement of how i could help out. I was told I was a misfit....that I was difficult to work with.....that they didn't know what to do with me. When I complained, I was told to recognize how lucky I was to have a job and to try working under the radar. It numbed me, challenged me, wounded me....but it taught me (and most definately fed my writing!!) I tried to get out of there. I applied for different jobs, was shortlisted and interviewed for a few of them. Even this process ended up being tremendously painful emotionally as I somehow in the long run losing 2 close friends over it all. This part of the story is still hurtful.

Thank God there were friends and family who were there to support me through this emotional minefield....who knew what I was capable of....who knew how it was impacting me.... who literally saw me at my worst. .... who continued to encourage me to keep putting my neck out, to apply for different jobs, to continue with my writing, to keep paddling my canoe. Thank God they knew I could push through the mess, because when my job was cut I was alright. It didn't hurt as deeply emotionally as it did for others. I had been through too much prior to that.... the job cut seemed like a surface scratch in comparison. Knowing I was moving into another position, albeit temporarily, I was hopeful and glad to get out of the toxic work environment.

A month ago, the first day of my new gig, I received an email from a person I had been in touch with on and off for a year. She and I had met and worked together years ago at the College.... and now she's the Principal. I had held hopes that a teaching position would surface for me.... So, when her email popped up on my screen, I thought it was about this possibility. It wasn't. Instead..... she was getting in touch to inform me that a full time permanent counselling position had been approved and was I interested? WAS I INTERESTED????

Yesterday, I was formally offered the position and I enthusiastically accepted. Starting in July, I will be moving back to the College to set up counselling services.....from birth. It's mine to create.... from 20 years of hands on personal learning, with a city wide/provnice wide network, with counseling and facilitating skills, with my whole heart.

When I phoned home yesterday to touch base with my son after his school day, I told him the news.....

"Are you happy?" he asked

"Yes I am!" I replied.

"Good....I want you to be happy, Mom...."

It's been a rough ride for my whole family. My son's reaction and response spoke volumes.........my misery is theirs too. My happiness is felt by them as well.

Last evening, I headed down to the river to capture the evening light reflections as the sun went down. I watched two women dock their little boat after an evening fishing. I watched two men paddle upstream in their kayak right to the river's edge. And I took in the evening routine of a momma duck and her little ones head to the tall grass for the night after a day of learning ducklife skills. Their collective activities....calm and satisfying mirrored my own feelings and my own desire to grab a paddle and stern my canoe again into a cove I was destined to return to.

Life is good. And this turn of events....this little/big twist in my convoluted career path is bathed in the light of a blessing.

Bring down the Budget. Enough already!

Have you ever tried to drive on black ice? Have you ever tried to steer a car when its lost its grip? The thing about black ice besides not being able to see it in time is that you can traverse over it without many problems if you're aware of its potential existance. Its the anticipation of it.........of the danger a slim film of ice coating a road that helps the driver to react and respond to it differently than you would on a dry stretch. But all the awareness in the world....all of your multi sensory alertness can't predict the random time when the tires hit the ice at precisely the perfect pitch and sends the vehicle spinning out of control and careening into danger.

This is the analogy which surfaced in my head while driving to visit a client in his home yesterday over the backroads of this province. Not only do I always prepare myself as best as I can for whatever situation I am about to find myself in.......home visits can be like that........99 percent of the time danger free....1 percent of the time no so....... I realized that since late fall, I have been feeling like I have been driving along anticipating a huge patch of black ice, predicting I was about to spin out. Black ice driving is bloody stressful and zaps you of energy. Its the waiting for it, and the anticipation of it that just about does you in.....

Today, the black ice budget will finally be released. Today, the people of this province will learn how their elected leaders have decided to deal with the impact of the economic lay of the land. No one more than the people who work within its governmental infrastructure have been waiting, anticipating and trying to emotionally and financially prepare for it's predicted dangers.

Waiting is the bane of trying to "live in the moment...." Though you could argue that if you're feeling all the neck tension and sleep deprivation which often accompanies the waiting, you are most definatly living in the freaking moment. In fact "the moment" gets stretched out beyond the borders of normal time. It makes the MOMENT seem like an existential day with no exit. THIS KIND OF WAITING IS NO FUN.

I don't think that's what the gurus of mindfulness meant. No, they want you to BE ONE with the wait by sacrificing it to the surrendering Gods. Or maybe theres a specific fat fairy who hovers above the clouds waiting for an opportunity himself to earn his wings that you are supposed to channel. Maybe the fat fairy is supposed to swoop down while you slumber and take control of that nemesis MR WAIT by sprinkling it with rationalization dust and prayerful powders. I think the fat fairy got his walking papers. He's no where to be seen.

It's a Wonderful Life ain't it?

Waiting....ticktockticktockticktock.....when does the damn alarm go off??

There is no inner calm when one is in "wait mode...." I havent felt an inner calm since the rumours began to swirl last fall.........first like light snow flurries and then like a full on snowstorm.... And it wasn't like the rumours came out of no where. Some in fact were strategically placed and came with warnings whispered in hallways and seriously spoken of in meetings. Unkind, unhelpful, unmanaged, these rumours spread like patches of black ice, invisible to the eye but anticipated by the GUT. And when you've been told in confidence to "be prepared....be proactive....look after yourself.........GET the salt ready!!!!" Well, all you can do is try to do just that as well as wait....AS well as try to work in an environment that has lost its traction.

Reactive, proactive, responsive, submissive, sleep deprived....staying alive... in the waiting room. Will my number ever be called?

Today the majority of civil servants will drive across the black ice and carry on. Some however will have to manage the spin out. No one knows who will make it. No one knows who will land in the snowbank. No one knows who will be given a bag of salt to throw on the black ice before they drive over it and onto a new road in their personal journey.

It's the waiting that just about kills you........ and personally I am absolutely drained from its wicked ways. I am SO ready to deal with whatever comes my way today or in the fallout of this gloom and doom budget. Because you know what I've learned as I waited in the lobby of the RUMOUR MILL? I've learned that whatever happens, it may be the biggest blessing YET!

They have no idea how much emotional damage they have done. No IDEA! The loyalty gas tank is hovering on empty. There are only the fumes of trust left.

Now, can someone from the Dept. of Transportation please salt the roads? You guys are still around right?

stories and impressions left behind....

You ask me to tell you a story about myself. I choose a single stream, fill it with my version of who I am and set it afloat. Some of the descriptives I use are my best attempt at capturing the complexity of my essence. Some are added to enhance the mood I want to convey. Depending on where I am emotionally, physically, spiritually my descriptives can radically alter the impression left behind. Depending on where, when, how and why I am telling this story of me, it will release a different flavour. ALL of those aspects play a part in the presentation. Faster than a flick of a switch the story changes scenes.

You ask me to tell you a story about myself. How well do I know you? How comfortable am I with you? Do I want to let you into the most intimate circle which surrounds me? How much time do we have? You want a postcard scribbling or a novel? Do you really want to know, or is it your job to ask me?? Or are you simply nosey?

• I tell you a story about myself at 4 in the morning when time stretches deeply into the well.......
• I tell you the same story at 2 in the afternoon over a cup of coffee during a break..........
• I write the same story out in an email to you and click send........
  

• I drum up a story as a way to express myself during a job interview as an elaboration on a point.
• I drum up the same one sitting across from you drinking a pint at a pub on a Friday night as an elaboration on a point i am trying to make.....
• I write the same one on my blog and click publish....

the same facts....right? It should be the same story, shouldn't it?

I could choose to give you simple facts.....the ones which really stay within the broadly accepted boundaries of decorum. I decide to step beyond that border and I take a risk by adding feeling and maybe a few disclosures I rarely share with anyone. Either way, I still select my story, simple or complex....... it's still a thin slice.

I am not my story. It is a part of me, but it is not who i am. It may not even by how I am really feeling. I may keep those true feelings to myself and mask them with face paste.

Well, I grew up in a small town with my parents and two sisters. I went to a small university. Then, I went to an even smaller university. I got married when I was 27. I have two kids. I work.

or how about.........

Let's see......I was fortunate to grow up in a loving family who were always supportive of my crazy dreams, who fed and nurtured my insatiable need to learn and to try new things.....They knew how to help me mold my independent wings and not clip them..... and so on.........

I'm much more than my story..... though if i continue to tell the same one over and over again even if the venue changes, or the time of day, or the tone........if i get stuck in this perpetual self-image, i'll begin to believe in the one dimensional script I have created. There are layers upon layers of my narrative which consist of domains I have yet to delve into. The mirror I hold up only skims the surface....deep inside are dreams and fantasies, feelings full of fear, love, pain, joy, sorrow....feelings that hold enough energy to sustain and heat a whole neighbourhood of imaginative folly fraught with flowing streams of conscious and unconscious thoughts and behaviour. I can only offer you a sampling and only from what I know myself.

I choose the buffet and how it is laid out. And if I do it right and pick the story most worthy of sharing.........if I choose the very best words and the most applicable feelings to set the tone.....if I choose the right place, the right time, I can provide an unending thread of my identity steeped in the delicate taste of a mystery unfolding. I can provide the bridge to further exploration into a deeper understanding of each other. Depending on what you want. Depending on where you are at....you may not want this. Then what??

This is what I can control....what I share of me and how I share it. I have no control over how you receive it. Or not? It seems to me we all have the ability to play with other's emotions. If I want your pity, for example, I can choose to use descriptives and a tone which illicits this....in writing, in speeches, in interviews, in conversations, in emails, on blogs.....in all ways that we communicate. And what is shocking about this is that I may not even be cognizant of this tactic because I may be feeling sorry for myself and stuck in that one dimension.

Words litter our pathway to understanding one another. We use them and abuse them. We hoard them and we spill them like water tumbling over the falls..... Words are our floral impression we can offer in love, but we all know they can be as sharply serated as a carving knife. We enhance, entice, exhilarate, express...... however its never the words on their own which tell our version of our story. It's the context with which they are used. Its the tone, the tempo, the timing. Its the reason behind the story which sits in the fabric we drape our words in.

You ask me to tell you a story about myself? If I can, I will try my best to be authentic, direct, honest. I will try my best to choose a thread from my tapestry which holds the key to my imagination, my hopes and my fears. I will try to find a story within myself you may find interesting....one which you may be able to relate to...one which best describes where I am in that moment. Because if I can, then perhaps we can move in closer to the truth of kinship.

It is all I can give you. If you don't like what I have to say? If it doesn't resonate with you....there is nothing more I can offer you is there? I must choose carefully. Though my story may not be ALL of who I am, it is what I can offer you. And if I don't choose carefully, I am left holding the dangling thread.

Alone.