Yesterday, the song, "Hey Jude" was playing on the radio on my way home from spending the day with some great friends. I was smiling, for the first time in weeks, and I was happy. It was a Beatles song, which, in and of itself is a big deal for me, and it was Hey Jude, a song that get's me every time. Yesterday, though, I had a big, fat Aha! moment. Thanks for that, Universe, I love it when that happens!
My life has really sucked lately. A very low point, wanting to quit my job and run away from home, extra sucky sucked. The details aren't important, but they were traumatic (no one died), they hurt (I'm very sensitive) and it's taken me a while to move beyond them (I tend to hold grudges). In the midst of all of this drama, I had a doctor's appointment (didn't go well) and now I need to make some big life changes. So, my world has basically...say it with me...sucked. Ugh.
Those who have read my previous blogs already know this about me, but I'm somewhat a spiritual person. I look for signs. I look for the meaning in every little thing that happens to me. What lessons am I supposed to be learning from this? I believe that we're not all floating out here alone, that there's something that ties it all together. Some may call it God, I hesitate to call my beliefs God, just because the word "God" conjures up ideas of an old man with a beard in the sky, manipulating our lives. I'm not making fun of others' beliefs, that's just not my image of whatever it is that's out there that's trying to make me learn my life's lessons. I like to refer to it as the Universe, just because for me, I find that word comforting.
This Universe and I, we're pretty tight. She (I like to think she's a she) knows me pretty well. There's no lying to Her, and if I lie to myself, it only makes things worse. The same life lessons keep hitting me and hitting me until I stop lying to myself and I learn the damn lesson already. I also like to think that She has a good sense of humor. :-)
Lately I've been sad and I've been angry. And I've been withdrawn and I haven't told anyone what's been going on, only those who are involved know about it (well, except for those who know through the rumor mill, but you know how that goes!). In other words, I once again bottled everything up and tried to put on the happy face until I couldn't even fake being happy anymore.
Long story short... I finally mustered up the chutzpah to talk with the person with whom I had the biggest issue, and I sent him an email (OK, maybe chutzpa isn't the right word since I still didn't have the courage to talk to him face-to-face!) about how I felt. To my surprise, he responded back, favorably. He thanked me for my words, and he essentially said he felt the same way I did about the situation. It helped so much to hear him say that, and I have a feeling my words helped him too. We'd both been having a bad time lately. So, first lesson learned: don't fear the truth, but do be sure to act appropriately. I had made assumptions about him that just weren't true. Shame on me!
So, to try to make sense of this blog... I spent yesterday, Memorial Day, with some great friends. I spent the morning cheering on friends who were participating in a horse show, and we all had a blast. Then, I met up with one of my oldest and dearest friends, and her amazing and beautiful partner whom I also love and adore, and we had lunch. It was as simple as that, we ate lunch. But just being around people who honestly love me for who I am, and accept me, and I, them, there was no need to fake happy. I was happy. I am happy. And I know that if I weren't feeling happy yesterday, that would have been OK, too. We would have ordered drinks and I could have cried until we were crying from laughter. I love those ladies!
So, the big lesson, the conk on the head... I need to stop keeping the people who love me at arm's length. If I'm sad, be sad. And if I'm feeling overwhelmed or lonely because of it, that's my own damn fault.
"Hey Jude", by The Beatles:
Hey Jude, don't make it bad
Take a sad song and make it better
Remember to let her into your heart
Then you can start to make it better
Hey Jude, don't be afraid
You were made to go out and get her
The minute you let her under your skin
Then you begin to make it better
And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder
Hey Jude, don't let me down
You have found her, now go and get her
Remember to let her into your heart
Then you can start to make it better
So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin
You're waiting for someone to perform with
And don't you know that it's just you? Hey Jude, you'll do
The movement you need is on your shoulder
Hey Jude, don't make it bad
Take a sad song and make it better
Remember to let her under your skin
Then you begin to make it better
Better, better, better, better, better, oh!
Na na na, na-na na na
Na-na na na, hey Jude....
<3
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Time it was, and what a time it was
I was laying in bed last night, struggling to read my book (John Irving's new novel), and despite the amazing writing, it just didn't hold my attention. It wasn't the book's fault, my mind was just elsewhere.
I kept flashing to my grandparent's basement. It always had that certain smell, and it was cool and dark and it was filled with junk. And I never, ever, understood it. By that, I mean, I never figured out what room upstairs was over which part of the basement. It never made sense to me. So I lay there, in my mind, trying to remember it all. Every last detail. Including the smell, and the feel, and the stuff... remembering it all became so insignificantly important to me.
As I was trying to "map it out" in my mind, half tempted to get up, grab a piece of paper, and draw the darn basement, once and for all... my mind wandered from it's wanderings. The thought of that, in and of itself, amused me for a minute, which became a third wandering! But what I started thinking about were all of the pictures that my Pop-pop had taken when I was little. He was one of those in-your-face-documenting-everything type of photographers. At one time, he even had a dark room in the basement (insert irony here!). I didn't realize until that very moment last night how precious each and every one of those photographs really are.
So, my mind wandered to a specific photograph that my Pop-pop had taken of me when I was maybe 3 years old. I was wearing an itchy dress and itchy tights that my mother had dressed me in. I was sitting on the tile in front of the fireplace because it was always hot as hell in my grandparent's house and the tile felt cool, and I was playing with a stripped ball. I was so young, but I remember when my Pop-pop took the picture. He climbed down on one knee, then the other, then he lowered himself forward onto his elbows, getting all the way down to my 3 year old level. I gave him a little wave and a big cheesy smile, being more annoyed by it all than amused, and he took the picture.
The 3 year old me had no idea that 43 years later (well, almost 43!), that photograph would be so important to me. It's a picture of me, but that's not really the part I cherish, it's the memory of my Pop-pop taking that picture that's so absolutely precious. I had to sit there, patiently, waiting for him to lower himself to the floor, then I had to wait for him to focus, get everything just right. It was so important to him that this photograph be perfect. It was an old Argus camera, I believe it was a 35mm, film was expensive, developing fluids and paper, it was all expensive. He went to great lengths to make it perfect, because having a perfect picture of his one and only granddaughter was priceless to him.
The photo of me with that cheesy smile in that itchy dress with those itchy tights, that is how my Pop-pop saw me. That photo is of me, from his vantage. That picture doesn't only capture me, at 3 years old, in my grandparents house with their ugly sofa in the background, it captures my grandfather too. His pure love and adoration for his grand daughter. I need to buy a frame for that photo, I just realized how absolutely priceless it is.
So, I never finished reading my book. I still haven't taken out a piece of paper to map out, "once and for all", the layout of my grandparent's basement and their house. It's still something that will bug me, being a wee OCD and all, but maybe I'll just leave it like that. Now, every time I start to think about it, it'll bring me back to the memory of my Pop-pop taking that photograph, which isn't such a bad place to be. <3
Simon and Garfunkel's "Bookends":
Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you
I kept flashing to my grandparent's basement. It always had that certain smell, and it was cool and dark and it was filled with junk. And I never, ever, understood it. By that, I mean, I never figured out what room upstairs was over which part of the basement. It never made sense to me. So I lay there, in my mind, trying to remember it all. Every last detail. Including the smell, and the feel, and the stuff... remembering it all became so insignificantly important to me.
As I was trying to "map it out" in my mind, half tempted to get up, grab a piece of paper, and draw the darn basement, once and for all... my mind wandered from it's wanderings. The thought of that, in and of itself, amused me for a minute, which became a third wandering! But what I started thinking about were all of the pictures that my Pop-pop had taken when I was little. He was one of those in-your-face-documenting-everything type of photographers. At one time, he even had a dark room in the basement (insert irony here!). I didn't realize until that very moment last night how precious each and every one of those photographs really are.
So, my mind wandered to a specific photograph that my Pop-pop had taken of me when I was maybe 3 years old. I was wearing an itchy dress and itchy tights that my mother had dressed me in. I was sitting on the tile in front of the fireplace because it was always hot as hell in my grandparent's house and the tile felt cool, and I was playing with a stripped ball. I was so young, but I remember when my Pop-pop took the picture. He climbed down on one knee, then the other, then he lowered himself forward onto his elbows, getting all the way down to my 3 year old level. I gave him a little wave and a big cheesy smile, being more annoyed by it all than amused, and he took the picture.
The 3 year old me had no idea that 43 years later (well, almost 43!), that photograph would be so important to me. It's a picture of me, but that's not really the part I cherish, it's the memory of my Pop-pop taking that picture that's so absolutely precious. I had to sit there, patiently, waiting for him to lower himself to the floor, then I had to wait for him to focus, get everything just right. It was so important to him that this photograph be perfect. It was an old Argus camera, I believe it was a 35mm, film was expensive, developing fluids and paper, it was all expensive. He went to great lengths to make it perfect, because having a perfect picture of his one and only granddaughter was priceless to him.
The photo of me with that cheesy smile in that itchy dress with those itchy tights, that is how my Pop-pop saw me. That photo is of me, from his vantage. That picture doesn't only capture me, at 3 years old, in my grandparents house with their ugly sofa in the background, it captures my grandfather too. His pure love and adoration for his grand daughter. I need to buy a frame for that photo, I just realized how absolutely priceless it is.
So, I never finished reading my book. I still haven't taken out a piece of paper to map out, "once and for all", the layout of my grandparent's basement and their house. It's still something that will bug me, being a wee OCD and all, but maybe I'll just leave it like that. Now, every time I start to think about it, it'll bring me back to the memory of my Pop-pop taking that photograph, which isn't such a bad place to be. <3
Simon and Garfunkel's "Bookends":
Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you
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