Today was a … frenetic day. Lots of action items, lots of meetings, lots of travel.
But in the middle of all of it, I was able to carve out ten minutes to just “be” with myself. It was a lovely 10 minutes.
April 2
Three thrilling things: blooms, sunshine, clouds.
Chasing squirrels. You’ve heard the expression before. It’s meant as a polite way of saying, “your attention span is craptastic.” And most of the time, I think it’s a pretty accurate and appropriate descriptor. Although, I must say I think we can learn from the Hairy Beasts: sometimes chasing squirrels is just…fun.
But that’s not my point here. Last year I was chasing internet squirrels (the worst kind of squirrel-chasing ADHD) and stumbled across the concept of a photo journal. A photo a day for some defined (or not) period of time. Somewhere in that same squirrel pack (herd, pod, gaggle?) I also discovered the brevity journal: a recap of the day in six words. Somewhere near the end of the chase, I lost the links for properly crediting the concepts.
At any rate, in 2014 I kept a photo journal during April and a brevity journal in December. Both were powerful exercises in that each forced me to view my world, in that moment (day), from a different perspective. The photo journal made me pay attention to the things I always see but forget to observe beyond daily routine. The brevity journal pushed me to practice concisely articulating context. Both were fabulous in shaking up how I perceive and interact with my world.
And that’s worth replicating. This time, I plan to do both. So here’s to another month of journaling.
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April 1
Gramma Littlejohn’s azaleas; fond childhood memories.
I love this time of year when blooming things start blooming.
I’ve always thought the flowers of the Bleeding Heart reflected the plants’ name.
That is, until my friend Tyson suggested they “kinda look like little plucked chickens hanging upside down ready to be cooked.”
Now I’m not so sure…
HTBAHB: Always be willing to help
So the first Saturday of the month is MOTO day. And I can’t go with a dirty bike. Impressions matter, right?
Turns out, washing a bike isn’t as simple as just getting out the hose, bucket, wash mitt, etc. It also includes a significant number of admonitions to the dog that, in fact, that is not *his* bucket. And that the hose isn’t only meant for him. An to leave that wash mitt!
90 minutes later… {sigh}
Pollyanna. A hard-wired optimist. Instinctively looking for the good, the unique, the opportunity in every situation.
Ninety-eightpercentofthetime, this is me. Finding the proverbial silver lining.
{taking deep breath; plunging into #authentic}
It’s that blasted 2% … often triggered by crap self-care during periods of extreme stress … waking up to the stark dark of night, in the silent hours when lonliness seeps in through an exposed vulnerability and attempts to curls its way, unbidden and unwelcome, around the hope harbored in my heart; staying awake, thinking of nothing, anything, everything … struggling, reallystruggling, with depression I don’t admit … that 2% when I don’t want to be strong, when I don’t like Pollyanna very much, when I don’t think I can get over it and move on…
Several fairly significant events when I was younger–reaction/response in those instances from people whose opinion of me desperately matters– those reactions taught me to conceal the 2%, to put a smile in place and fake my way through it. “Really,” the self-talk ticker-tape said, “nobody wants to know. Your issues aren’t important.” And so, I’ve gotten good at it over the years. Camouflaging the 2%. So much so, that I’ve inadvertently trained people to expect this of me, and me to expect it of myself, Pollyanna always on form.
——–
Earlier this year, as I was emerging from a particularly horrific bout of Busted Pollyanna, I shared some of the particulars of my milestone confliction with a trusted friend. 40. It’s just a number. And numbers are relative. And I’ve never felt my age. Not really. No, it’s not the age itself. It’s the milestone. While I can honestly and appreciatively say I’ve accomplished some amazing things in my life, I thought I would have more to show achieved different things.
Her reaction? Strong. Immediate. T.H.R.I.L.L.E.D. “Where are we going to GO!?! This is fantastic. It should be celebrated!!”
One question. Unbridled, unapologetic excitement. Her eyes lit up with her gleeful smile. It shocked me. Literally, in that instant, shocked me out of gloom, despair (“and misery on me, oh-oh-oh-ah-oh”) back to a significantly better head space.
Since that critical, pivotal conversation, we’ve planned said celebratory trip (somewhere requiring a passport stamp!). My bucket list is now published and a countdown timer is ticking. I’m excited about embracing and owning a new decade. And I’ve taken my birthday off (for the first time, ever), planned an outing, and to my extreme delight have persuaded several friends to play hookey with me.
—–
Words, indeed, matter. They have meaning and value. And therin lies their power.
They can shape opinions, perspectives, world views. They can hurt, gouge, maim, destroy. But they can just as easily admire, encourage, praise, and uplift.
Your next conversation may just be interrupting someone’s 2%. Seize the opportunity. Speak life.
