So after all my griping about how when you decide you want to undertake a new and exciting endeavor there are a bunch of naysayers there to greet you...there are also unexpected opportunities there to greet you as well...and from very unexpected people.
Nearly (gulp) twenty years ago I took a job at a men's clothing company in midtown Manhattan. Over the course of the seven years I worked there my daily duties included answering phones and taking clothing orders, collecting money from vendors we lovingly referred to as "deadbeats," and pulling fabric swatches out of cubby holes while standing on a step ladder in a tiny closet in the back of the office. I was not fond of these tasks or of the occasional groping by intoxicated sales reps at our twice annual sales dinners. However, I loved the people I worked for and with. They were my very own dysfunctional family.
It was a magical time for me during which my annual Christmas bonus was accompanied by a note from one of my bosses telling me they hoped that my music career would go nowhere so I would keep working for them. (Maybe it was their fault it took me so long to get a hit!)
Anyway, I would take the rare lunch hour to drop off demo tapes (yes, tapes) at surrounding record labels (Sony was across the street, Atlantic was next door, and Arista was five blocks north). There was even the time I told one of my bosses that I might be very difficult to work with if I did not get to see Bette Midler in concert across the street at Radio City Music Hall. (Somehow those tickets were miraculously procured.) Ah yes, those were magical times.
But all good things must come to an end, and the casualization of our society as well as NAFTA ushered along the eventual demise of what had once been a forty year old, family owned and operated, great American company.
Though it didn't feel like it at the time, the company's necessity to downsize as a step to try and salvage it, was the best thing that could have happened to me. But I was devastated. Within six months I moved to Nashville, and I have never looked back...until now.
I always think that when people from my past reenter my life it's a sure sign that the end is near. (Yes, I'm an optimist.) But recently, thanks to Facebook, Twitter, this blog, and a surprise call from a former co-worker, I've been in touch with a lot of people from my past. Some, like Lisa in my earlier blog, are a delightful addition to my present life. Some are just a curiosity.
"Curiosity" was what I was going with when I got in touch with one of my former bosses from the clothing company. Having had no contact whatsoever since I left, I wasn't sure I'd even get a response, let alone a warm one. But life is full of pleasant little surprises and this was one of the better ones.
The man I'll call "Cliff" - because that's actually his name, was happy to hear from me. Though I wonder if we'd recognize one another on the street now, it felt like no time had passed in our email exchange...well, at least it would have felt like that, had so many major changes not taken place in my life and in the world as well.
One of those things was - I've written a book. You know it. I mention it in pretty much every blog - In Search of George Stephanopoulos. Cliff, possibly having nothing better to do in semi-retirement, wanted to read it. So me being me and being thrilled when anyone asks to read it, said "Sure," and sent it to him.
Now I can't tell you the rest of the story in this blog entry because it hasn't unfolded yet (and because I'm both neurotic and superstitious), but let's just say that you never know who is going to be the one to help you, or try to, or who is going to have a distant relative, or a neighbor three doors down, or something that will be the key that you've been waiting for.
What I know for sure twenty years later is that working for the clothing company was never really about the pay check or the health insurance, or even the Bette Midler tickets (though that was sweeeet)...it was about the intricately interwoven tapestry that is all of our lives. It is a stunning picture that we are unable to see when we are just looking at our little corner of it alone.
So thanks everyone for being part of my tapestry in some way - known and unknown. And thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
In Search of...what I really want
Sometimes I wish I'd picked a normal profession, the kind that accompanies a normal life, like a doctor or lawyer or some job that has a path where A+B=C. But I was not that fortunate (or smart, perhaps). I've wondered from time to time what it must feel like to know where you'll be in six months and what you'll be earning and to have the stability of knowing that your days off remain the same ones each week and that vacation time is a predetermined few weeks a year.
But none of the things I do come with that certainty. They don't come with any certainty. In fact, they come with a blank page on which to create a life with no predetermination whatsoever. On my better days I consider that liberating, but lately as I've been branching out to things other than songwriting (like this blog, for instance), I have found myself, let's see, how can I tactfully put it - freaking out.
For starters, if you haven't already tried this, as soon as you decide to undertake a new endeavor, one that involves risk and creativity, but that has a big pay off, if only personally if not financially, people will come out of the woodwork to try and dissuade you. And I do mean woodwork. You will be amazed at how much discouragement is readily available at your fingertips. There will be reasons you didn't even know existed for why you can't or shouldn't even attempt to do whatever it is you want to do. Seriously.
On the up side, I've lived long enough to know that people get very uncomfortable when you disrupt their status quo. I mean, if you have the audacity to go for your dreams, it shines a glaring light on everyone else who hasn't gone for their own. And it's not an intentional glaring light. It's an incidental one, which makes it even worse.
I keep telling myself that I am not responsible for other people's discomfort, but their discomfort seemed far easier to disregard in my youth. Now it's harder and harder to tune out the voices. It's way easier to think, "Yeah, you know, I think you're right. Why bother?"
So today I'm going to get quiet for a few minutes, quiet enough to drown out all the naysayers, and think about what I really want. Maybe it's to start ballroom dancing again. Maybe it's to retrieve the person who writes songs that actually mean something. Maybe it's to get In Search of George Stephanopoulos published despite the fact that I'm not a celebrity and despite that fact that he's Stephanopoulos and not Clooney.
So I'm off - off to reacquaint myself with the notion that anything is possible. Off to remind myself that no one is in charge of my destiny but me. Off to realign with my intention to serve this world in the unique way that I was created to.
Since this is both Holy Week and Passover, I'm going to free myself from the bondage of limited thinking and resurrect the dreams that live in my heart. In doing so, I hope that I will be sending out that cosmic permission for you to do the same in your own lives.
Thank you for stopping by, and please tell your friends.
But none of the things I do come with that certainty. They don't come with any certainty. In fact, they come with a blank page on which to create a life with no predetermination whatsoever. On my better days I consider that liberating, but lately as I've been branching out to things other than songwriting (like this blog, for instance), I have found myself, let's see, how can I tactfully put it - freaking out.
For starters, if you haven't already tried this, as soon as you decide to undertake a new endeavor, one that involves risk and creativity, but that has a big pay off, if only personally if not financially, people will come out of the woodwork to try and dissuade you. And I do mean woodwork. You will be amazed at how much discouragement is readily available at your fingertips. There will be reasons you didn't even know existed for why you can't or shouldn't even attempt to do whatever it is you want to do. Seriously.
On the up side, I've lived long enough to know that people get very uncomfortable when you disrupt their status quo. I mean, if you have the audacity to go for your dreams, it shines a glaring light on everyone else who hasn't gone for their own. And it's not an intentional glaring light. It's an incidental one, which makes it even worse.
I keep telling myself that I am not responsible for other people's discomfort, but their discomfort seemed far easier to disregard in my youth. Now it's harder and harder to tune out the voices. It's way easier to think, "Yeah, you know, I think you're right. Why bother?"
So today I'm going to get quiet for a few minutes, quiet enough to drown out all the naysayers, and think about what I really want. Maybe it's to start ballroom dancing again. Maybe it's to retrieve the person who writes songs that actually mean something. Maybe it's to get In Search of George Stephanopoulos published despite the fact that I'm not a celebrity and despite that fact that he's Stephanopoulos and not Clooney.
So I'm off - off to reacquaint myself with the notion that anything is possible. Off to remind myself that no one is in charge of my destiny but me. Off to realign with my intention to serve this world in the unique way that I was created to.
Since this is both Holy Week and Passover, I'm going to free myself from the bondage of limited thinking and resurrect the dreams that live in my heart. In doing so, I hope that I will be sending out that cosmic permission for you to do the same in your own lives.
Thank you for stopping by, and please tell your friends.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
In Search of...old friends and new memories
Imagine seeing someone that you haven't seen in twenty-five years, someone you went to elementary school through high school with and haven't seen since.
That's where I found myself on Monday night, at a restaurant on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, anxiously awaiting the arrival of someone who was once a close friend - the kind you pass notes to in class when you're around ten years old.
A thousand questions were running through my mind. Does she look like I remember? Is she the person I recall her being? Will we have things to talk about, or will there be long awkward silences? Will she be someone I want in my life now, or will this dinner be a reminder that you can't go back again - anywhere. Will we have things in common like we did growing up, or has time and different life journeys forever altered our tastes and sensibilities?
I'm sure she had the same questions about me running through her mind. But she had the unfair advantage - she'd read my book. (You know the one - In Search of George Stephanopoulos.)
I cursed Facebook, the medium which reunited us, as I waited to see what the answers to these questions and so many more would be. I was dragged kicking and screaming to sign up in the first place, but it was my own curiosity that had gotten the better of me in the end.
Lisa showed up, beautiful and full of a self confidence that I had no recollection of her possessing. She was bubbly and vivacious and had a joie de vivre that was new and foreign to me. There were no long awkward silences. As a matter of fact, there were no silences at all as we tried to cram the past twenty-five years into a four hour dinner.
There were the inevitable surprises, like the fact that she always wanted to be an actress and had devoted a few years in her thirties to pursuing that. This came totally out of left field for me. But I'm sure there are things about me that came out of left field for her, though I don't know what they are exactly.
And then there were the differences - her adamant stand that you don't talk politics or religion with anyone, and mine that those are the things that really matter so shouldn't we be talking about it with everyone?
There were moments I was aware that I was meeting a stranger, someone I shared a history with, but not much else. And yet there was that history. It was one that included the things of childhood - like crushes on TV stars and bubblegum music, but it was also one that included the loss of a parent at a very young age. I wondered if she knew how much her mother's death when we were nine impacted me. I wondered if she knew that my outlook and choices were forever changed because I understood the fragility and uncertainty of life from an earlier age than most people contemplate those things. (Heck, most adults I know haven't contemplated those things.) I wonder if she remembered that I was there, that I didn't run the other way out of fear or sorrow or an inability to make anything better.
But these are not things I would ever broach with Lisa, though I think about them a lot. I was even reminded of it recently when another friend lost her mother. You would think it would be different in your forties than when you're nine, but it's really not. Pain is pain, and loss is loss, and the person I was who showed up for my friend as a child is pretty much the same person who shows up now. I don't know if it's that way for everyone else.
So Lisa and I made our way into the brisk New York night air and toward our respective bus and train, still talking and trying to put into focus the snapshot each of us would take away with us of who the other now is and what our life looks like.
I was clear that if we continued to be in each other's lives that it would be a new chapter, one not predicated on the past, but full of the fun and excitement of making a new friend.
So here's to old friends and new memories. Thanks for stopping by, and please tell your friends - the old ones and the new ones - to do the same.
That's where I found myself on Monday night, at a restaurant on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, anxiously awaiting the arrival of someone who was once a close friend - the kind you pass notes to in class when you're around ten years old.
A thousand questions were running through my mind. Does she look like I remember? Is she the person I recall her being? Will we have things to talk about, or will there be long awkward silences? Will she be someone I want in my life now, or will this dinner be a reminder that you can't go back again - anywhere. Will we have things in common like we did growing up, or has time and different life journeys forever altered our tastes and sensibilities?
I'm sure she had the same questions about me running through her mind. But she had the unfair advantage - she'd read my book. (You know the one - In Search of George Stephanopoulos.)
I cursed Facebook, the medium which reunited us, as I waited to see what the answers to these questions and so many more would be. I was dragged kicking and screaming to sign up in the first place, but it was my own curiosity that had gotten the better of me in the end.
Lisa showed up, beautiful and full of a self confidence that I had no recollection of her possessing. She was bubbly and vivacious and had a joie de vivre that was new and foreign to me. There were no long awkward silences. As a matter of fact, there were no silences at all as we tried to cram the past twenty-five years into a four hour dinner.
There were the inevitable surprises, like the fact that she always wanted to be an actress and had devoted a few years in her thirties to pursuing that. This came totally out of left field for me. But I'm sure there are things about me that came out of left field for her, though I don't know what they are exactly.
And then there were the differences - her adamant stand that you don't talk politics or religion with anyone, and mine that those are the things that really matter so shouldn't we be talking about it with everyone?
There were moments I was aware that I was meeting a stranger, someone I shared a history with, but not much else. And yet there was that history. It was one that included the things of childhood - like crushes on TV stars and bubblegum music, but it was also one that included the loss of a parent at a very young age. I wondered if she knew how much her mother's death when we were nine impacted me. I wondered if she knew that my outlook and choices were forever changed because I understood the fragility and uncertainty of life from an earlier age than most people contemplate those things. (Heck, most adults I know haven't contemplated those things.) I wonder if she remembered that I was there, that I didn't run the other way out of fear or sorrow or an inability to make anything better.
But these are not things I would ever broach with Lisa, though I think about them a lot. I was even reminded of it recently when another friend lost her mother. You would think it would be different in your forties than when you're nine, but it's really not. Pain is pain, and loss is loss, and the person I was who showed up for my friend as a child is pretty much the same person who shows up now. I don't know if it's that way for everyone else.
So Lisa and I made our way into the brisk New York night air and toward our respective bus and train, still talking and trying to put into focus the snapshot each of us would take away with us of who the other now is and what our life looks like.
I was clear that if we continued to be in each other's lives that it would be a new chapter, one not predicated on the past, but full of the fun and excitement of making a new friend.
So here's to old friends and new memories. Thanks for stopping by, and please tell your friends - the old ones and the new ones - to do the same.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
In Search of...a smooth landing
So my day off found me flying to New York...home, sweet home (sorry Nashville, but I fear that will always be the case). And one of the many things I decided on my flight was that Sunday will officially be "politics day" on my blog. I figure I'm already off to a good start, given the past two consecutive Sundays' entries, so why not keep a good thing going? Besides, Sunday is the day George Stephanopoulos is on TV, so why not make it official? So I am. And here we are.
Another thought I had while winging my way to the Big Apple is that it is entirely possible that I could have landed the plane better than the pilot did. Granted I'm alive, and that's not something to be taken lightly. The group of high school students on a field trip put their hands up in the air and made "whoa" shouts like we were on an amusement part roller coaster ride. I believe I left my stomach somewhere over Queens, and as we flew low enough for me to get a few license plate numbers off the cars below and yet still nearly overshoot the runway, I just prayed that we'd land in one piece and that it would be over soon.
...which seems to be a horribly good analogy to what's going on in the world right now. For those of you who don't watch George Stephanopoulos as religiously as I do each Sunday, here's the recap. North Korea and Iran are still racing to develop nuclear weapons and the ability to deliver them, Muslim women in Afghanistan and Pakistan are getting beaten to a pulp (per their "religion"), there is still little aid getting into the genocide riddled Sudan, and pretty much the entire world's economy is in the crapper.
On a lighter note, the Obama's looked spectacular on their first European trip as President and First Lady.
Appearances aside, I still have faith that somehow we're going to pick ourselves up by our bootstraps, though by that time it's entirely possible that the polar ice caps will have melted and we'll all be toast (literally).
So I guess, like my flight experience yesterday, I'm praying that we get there in one piece, if not smoothly. I'm hoping that all the respective pilots know what they're doing and that we world citizens can be as optimistic as the high schoolers on the field trip were that everything will turn out fine.
Do I have any crumb of tangible evidence on which to base this faith? Well, kind of. We've managed to survive a couple of world wars and the Bubonic Plague as a race, so I'm thinking that we've got a shot at this...but better brace yourself. It may not be a smooth landing.
Thanks for stopping by, and please tell your friends.
Another thought I had while winging my way to the Big Apple is that it is entirely possible that I could have landed the plane better than the pilot did. Granted I'm alive, and that's not something to be taken lightly. The group of high school students on a field trip put their hands up in the air and made "whoa" shouts like we were on an amusement part roller coaster ride. I believe I left my stomach somewhere over Queens, and as we flew low enough for me to get a few license plate numbers off the cars below and yet still nearly overshoot the runway, I just prayed that we'd land in one piece and that it would be over soon.
...which seems to be a horribly good analogy to what's going on in the world right now. For those of you who don't watch George Stephanopoulos as religiously as I do each Sunday, here's the recap. North Korea and Iran are still racing to develop nuclear weapons and the ability to deliver them, Muslim women in Afghanistan and Pakistan are getting beaten to a pulp (per their "religion"), there is still little aid getting into the genocide riddled Sudan, and pretty much the entire world's economy is in the crapper.
On a lighter note, the Obama's looked spectacular on their first European trip as President and First Lady.
Appearances aside, I still have faith that somehow we're going to pick ourselves up by our bootstraps, though by that time it's entirely possible that the polar ice caps will have melted and we'll all be toast (literally).
So I guess, like my flight experience yesterday, I'm praying that we get there in one piece, if not smoothly. I'm hoping that all the respective pilots know what they're doing and that we world citizens can be as optimistic as the high schoolers on the field trip were that everything will turn out fine.
Do I have any crumb of tangible evidence on which to base this faith? Well, kind of. We've managed to survive a couple of world wars and the Bubonic Plague as a race, so I'm thinking that we've got a shot at this...but better brace yourself. It may not be a smooth landing.
Thanks for stopping by, and please tell your friends.
Friday, April 3, 2009
In Search of...a day off
So before I begin my actual blog, I thought I'd let you know (oh faithful readers of mine) that I won't be blogging tomorrow. Like God, (and I don't really liken myself to Him often enough) I am resting on the 7th day. Yes, I am beholding my past week's blogs and saying, "They are very good." Now I need a day off!
On another, completely different note, ER did not disappoint last night. That's all I'm gonna say...even though I would've liked more Clooney than just in the retrospective, but hey, we could always use some more George Clooney, that's what I say!
Now lastly, I am going to give you all a sneak peek at In Search of George Stephanopoulos by revealing the first page of the book. Take a gander below...
On another, completely different note, ER did not disappoint last night. That's all I'm gonna say...even though I would've liked more Clooney than just in the retrospective, but hey, we could always use some more George Clooney, that's what I say!
Now lastly, I am going to give you all a sneak peek at In Search of George Stephanopoulos by revealing the first page of the book. Take a gander below...
This Is So Not How I Envisioned This Moment
New York City, 2005
I squinted my way onto Lexington Avenue. The rain was coming down sideways, rendering my umbrella completely useless. Having just been subjected to one of life’s many cruelties, selecting my first pair of reading glasses, I reached for my cell phone, but there were no little bars in the battery icon. “Damn,” I muttered to myself as I shut the phone off to save what increment of usage I had remaining. I headed cross town to meet friends, getting more and more drenched with each soggy step.
When I got to 51st Street and Broadway about twenty minutes later, I turned my phone back on and it beeped to inform me that I had a new voice mail.
“You have one new message,” the automated voice informed me when I dialed in to retrieve the message, “from phone number 202…” It wasn’t a familiar number, and it took me a second to realize where the area code was from…Washington, D.C.
“Oh my God!” I shrieked in the middle of 51st Street, (and only in New York would that not garner even a second glance). My heart began racing furiously as it dawned on me that I didn’t know anyone who could be calling me from Washington, D.C…except George Stephanopoulos!
Just like that I went from feeling old and single to…well, okay, so I’m still old and single, but hey, George Stephanopoulos called me! And actually, it wasn’t “just like that.”
So there I stood, frozen in time, listening to a very familiar voice say, “Hey Ilene, it’s George Stephanopoulos…”
New York City, 2005
I squinted my way onto Lexington Avenue. The rain was coming down sideways, rendering my umbrella completely useless. Having just been subjected to one of life’s many cruelties, selecting my first pair of reading glasses, I reached for my cell phone, but there were no little bars in the battery icon. “Damn,” I muttered to myself as I shut the phone off to save what increment of usage I had remaining. I headed cross town to meet friends, getting more and more drenched with each soggy step.
When I got to 51st Street and Broadway about twenty minutes later, I turned my phone back on and it beeped to inform me that I had a new voice mail.
“You have one new message,” the automated voice informed me when I dialed in to retrieve the message, “from phone number 202…” It wasn’t a familiar number, and it took me a second to realize where the area code was from…Washington, D.C.
“Oh my God!” I shrieked in the middle of 51st Street, (and only in New York would that not garner even a second glance). My heart began racing furiously as it dawned on me that I didn’t know anyone who could be calling me from Washington, D.C…except George Stephanopoulos!
Just like that I went from feeling old and single to…well, okay, so I’m still old and single, but hey, George Stephanopoulos called me! And actually, it wasn’t “just like that.”
So there I stood, frozen in time, listening to a very familiar voice say, “Hey Ilene, it’s George Stephanopoulos…”
See, now don't you want me to have a book deal???? Don't you want to know what happened???
Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
In Search of...a satisfying ending
I'm starting my blog a little early, the night before, largely so I can vent about my evening's television viewing. A couple of days ago I was talking about happy endings in movies, and I don't want to confuse that with a satisfying one.
American Idol, for instance, provided me with just such an ending to tonight's program by finally ousting "Tattoo Girl" as I lovingly refer to her (Megan Joy to her mother). What started out as a love affair with Simon and her looks ended in a sparring match, and I for one am a happy camper that it's finally over. More time now for my faves - Danny, Adam, and Allison (or affectionately, guy who lost his wife, guy wearing eyeliner, and rocker chick).
Now to the series finale of Life on Mars, a show whose cancellation I have been whining incessantly about. I was on board and on the edge of my seat until the last ten minutes, when, in an absurd turn of events, it turns out that the entire cast were time-traveling astronauts who, yes, land on Mars in the end. You have got to be kidding me!! I want to know what herbs those writers were smoking when they came up with that brilliant idea!
So tomorrow is the conclusion of ER, and after tonight's Life on Mars debacle, I'm a little bit nervous...although anything that contains screen time with George Clooney...or even the possibility of screen time with George Clooney is probably going to hold my attention and leave me satisfied.
Clooney aside, I am looking forward to an evening of reuniting with old friends...friends that have seen me through almost as many major transitions in my own life as those that took place on the show, although I have to admit that I stopped watching once the last original character left. I mean, without John Carter, Doug Ross, Mark Green or Nurse Hathaway I really didn't see much point in watching. Even the addition of John Stamos couldn't reel me in.
So now it's got me thinking about my book - In Search of George Stephanopoulos. No, I didn't forget. And I've got quite a few George Stephanopoulos mentions to make up for to move me up the Google ladder! But can you have a satisfying ending without a happy one? And just because something doesn't turn out as you planned, does that mean it isn't happy? I mean, what if, by George Stephanopoulos marrying Ali Wentworth (notice both full name mentions) he did me a favor? (Unlikely, but possible). What if he spared me boring dinners with journalists, celebrities, and heads of state? Oooh yeah, that sounds just awful!
Anyway, my point is that maybe what we think will make us happy isn't what would satisfy us in the end. Maybe a satisfying ending is what happens when we get out of the way long enough to let our own story unfold. And maybe I'll share some of that story with you tomorrow. I think it's time.
Thanks for stopping by, and please tell your friends.
American Idol, for instance, provided me with just such an ending to tonight's program by finally ousting "Tattoo Girl" as I lovingly refer to her (Megan Joy to her mother). What started out as a love affair with Simon and her looks ended in a sparring match, and I for one am a happy camper that it's finally over. More time now for my faves - Danny, Adam, and Allison (or affectionately, guy who lost his wife, guy wearing eyeliner, and rocker chick).
Now to the series finale of Life on Mars, a show whose cancellation I have been whining incessantly about. I was on board and on the edge of my seat until the last ten minutes, when, in an absurd turn of events, it turns out that the entire cast were time-traveling astronauts who, yes, land on Mars in the end. You have got to be kidding me!! I want to know what herbs those writers were smoking when they came up with that brilliant idea!
So tomorrow is the conclusion of ER, and after tonight's Life on Mars debacle, I'm a little bit nervous...although anything that contains screen time with George Clooney...or even the possibility of screen time with George Clooney is probably going to hold my attention and leave me satisfied.
Clooney aside, I am looking forward to an evening of reuniting with old friends...friends that have seen me through almost as many major transitions in my own life as those that took place on the show, although I have to admit that I stopped watching once the last original character left. I mean, without John Carter, Doug Ross, Mark Green or Nurse Hathaway I really didn't see much point in watching. Even the addition of John Stamos couldn't reel me in.
So now it's got me thinking about my book - In Search of George Stephanopoulos. No, I didn't forget. And I've got quite a few George Stephanopoulos mentions to make up for to move me up the Google ladder! But can you have a satisfying ending without a happy one? And just because something doesn't turn out as you planned, does that mean it isn't happy? I mean, what if, by George Stephanopoulos marrying Ali Wentworth (notice both full name mentions) he did me a favor? (Unlikely, but possible). What if he spared me boring dinners with journalists, celebrities, and heads of state? Oooh yeah, that sounds just awful!
Anyway, my point is that maybe what we think will make us happy isn't what would satisfy us in the end. Maybe a satisfying ending is what happens when we get out of the way long enough to let our own story unfold. And maybe I'll share some of that story with you tomorrow. I think it's time.
Thanks for stopping by, and please tell your friends.
In Search of...control in a chaotic world
It's 4 something a.m. and I've just woken up in a state of panic. It happens to me every so often - my subconscious mind goes where my conscious mind won't let it go during the day.
I've decided to get up and do something productive (like my blog) before attempting to get more desperately needed sleep, and in the hopes that I can steer my mind away from what frightens me enough to go back to sweet dreams. But these are frightening times, and it's got me thinking - about all the things we do to convince ourselves that we have some modicum of control in our lives when in fact we know that this is a seemingly random universe...or at least not based on anything that we mere mortals would consider fair or just.
After water damage destroyed some books, pictures and papers in my apartment a couple of times, I started learning to release some of my attachment to things. (I also moved photographs and letters that were precious to me into plastic bins.)
I got to thinking about people who lost everything they had in fires and floods and other assorted natural disasters. I wondered how I would cope if that were me, what I would want to grab if I could and what would stay behind and be lost forever.
We spend our lifetimes acquiring stuff, and I think it's mostly to try to make ourselves feel safe and solid and sure. It gives us the false illusion that we're not going anywhere, when in fact we all are.
And it's not that I've gotten rid of everything I own or am by any means a minimalist. I just have to know that I'm okay without my things...that they do not define me, nor do they make me safe.
So what does then? What control do we have? Well, we have control over what we do and say and how we view things. We have control over what value we place on things and people and experiences. We have control over how we view the world. And I dare say we have control over what we learn in the midst of our most trying times.
So today, I'm going to appreciate what I've got, knowing that what I've got may be gone some day, either by choice or not by choice. And I'm not relegating that to things either. I'm going to look at the relationships I've cultivated and maybe take some time to do a little more cultivating. I'm going to get rid of a few more things, so I feel unencumbered by them. And I'm going to appreciate the greatest gift I've got - another day of life.
Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends.
I've decided to get up and do something productive (like my blog) before attempting to get more desperately needed sleep, and in the hopes that I can steer my mind away from what frightens me enough to go back to sweet dreams. But these are frightening times, and it's got me thinking - about all the things we do to convince ourselves that we have some modicum of control in our lives when in fact we know that this is a seemingly random universe...or at least not based on anything that we mere mortals would consider fair or just.
After water damage destroyed some books, pictures and papers in my apartment a couple of times, I started learning to release some of my attachment to things. (I also moved photographs and letters that were precious to me into plastic bins.)
I got to thinking about people who lost everything they had in fires and floods and other assorted natural disasters. I wondered how I would cope if that were me, what I would want to grab if I could and what would stay behind and be lost forever.
We spend our lifetimes acquiring stuff, and I think it's mostly to try to make ourselves feel safe and solid and sure. It gives us the false illusion that we're not going anywhere, when in fact we all are.
And it's not that I've gotten rid of everything I own or am by any means a minimalist. I just have to know that I'm okay without my things...that they do not define me, nor do they make me safe.
So what does then? What control do we have? Well, we have control over what we do and say and how we view things. We have control over what value we place on things and people and experiences. We have control over how we view the world. And I dare say we have control over what we learn in the midst of our most trying times.
So today, I'm going to appreciate what I've got, knowing that what I've got may be gone some day, either by choice or not by choice. And I'm not relegating that to things either. I'm going to look at the relationships I've cultivated and maybe take some time to do a little more cultivating. I'm going to get rid of a few more things, so I feel unencumbered by them. And I'm going to appreciate the greatest gift I've got - another day of life.
Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends.
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