I wonder when the word “fierce” became such a slang word.
The Urban Dictionary brings up several ideas around this.
All I know is that it does just fit to describe certain people.
Like Serena Williams.
I had the unexpected opportunity to witness her particular genius the other night at the U.S. Open.
Amazing. Her focus. Her skill. Her physical strength. Her drive.
Her ensemble.
Fierce!
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/fierce/
I share my posts on Alan’s site:
For the gathousandth time
I look in my own eyes
Searching for a glimpse of her
The girl I was
All I see is shadowy pain
Dimmed promise
Blighted hope
Battered belief
I search still
Who is left in there
Whose pain is being reflected
Whose fatigue
Whose caution and fear
If eyes are the window to the soul
It’s time to move
https://guestdailyposts.wordpress.com/guest-pingbacks/
I share my posts on Alan’s site
And then, just like that,
The sky cracked open
And joy spilled out
It looked great on the surface of it.
A new apartment, with a gorgeous view. I mean, who wouldn’t say yes to that?
I did. I was the instigator of this move. I did the apartment searching. The financing work.
And so here we are. A year after purchasing, and months of renovations. Renovations that we planned to take at most 6 months that are now at 8.
And our current apartment is in contract. Our buyers were just approved to move in by the board of the co-op.
We will be getting dates for closing any day now, and then we will move into our beautiful new apartment with its dream view.
All good, right?
And yet.
I. AM. NOT. PACKING. YET.
(Much to my husband’s consternation and confusion.)
I mean, I have been the instigator of all this upheaval.
I decided to totally redecorate and choose new furniture for the new apartment. To find new homes for the furniture that we have loved the past 8 years together in this first home we are now in and about to leave.
This was major, because most of the furniture came from my deceased parents’ home. It was oddly perfect timing, my father passing away after my mother and 3 months before our wedding. I have been surrounded these 8 years in our home by furniture that comforted me, held me…gave me a nest, truly.
And yet, here I am, ready to let it all go. My cousins are taking the pieces I would never be able to just give away to anybody. Close friends with kids are taking other pieces, which feels so right and good. Other people my husband knows are inheriting some things, which they need, want and are thrilled about, and that makes me happy.
The new furniture has been bought, and I love it.
I visit our new home and am stunned at how lovely it is going to be.
And yet.
We are literally half out of our current place. My husband is packing most of what is left. Things are in boxes or are already gone. We are half in and half out. Limbo.
What. Is. Going. On. With. Me. And. This. Resistance.
I find myself wanting to stay in this limbo land. I feel as if I could hover here with one foot in and one foot out forever.
I am terrified. So scared. To move on. To enter fully into my truly adult life, beyond the losses that have so colored the last eleven years. To let the past fall away and let the present fully emerge.
I get panicked. If I let go of the bronzed tiny cowboy boots of my father’s that I brought up from Texas with the furniture, does it mean I loved him any less? Does it mean I am a better daughter and I really loved him if I hold on to them?
If I throw out or give away the plates my brother and I made in our childhood, will I forget him and our youth? Am I a bad person?
If I let go of the plastic container I handprinted with hearts that holds some of my mom’s cookie cutters that I gave her and brought up from her kitchen after she dies, does it mean I am not a loyal daughter? Will it hurt her feelings?
Will I lose who I am if I let go of these things? Will I lose their love somehow?
Who will I be if I am not carrying around these objects that are connected to my past?
Will I float into nothingness? Will I no longer know myself? Will I forget the people and the memories associated with these things?
I have to somehow resolve this. Find a way to keep moving through this change that on some level I called in for my own soul.
I have to find a way to actually make this move. It is a movement, after all.
I have to breathe. And trust. And move forward, into my life.
Inspired by a Daily Word Prompt at Guest Daily Prompts: surface
Maybe someday I will…
Feel confident about my talents
Love my thighs
Forgive “God” for not giving me what I secretly demand of life
Appreciate my own heart
Speak up for myself in the moment instead of going blank until it is too late
Embrace my imperfections
Drink enough water
Go to sleep simply
Leave my phone out of the bedroom
Be able to do three pull ups
(Do one pull up)
Stop caring so much what I think others will think of me
Spend more time in a day talking positively to myself than I do negatively
Really start living
I have returned from an adventure.
A wonderful, yet challenging, adventure. With my family.
I am grateful for the abundance of time and energy to have been able to go on this adventure. I am so glad that we all took the time to be together and to explore new-to-us places and to experiences new sights, sounds, tastes and smells.
The challenges were all out of anyone’s control and totally unexpected.
They included outgoing flights that stole a day from the majority of our group. Record-breaking heat everywhere we went. An absence of air conditioning in these places because they usually have no need for it.
Two of our lodgings were not at all as they were represented, which was disappointing and uncomfortable. A space markedly smaller than the photos appeared. A stairwell so steep under a ceiling so low leading to the one common space and second bathroom that it was unusable. A stove with no manual that we could not figure out — no way to heat water for coffee. Another place having no window coverings, infested with bees and flies.
(I suppose these could be considered “luxury” problems if you look at it. For me, as I had been the one to book the lodging, they were challenging, and disappointing. It also really enlightened me to my own “Americanism” – to how used I am to traveling with and to all the comforts of home. Take a way some of those, and I felt uncomfortable. But isn’t the point of travel to leave home behind?)
The real challenge came when one member of our group (the person whose trip it was) got very sick for two days. And then another of us got sick right after that one, requiring an emergency clinic visit and rendering them housebound for the last leg of the trip (three days.) This family member, I am sure, was counting down the seconds until they could get the hell back home. They were really sick and could not sleep due to the illness and the heat.
I cannot recall a trip from my life that had so many issues. Everyone valiantly moved through it all as well as they could. But there were moments of discomfort and when spirits waned and were tested to the limit.
Still. We had laughter. We saw some amazing parts of the world. And we were together.
I know that down the road, we will, for the most part, only recall the good parts. (Except for the really sick person, who, I am sure, will never forget how bad it was for them.)
I struggled mostly with just giving space for everyone to have their response to the challenges. To not feel totally responsible for everyone’s happiness. I was, after all, the instigator of the whole trip. For a recovering perfectionist and people-pleaser, this was daunting.
As a result, I was stretched in ways that I did not at all expect. Perhaps that is the very nature of travel: to go beyond one’s known terrain into foreign territories.
So as I leave the trip behind and reenter everyday life, I let whatever lessons were contained in this journey sort of simmer, low-level, trusting that some day I will look back and realize the gifts contained within the turbulence that the trip presented.
I trust that my memories of the difficulties of the trip will fade in comparison to the joys.
And I refill my spiritual well for the next adventure.
I am on an adventure with my nephew.
When I graduated from high school, my Granma took me on a trip to England, Wales and Ireland. It was a generous gift.
She’d traveled extensively in her life, as had her mother, my Great-Grandmother Burns. They’d both lost their husbands early and ended up living quite rich and adventurous lives as widows.
My Gran had taken my two brothers before me as they each graduated. It was a tradition.
So when my brother’s first born graduated from high school, I had the impulse to carry on the tradition.
My Gran was long-since dead, and my Mom – her daughter – had died a few years’ past.
So I decided to do what I knew they’d have loved to do.
I took my niece on a trip to London and Paris in 2016. My sister-in-law came too, which was almost as good as my Mom being there. She is warm and loving, just like my Mom.
It was a wonderful trip. I cherished our time together and felt my parents’ presence (my father and other brother had recently died as well) with us.
And now here I am, my nephew and I on an adventure. And this time, we are all here together: my husband, my nephew, my brother, my sister-in-law and my niece.
My nephew chose Norway and Sweden to explore. None of us had ever thought of visiting either, but of course we were all game!
So here we all are, in Norway.
And it is heavenly.
The beauty of this country is just magnificent.
But of course, it is all really about being together. We feast our eyes on the landscapes. We laugh and laugh. We eat delicious food.
Once again, I sense my parents, and my brother somehow here, happy for us.
Maybe my niece and nephew will someday carry on the tradition and feel my presence there, too.
Sometimes, life is too hard.
I mean it. Sometimes, I just have to give up.
Not permanently. Not in a dangerous or devastating way.
But yes, I am saying that sometimes you just have to say, “Enough.”
Do not get me wrong. I am all for positivity.
If it were not for having learned to watch my thoughts and understand that I am not my thoughts or feelings, I would surely be dead today. My thoughts have a tendency to the dark side. The side that urges me to death. The side that has had enough of pain and sorrow and wishes for me a return to the void as soon as possible.
I have come to respect and have compassion for that dark side tendency of my mind. It is, its own way, trying to help me survive. But I have put it in the back seat of my psyche as a passenger on this ride through life. I do not let it drive. It would drive me off a steep cliff, like that last scene in “Thelma and Louise.” I observe it. I am not it.
Back to positivity. I thoroughly believe, after much personal experimentation, that there is, indeed, a tremendous power in our thoughts. Choosing life on a daily basis and choosing how to respond to life and the thoughts and feelings that arise as a result of living moment to moment are a crucial key to my having a fulfilling existence with some degree of serenity.
I have learned I can direct my thoughts. I can see when they are in a groove, an old, habitual, familiar song. I can pick up the needle off the record (remember those?) and set it on a new groove. I can literally rewire my brain over time with consistency and commitment.
I believe in and have benefited from the power of mantras and affirmations.
These are all tools I use to co-create a rich and full life each day.
Yet.
I also believe, after many failed attempts to do otherwise, that there is a value and a necessity to having times where I can throw my hands up, literally and figuratively, and say to the Universe, to God, and, perhaps most importantly, to my Higher Self and all of my selves: “I give up!”
Somehow, for me, exercising my ability to say “Enough, I cannot go on another inch, I am done, that’s it!” has been very important.
Some part of my spirit, deep down inside, perhaps very young, very formerly traumatized, needs me to heed her desire to say, “No more.”
I tried to push away her voice for many, many years. First, I drowned it in food and alcohol. Later, I drowned it in positivity and recovery. Finally, I stopped and listened. Really acknowledged and listened.
I had to truly stop snd listen. Once I could hear her voice, it was very easy to find compassion for her pain and her suffering.
She did not trust me at first. Understandably, she had no reason to believe that I had any interest in her needs whatsoever. I get it. I’d neglected her for so long. Denied her existence, or worse, judged and bullied her. At first, I didn’t trust myself to be able to help her, make her feel safe.
But I made a commitment to her to always be there for her. To listen and help her. To make her the priority over anything else, as a matter of fact.
To parent her. And as a parent, I do not let her run the show. She is too young. Too raw. Too wounded. But I do honor her needs. I take them seriously. I give her attention, affection, acceptance. I give her my love.
And when she says “Enough,” we stop.
Not forever. Not in a dangerous or permanent way.
But we stop. I stop.
I unplug from the striving. The adult-ing. The New York City drive-ing.
I go on strike. I take a pause. I withdraw from the world.
I take a beat. I let her relax as fully as she can. I hold her hand and say, “I know. It is hard. I hear you are weary.”
And then, when she has had my attention and has been given a rest, when we both feel that it is time, I get back into my life and the world again.
She snuggles back into my heart, and lets me enter fully into the moments of my life.
And so I enter back into my life again. Awake. Ready to strive. To pursue. To stretch and grow.
Whole.
I sigh
Aimless again
A moment’s reprieve
Before I return
To yet another
Obsessive compulsive
Thought
A year ago, out-of-the-blue, I was overcome with the desire to challenge myself to post daily. The idea was to do it for a year.
I had been struggling at the time with unexplained, extreme fatigue. My ability to be active in my normal life was severely impaired.
The posts became a daily lifeline to my creativity. A way to keep being in the world creatively, even if I could not be physically.
It has been an amazing gift.
That daily connection to readers and other writers has been crucial to my well-being. I am so very grateful for whatever wisdom inspired me to self-challenge myself.
I missed a day or two. But I did post a day for about 362 days. I wish to celebrate that. I could easily just bypass it, which is my tendency of all actions I take.
But not this time. Today, I acknowledge and celebrate my having posted daily for over a year, with a few three exceptions.
I showed up no matter what. On sick days, depressed days, vacation days, super busy days, days I really did not want to write.
And I learned to just write no matter what. To let things be less than perfect. To “just do it.”
I “met” amazing fellow writers and have been exposed to so many wonderful, different verse blogs.
And now, just as suddenly as the idea came to me to do it daily, I find that my desire to continue posting daily has gone.
I am so curious about this. Is it because I am now fully back into activities of my life?
Or are my creative impulses unpredictable?
Is it because I “completed” something and so desire some new challenges?
That has yet to be revealed.
For now, I accept that I challenged myself to do something, loved it, learned a great deal from the doing of it.
I thank those of you who have read me daily or several times a week (or any time!)
I look forward to finding my new pace. Perhaps every other day…
I welcome the wisdom that will surely guide my next step. I have learned to trust my own process. Look where it has brought me so far!
Beyond the Skinny Branches 