The words reach through the busy -ness in my head and hit somewhere close to home.
Relax your heart
So easy this is at times and much more challenging at others. I remember reading passages that defined relationships as gifts that come when and where we need them. Some lasting for long periods of time while some are fleeting. Each is with the right person at the right time and brings to each a gift whether that is recognized at the time, after, or not at all. This concept resinated with me then; it resinates with me today. I am open to those who touch my life, prepared to give and take, learn and teach. And, for the most part, II am open to the gifts provided and lessons to teach and learn.
Most of my relationships now are more distant. It is not intentional as much as it is the nature of the relationships at hand or that currently occupy my space.
And then there are those that are more... more connected.
Those that require me to relax my heart and allow the relationship to happen.
No living in the future where I am attempting to live a relationship that doesn't exist.
Not putting up walls to keep things distant and painless.
I am kept moving, kept busy, kept focused on what lies outside my heart or my insecurities - which is likely what is providing me the space and the ability to relax my heart; to listen to stories of kids; to offer conversation and energy; to sense an awareness that lies beyond what is spoken and to just sit with it.
In an environment that is constantly changing, I am well aware that time is short. I hold that up as a shield sometimes - a means of putting distance between the possibilities and my uncertainties
Without a direct change in assignment, I am kindly reminded, no one is going anywhere. Which, for the two of us remains equally true.
I settle back into the present; relax into my heart; seeing what is and letting go of what has not happened.
It is, just this... which can so easily apply to the experiences that bring us joy as it applies to those moments of stress and pain.
Just this - breathe, relax, and remember that this is the only time I will live this moment... so live it fully.
06 April, 2013
28 March, 2013
Saying Thank You
Ever want to reach out, tap someone on the shoulder, and just say... Thank you!
You know, a thank you for being there; for being you.
A thank you for bringing something different into this space; into the space that I share.
You might never know me or my name... but really, I appreciate what you have given and what you bring to this situaiton, to my experience.
Ever feel that way?
Ever just want to write that note, tap on that shoulder, just say the words... Thanks.
I wrote that letter years ago to someone who reminded me that there were other men out there after a relationship ended. That relationship wasn't with him, but he served as the reminder. I have no idea if he ever received the letter, but I wrote it.
How often do we think about the differences that this or that person makes?
How often do we recognize it and then how often do we do something about it?
And how would you respond were you to get that letter? be on the receiving end of that shoulder tap?
You know, a thank you for being there; for being you.
A thank you for bringing something different into this space; into the space that I share.
You might never know me or my name... but really, I appreciate what you have given and what you bring to this situaiton, to my experience.
Ever feel that way?
Ever just want to write that note, tap on that shoulder, just say the words... Thanks.
I wrote that letter years ago to someone who reminded me that there were other men out there after a relationship ended. That relationship wasn't with him, but he served as the reminder. I have no idea if he ever received the letter, but I wrote it.
How often do we think about the differences that this or that person makes?
How often do we recognize it and then how often do we do something about it?
And how would you respond were you to get that letter? be on the receiving end of that shoulder tap?
18 March, 2013
Tiny Dancer
While the dancers at my daughter's ballet school completely dislike it, the parents love Observation Day. it is the one day, each semester, when we are invited into the classroom to watch.
In my house, this day is a mixed blessing. While I love going to watch and my daughter loves having me there, it is difficult for both of us as I struggle to identify which dancer is her and she works to accept the reality of my not being able to really see her in action. Sometimes I am able to find her through gestures; other years I have found her due to size. She usually tries to tell me where to sit and where she will be, but the past few times, she has been moved the day of the observation. For the last few years, this evening has ended in tears - hers and mine - as we work to come to terms with the situation.
This year she tried to make it work. They thought that they would be in the small studio; she had been moved to the front row; it was all going to work.
When I arrived, they changed the studio and they changed the line. I again found myself having to be the detective straining my limited vision to determine which dancer shared my heart out of a group of teen aged girls all about the same height, coloring, and weight.
When the class ended, I dreaded having to tell her that I tried to find her but wasn't sure that I did. But rather than focus on the girl in front of me, who I knew wasn't her, I focused on the wisp of a dancer in the front corner. I figured I had broken her heart once again. Another year where I would vow not to return to another observation as she wanted someone to "see" her with more than their heart.
She gave me the biggest hug - That was me!
She thought I would watch the girl directly in front of me as that girl was easiest to see - so she was surprised that it was the tiny one in the corner that had my attention.
"Why did you look at me?"
My daughter has seen herself dance in videos, but I don't think she understands the energy that draws the eye to her. When I scanned the dancers yesterday, she caught my attention because she looked so much wispier than the rest (She is actually one of the taller girls and has a dancer's body, through and through so there isn't much wispiness about her). I was drawn to her energy. i was drawn to her size. It was also that music seemed to, at point be a part of her rather than her dancing to it. For a child who, six months ago, was more "jerky" than not, there was a bit of grace and personal style to her yesterday evening that I had previously not seen.
I didn't, at any point, have certainty that she was my daughter. There were moments when I wondered, but I was never sure enough to say, even with any certainty, that is her. Is it possible that my lack of certainty as to it being her made her feel that much better because I "chose" to watch that dancer over the others?
Several of the dancers wear shirts that state, "If Football were any easier, it would be called Ballet." Ballet is not a contact sport. It like so many forms of art, is a continual lesson in self confidence and discovery as the dancers move through periods of confidence, insecurity, awareness, and finding a means of performing and expressing themselves. For the past 11 seasons, I have watched students learn to dance. Although I am not able to see the details of the positions, I have a sense of the dancer in a more "whole" way. It is the maturity that comes with time, the natural ability to perform, and the movement from rote repetition of movement to dancing with the infusion of personality.
Tears once filled my eyes when my daughter took the stage. "That's my little girl." Now I sit on pins and needles, energy flowing through my veins. "that dancer with the fast footwork and the huge smile - she's with me." "That dancer gaining a reputation as easy to lift and a confident partner... Yes, she's mine."
The dancers i watched yesterday, the wisp in the corner included, have come a long way in the last few months - they have a long way yet to go. My daughter, being the youngest in the class, is like most of the others, she doesn't know where dancing falls in her future - she is just loving it today. For her, the past few months have been about maturing in technique and in the knowledge of the movements of her body; but, she has also learned to be confident in her peers knowing that she is a student of ballet - a dancer. In a society that loves sending their little girls to wear pink tutus and encourages the idea of the ballerina as grace and beauty, I have always found it interesting that those who study the art often don't share this part of themselves with many of their peers. That is, however, likely another post! For now, this is about a tiny dancer who is working on her technique and who is delighting those who watch with her energy, her personal touch, and her amazing smile.
In my house, this day is a mixed blessing. While I love going to watch and my daughter loves having me there, it is difficult for both of us as I struggle to identify which dancer is her and she works to accept the reality of my not being able to really see her in action. Sometimes I am able to find her through gestures; other years I have found her due to size. She usually tries to tell me where to sit and where she will be, but the past few times, she has been moved the day of the observation. For the last few years, this evening has ended in tears - hers and mine - as we work to come to terms with the situation.
This year she tried to make it work. They thought that they would be in the small studio; she had been moved to the front row; it was all going to work.
When I arrived, they changed the studio and they changed the line. I again found myself having to be the detective straining my limited vision to determine which dancer shared my heart out of a group of teen aged girls all about the same height, coloring, and weight.
When the class ended, I dreaded having to tell her that I tried to find her but wasn't sure that I did. But rather than focus on the girl in front of me, who I knew wasn't her, I focused on the wisp of a dancer in the front corner. I figured I had broken her heart once again. Another year where I would vow not to return to another observation as she wanted someone to "see" her with more than their heart.
She gave me the biggest hug - That was me!
She thought I would watch the girl directly in front of me as that girl was easiest to see - so she was surprised that it was the tiny one in the corner that had my attention.
"Why did you look at me?"
My daughter has seen herself dance in videos, but I don't think she understands the energy that draws the eye to her. When I scanned the dancers yesterday, she caught my attention because she looked so much wispier than the rest (She is actually one of the taller girls and has a dancer's body, through and through so there isn't much wispiness about her). I was drawn to her energy. i was drawn to her size. It was also that music seemed to, at point be a part of her rather than her dancing to it. For a child who, six months ago, was more "jerky" than not, there was a bit of grace and personal style to her yesterday evening that I had previously not seen.
I didn't, at any point, have certainty that she was my daughter. There were moments when I wondered, but I was never sure enough to say, even with any certainty, that is her. Is it possible that my lack of certainty as to it being her made her feel that much better because I "chose" to watch that dancer over the others?
Several of the dancers wear shirts that state, "If Football were any easier, it would be called Ballet." Ballet is not a contact sport. It like so many forms of art, is a continual lesson in self confidence and discovery as the dancers move through periods of confidence, insecurity, awareness, and finding a means of performing and expressing themselves. For the past 11 seasons, I have watched students learn to dance. Although I am not able to see the details of the positions, I have a sense of the dancer in a more "whole" way. It is the maturity that comes with time, the natural ability to perform, and the movement from rote repetition of movement to dancing with the infusion of personality.
Tears once filled my eyes when my daughter took the stage. "That's my little girl." Now I sit on pins and needles, energy flowing through my veins. "that dancer with the fast footwork and the huge smile - she's with me." "That dancer gaining a reputation as easy to lift and a confident partner... Yes, she's mine."
The dancers i watched yesterday, the wisp in the corner included, have come a long way in the last few months - they have a long way yet to go. My daughter, being the youngest in the class, is like most of the others, she doesn't know where dancing falls in her future - she is just loving it today. For her, the past few months have been about maturing in technique and in the knowledge of the movements of her body; but, she has also learned to be confident in her peers knowing that she is a student of ballet - a dancer. In a society that loves sending their little girls to wear pink tutus and encourages the idea of the ballerina as grace and beauty, I have always found it interesting that those who study the art often don't share this part of themselves with many of their peers. That is, however, likely another post! For now, this is about a tiny dancer who is working on her technique and who is delighting those who watch with her energy, her personal touch, and her amazing smile.
08 March, 2013
Don't Dig a Well When You're Dying of Thirst
She giggles
he becomes more animated
I sneeze, and sneeze, and sneeze
While my allergies are getting the best of me, they are aware of only one another and the conversation at hand
My eyes water, nose twitches, and I feel another sneeze preparing itself to come forward
How this moment reflects the entire day - from a beginning with sneezing and light conversation to a point with more sneezing and needing nothing more to remove myself from an office to which I give a lot of energy and creativity and sometimes find myself wondering "why" because I am not sure it is desired or appreciated.
A few weeks ago, I had a saying on my white board that read something like "Don't dig a well when you are dying of thirst." One of the guys with whom I work asked if it was the office motto.
I laughed then and now wonder at his wisdom. How often I find myself feeling as if I am banging my head against the wall because I am being asked to dig a well while I am dying of thirst. Today, i found myself realizing that I had tried to dig that well first. I was working to finish the foundations and create a supportive ledge from which people could lower their buckets to drink from the well... and...
then I had a meeting and found myself realizing that no one cares about the well until the final hours of a life.
No one wants to set up the foundation to maintain a healthy supply of water.
People are pretty happy dying of thirst.
I recognize that what I do can be done by someone else. It wouldn't be done the same way, but the job would be done. I also know that I do it differently than would other people; I go above and beyond the job requirement to fill the gaps, ease the load, and enhance whatever it is I touch. I do these things for the office; I do them for myself because I enjoy what I do.
Yet, there are hours or days when I come face to face with the reality of where I work.
Somewhere, someone likely appreciates what I do and what I have provided; my willingness to dig that well.
It wasn't today when I sat in a meeting seeing that whatever I said would not matter.
It wasn't earlier this morning when I realized that the person with whom I work this project was not fully engaged in listening to the update.
It wasn't when I sat at my desk those last few minutes of the day recognizing that, regardless of all I have done, I am not allowed to be noted for that work because it is beyond my job description. Hierarchy rules the day in some places.
I am frustrated
I am sad
I want to stop the value added that I give and tell people to do their own jobs, I am done.
But of course, this is not the case. I can not pretend the work isn't there just as I can not refrain myself from filling gaps and adding that extra "touch" to my work and my environment. I have created my space and cultivated it with attention and care. I will dig the well, though no one is dying of thirst, because that is the person that I have chosen to be - and the person I continue to choose to be. I will even plant flowers and trees around my well so that people can relax when they come to drink; so that they can take a deep breath and appreciate the beauty that surrounds them.
I work with many people who would die of thirst while digging a well.
I also work with a few people who will help me dig that well so that none of us die of thirst. They share my frustrations. They too know what it is to come face to face with the reality of a lack of strategy.
Together we laugh, we dirty our hands, we dig, and we keep working to build; to develop; to grow.
he becomes more animated
I sneeze, and sneeze, and sneeze
While my allergies are getting the best of me, they are aware of only one another and the conversation at hand
My eyes water, nose twitches, and I feel another sneeze preparing itself to come forward
How this moment reflects the entire day - from a beginning with sneezing and light conversation to a point with more sneezing and needing nothing more to remove myself from an office to which I give a lot of energy and creativity and sometimes find myself wondering "why" because I am not sure it is desired or appreciated.
A few weeks ago, I had a saying on my white board that read something like "Don't dig a well when you are dying of thirst." One of the guys with whom I work asked if it was the office motto.
I laughed then and now wonder at his wisdom. How often I find myself feeling as if I am banging my head against the wall because I am being asked to dig a well while I am dying of thirst. Today, i found myself realizing that I had tried to dig that well first. I was working to finish the foundations and create a supportive ledge from which people could lower their buckets to drink from the well... and...
then I had a meeting and found myself realizing that no one cares about the well until the final hours of a life.
No one wants to set up the foundation to maintain a healthy supply of water.
People are pretty happy dying of thirst.
I recognize that what I do can be done by someone else. It wouldn't be done the same way, but the job would be done. I also know that I do it differently than would other people; I go above and beyond the job requirement to fill the gaps, ease the load, and enhance whatever it is I touch. I do these things for the office; I do them for myself because I enjoy what I do.
Yet, there are hours or days when I come face to face with the reality of where I work.
Somewhere, someone likely appreciates what I do and what I have provided; my willingness to dig that well.
It wasn't today when I sat in a meeting seeing that whatever I said would not matter.
It wasn't earlier this morning when I realized that the person with whom I work this project was not fully engaged in listening to the update.
It wasn't when I sat at my desk those last few minutes of the day recognizing that, regardless of all I have done, I am not allowed to be noted for that work because it is beyond my job description. Hierarchy rules the day in some places.
I am frustrated
I am sad
I want to stop the value added that I give and tell people to do their own jobs, I am done.
But of course, this is not the case. I can not pretend the work isn't there just as I can not refrain myself from filling gaps and adding that extra "touch" to my work and my environment. I have created my space and cultivated it with attention and care. I will dig the well, though no one is dying of thirst, because that is the person that I have chosen to be - and the person I continue to choose to be. I will even plant flowers and trees around my well so that people can relax when they come to drink; so that they can take a deep breath and appreciate the beauty that surrounds them.
I work with many people who would die of thirst while digging a well.
I also work with a few people who will help me dig that well so that none of us die of thirst. They share my frustrations. They too know what it is to come face to face with the reality of a lack of strategy.
Together we laugh, we dirty our hands, we dig, and we keep working to build; to develop; to grow.
28 January, 2013
Brilliance
Blue skies have shifted to gray.
Where yesterday there were sun filled smiles; today crystal tears fall. Ice that would glisten like diamonds were there just a hint of light to highlight their brilliance and intricacies.
Considering that last thought, contemplating the crystals that continue to fall outside, I wonder if there is more to it? Were the sun shining; were street lights hitting the ice as it fell, would we perhaps note and clammer over the site. We would be able to see the beauty.
Without that source of light, without something to highlight the individual brilliance...
Light or not, the intricacies and the nuances of the ice rain doesn't change; what changes is our ability to see. Perhaps what changes is that our attention is drawn to those aspects under the light?
How much are each of us like those crystalized drops of water?
Each of us has a brilliance and intricacies that are beautiful to behold; however, how often are those aspects of ourselves noticed? Does it take a source of light to draw the attention of ourselves or others?
There are times when I have served as the light that shines upon another to highlight their brilliance. As a parent, as a friend, as a person in a relationship of any sort - it feels only natural to turn on the high beams and focus. I served as the operator of the spotlight. I would guess that most people have served this role. Once our attention is drawn to the brilliance of another, we like to share that find with others.
It is, perhaps, more challenging to serve as our own source of light; to recognize our own brilliance and intricacies on any given day, especially those where the clouds block the sun, excluding all external sources of light.
Where yesterday there were sun filled smiles; today crystal tears fall. Ice that would glisten like diamonds were there just a hint of light to highlight their brilliance and intricacies.
Considering that last thought, contemplating the crystals that continue to fall outside, I wonder if there is more to it? Were the sun shining; were street lights hitting the ice as it fell, would we perhaps note and clammer over the site. We would be able to see the beauty.
Without that source of light, without something to highlight the individual brilliance...
Light or not, the intricacies and the nuances of the ice rain doesn't change; what changes is our ability to see. Perhaps what changes is that our attention is drawn to those aspects under the light?
How much are each of us like those crystalized drops of water?
Each of us has a brilliance and intricacies that are beautiful to behold; however, how often are those aspects of ourselves noticed? Does it take a source of light to draw the attention of ourselves or others?
There are times when I have served as the light that shines upon another to highlight their brilliance. As a parent, as a friend, as a person in a relationship of any sort - it feels only natural to turn on the high beams and focus. I served as the operator of the spotlight. I would guess that most people have served this role. Once our attention is drawn to the brilliance of another, we like to share that find with others.
It is, perhaps, more challenging to serve as our own source of light; to recognize our own brilliance and intricacies on any given day, especially those where the clouds block the sun, excluding all external sources of light.
18 January, 2013
Wanting "Nothing"
I sit at my desk, the sun still hiding somewhere beneath the horizon. Exhausted, completely exhausted.
The day stretches before me as I fight sleep; many things require my attention, items that will ask my morning mind to give way to wakeful thought sooner than not.
I remember days in which I lived more in the future than in the moment. Days in which I planned days, weeks, or months into the future. The plans were never in great detail but I was not unfamiliar with the idea of considering anything possible "after" or "once" this or that happened. Living a life waiting an event that has yet to happen was not the norm; however, it felt familiar and comfortable.
Gazing out the windows this morning, I once again realized how unfamiliar that all seems now.
Today I found myself working to organize thoughts; taking one breath and doing one thing at a time. I have learned that, although I can answer questions and address issues as they arise, to fully accomplish the writing tasks, I have to do just one at a time.
I gave myself time to wake. I did some laughing and some chatting.
Then I settled in to do each written task, giving each my full attention.
I have learned that today is just this - and to get things done, I have to do "just this" and then think about "that."
The sun rose into a gorgeous blue sky.
Colleagues came by to chat and laugh.
I requested help i the writing of a draft.
I stood up, walked, settled my thoughts.
When the day came to an end, a colleague wished me a good weekend. Not for the first time, I had to stop and consider the days and hours that lay before me.
The weekend?
Tonight?
Other than our scheduled commitments, what stretches before me is... nothing and everything.
My daughter is known to say, with genuine sincerity, I want nothing because I have everything.
It is these days, these Friday afternoons, when I realize that there is not work tomorrow, it is then when I look at nothing and feel myself relax, smile, and see beauty in a way that I did not know five years ago.
Nothing is lovely.
Nothing is opportunity, possibility, and space.
It is Friday evening; I sit writing this recognizing that now, despite a few bumps in the road, I want nothing because I have everything.
The day stretches before me as I fight sleep; many things require my attention, items that will ask my morning mind to give way to wakeful thought sooner than not.
I remember days in which I lived more in the future than in the moment. Days in which I planned days, weeks, or months into the future. The plans were never in great detail but I was not unfamiliar with the idea of considering anything possible "after" or "once" this or that happened. Living a life waiting an event that has yet to happen was not the norm; however, it felt familiar and comfortable.
Gazing out the windows this morning, I once again realized how unfamiliar that all seems now.
Today I found myself working to organize thoughts; taking one breath and doing one thing at a time. I have learned that, although I can answer questions and address issues as they arise, to fully accomplish the writing tasks, I have to do just one at a time.
I gave myself time to wake. I did some laughing and some chatting.
Then I settled in to do each written task, giving each my full attention.
I have learned that today is just this - and to get things done, I have to do "just this" and then think about "that."
The sun rose into a gorgeous blue sky.
Colleagues came by to chat and laugh.
I requested help i the writing of a draft.
I stood up, walked, settled my thoughts.
When the day came to an end, a colleague wished me a good weekend. Not for the first time, I had to stop and consider the days and hours that lay before me.
The weekend?
Tonight?
Other than our scheduled commitments, what stretches before me is... nothing and everything.
My daughter is known to say, with genuine sincerity, I want nothing because I have everything.
It is these days, these Friday afternoons, when I realize that there is not work tomorrow, it is then when I look at nothing and feel myself relax, smile, and see beauty in a way that I did not know five years ago.
Nothing is lovely.
Nothing is opportunity, possibility, and space.
It is Friday evening; I sit writing this recognizing that now, despite a few bumps in the road, I want nothing because I have everything.
11 January, 2013
Right Now
The night has closed around me.
Another work week ended; one that has proven quite emotionally challenging, which is something I can't often say in regards to my professional life. But then I don't often open a document and find myself wanting to just shut the PC down and walk out of the building either. This reaction, not a result of work or politics, but the product of the battle within myself as I struggle between compassionate empathy and the recognition that I am attempting to do my work and the work of another as a result of that compassionate empathy. Capable as I might be, it is a challenge to walk behind the elephants, cleaning up the mess before the President sees it or worse, steps in it.
That isn't a great analogy though it reflects my feelings at the moment.
I am frustrated, torn, tired, and having to take one day at at time as there doesn't seem to be any change on the horizon. Good thing i am comfortable living in today!
I watched the sky darken just beyond my windows this afternoon.
I shot e-mail throughout the building and ventured through the office taking care of what I could; attempting to manage a situation that requires attentive responses over bursts of reactions.
I feel as if I am walking on eggshells at times; watching over my shoulder as the wrong word, a demonstration of concern with the incorrect tone, anything could have an unexpected impact.
It is all drama; it is not my drama, and yet maintaining a distance that allows me to stay sane proves difficult when it involves work.
The night closes, rain drops no longer falling though lights sparkle and glisten from their remains.
Right now, there is no work, no drama, no means of working.
Right now, I have the space to breathe and just, be.
Another work week ended; one that has proven quite emotionally challenging, which is something I can't often say in regards to my professional life. But then I don't often open a document and find myself wanting to just shut the PC down and walk out of the building either. This reaction, not a result of work or politics, but the product of the battle within myself as I struggle between compassionate empathy and the recognition that I am attempting to do my work and the work of another as a result of that compassionate empathy. Capable as I might be, it is a challenge to walk behind the elephants, cleaning up the mess before the President sees it or worse, steps in it.
That isn't a great analogy though it reflects my feelings at the moment.
I am frustrated, torn, tired, and having to take one day at at time as there doesn't seem to be any change on the horizon. Good thing i am comfortable living in today!
I watched the sky darken just beyond my windows this afternoon.
I shot e-mail throughout the building and ventured through the office taking care of what I could; attempting to manage a situation that requires attentive responses over bursts of reactions.
I feel as if I am walking on eggshells at times; watching over my shoulder as the wrong word, a demonstration of concern with the incorrect tone, anything could have an unexpected impact.
It is all drama; it is not my drama, and yet maintaining a distance that allows me to stay sane proves difficult when it involves work.
The night closes, rain drops no longer falling though lights sparkle and glisten from their remains.
Right now, there is no work, no drama, no means of working.
Right now, I have the space to breathe and just, be.
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