Rebirth

A little more than ten years ago I was home for a year recuperating from a life threatening situation. That period of my life forced me to look at the reality of my mortality and experience the vulnerability of my existence. As the seasons changed, so did I. The transformation was slow and gradual, but long in coming.

I spent the first half of that year in the business of healing my body. It was the first thing I had to do. I provided it with the right nourishment so I could regain my strength, gradually changing my palate as it was introduced to new foods that would better sustain me. I learned, for the first time, the meaning and importance of the word stillness, because to have lived otherwise was not an option at that particular time. I urged, pushed and coaxed muscles that had become atrophied in becoming strong once again so they could hold me up and carry my body. I delicately tended to the scar - the only physical reminder of my loss.

The latter half of the year I then concentrated on the healing of my soul. Having now regained some of my strength, it was time to look within. During this time I had little interaction with the world. I placed myself in a cocoon and sheltered myself from the voices, looks of concern, and sincere and loving advice and opinions that wanted to be given but which I was not yet ready to hear nor accept. I could not look in the eyes of family members and see their sadness for my loss. And something wonderful happens when you are left alone to your own thoughts, your own counsel, your own pain; something remarkable happens when you are forced to deal with the rawness of your body and the irony of life by yourself. You learn that you are indeed stronger than you thought you could ever be, you learn that there are very few things in this world to worry about or make yourself unhappy about, and you learn that there are very few fears that are worth your concern.

But a life-threatening illness also gives you some unexpected gifts: you become more grateful of life, things and people around you, you forgive easier and love deeper, you laugh and smile more easily, you learn to treat people with a little more kindness because you realize this little act is the one thing that people need most. But most of all, the best gift you receive is the gift of loving yourself, accepting yourself for who you are and giving yourself the unconditional love you deserve, finally stopping the voices of judgement and criticism that seem to forever plague you. And you realize you do not need to be perfect, you just need to be you.

Yes, the year of my transformation taught me many things. But ten years have passed and now it is time again to reflect on my life and the road I travel. I have slipped a little in the way that too much chattering has invaded my thoughts once again. My mind and body are restless on occassion and I feel myself straying away from my center of peace. It is time again for me to take that cup of brew outside onve again and witness life; it is time again for long walks that connects me with nature; it is time again to listen to the silence so that I can once again find me.

For Lightning and the Lightning Bug

Courage And Disclosure

Last night in class we covered memoirs. One writer's submission gave pause to many who asked whether it was fiction. It was all dark with no light to balance the story. Since we’re to critique each other's work, I wanted to know if she learned anything from her traumatic experiences, if it changed her, because everything in life - good or bad - teaches us something. All I read were words of sadness, anger, resentment, fear and hate. And it’s not enough to pen your dark life on paper, you need to balance that with lessons learned and wisdom gained.

After class we walked together to our cars. I commended her on her courage and commented it couldn’t have been easy. She agreed it was the hardest thing she's ever had to do and confided between silent tears the history omitted. She said her life had been built on secrets and how she now wanted to live otherwise. She was writing this for her future children and if I as an adult unemotionally connected to her found it a difficult read, I couldn’t imagine what it would do to a loved one. I saw the toll it was taking in the dark circles under her eyes and tired look. She commented how she was finding it difficult to sleep again. I finally gave her that hug. I think she needed that; I know I did.

Ugliness and harshness spares no one in life yet I found her fearless in disclosing those feelings publicly and stood in awe of her brave, young heart. I would never be able to be so open about personal pain yet sadly understood some of that pain. And so, the young woman who opened her heart to me this week has been on my mind. I wish her peace and strength, but not courage. Because that she has more than enough. Because on the road she’s had to navigate, courage is the passenger she picked up along the way.

For Trifecta

A Horse By Any Other Name

So I’m at 7-11 on a bright, beautiful morning last week, being a good citizen and doing my share in stimulating the economy by buying my morning cup of jo'.

I’m at the checkout counter paying for my purchase and an elderly man, very elderly man, comes in line behind me.

"Nice earrings," he says. He had a warm smile and looked like the type that could talk to anyone without a problem.

Hm, that’s a strange comment coming from a man. Methinks anyway. I smile back and thank him. How cute is he?

"So you like southwestern jewelry," he asks.

"Yeah, I do."

"Those earrings are really nice. Stunning. Did you buy them here in New York or Arizona or some place like that?"

Wow! Friendly, little bugger, isn't he? "Nope. Right here in New York! Macy’s, as a matter of fact."

"Really?," he seems astounded. "Wow! I thought you bought them at X store in X town that specializes in that kind of stuff."

"Nope. Macy’s!" Dummy me humors his conversation. "I didn’t know they had a southwestern store in X town?"

"Oh yeah," and he goes ahead and gives me the name of store and the street it’s on.

Hm? Pretty informative little man. How nice is he?

"Yeah," he continues, "You, know, I’m a southwestern type of guy myself."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, I got horses and all."

"Oh, how wonderful! I love horses! They’re such beautiful creatures." Can you say woman without a clue?

"Well," he says, seizing his opportunity, "do you want to play hooky and come with me and ride my horse?"

The 7-11 guy gives him a dirty look and seems disgusted by him. Methinks he just didn't like him.

"Oh, no, thanks. I have to go to work," I smile and walk away.

"Okay, well, maybe next time!"

Yeah. I laugh. How cute.

I get to work and tell the ladies I believe a little old man was flirting with me and heard the best pick-up line ever. But, "this is the best I can do?" A couple of decades younger, I wouldn't have minded, but one-foot-in-the-grave old? *sigh* I'm still cute, what's going on here?!

I tell my husband later on that night.

"He’s not cute, Rebecca. He’s a little pervert. I don’t think you understood the meaning of the word horse."

Huh? I was shocked. Fifty years old and I still don’t know what the day of the week it is. It was all a ploy and I hadn't a clue. This is just too sad for words.

But, hey, on the upside, at least this one was walking upright and without a walker. That’s a step up from a few years ago when a son was pimping his decrepit old father at the parking lot of Macy's onto me. He could barely walk (he was on a walker) and could barely breathe (he was on an oxygen tank) but was hitting on me. Seriously, dude? Seriously? *sigh* My life's over.


Picture, courtesy of Deviant Art.