Some Prose

The Stack of Books

I sit precariously on top of a stack of books of many sizes. Text books on top of small books of poetry. I feel as though this small mountain of books may come crashing down at any moment. I am scared of the crash and the fall that will surely come. I wobble and shake atop this mountain of ill piled books. How far is the fall and what will happen when I hit the floor? I can’t say that I believe that I will die, because I know that I will not. It’s the unsteadiness that scares me most. I am not on stable ground. Everything that I am, have been, and believe that I one day will be is built on a shaky pile of books. Who will I be when the first book has been pulled out from under me?

Cup of Light

The sky rained diamonds that day. A cup made of shimmering blue light hung suspended in the sky, eclipsing the moon. I drank from the cup and became filled with bliss. I drank and my heart began to fill up with blue light until the light overflowed my heart and spilled out, splashing particles of magnificent light throughout my entire body. I held my pulsating blue heart in my hands.

                             

The Color of Words

Stuck within pages that have already been written on. I have been looking for my voice for so many years. There has been an absence of words and a fear that the absence will continue to haunt me. For what I want most is to be a river deep with words. Painting pictures with beautiful words. Words in acrylics and pastels bringing a blank canvas to life. Red, blue, purple and yellow words. Words swirling together creating deeper and richer colors.

Cornflake Monday

Rainy Monday morning. A sense of quiet, but not tranquility settles over the house. No real need for idle talk, however, a desire to connect is whispered in my ear. It is barely audible, just enough for me to know that it is present. But I have nothing to say today. The whispered voice asks me to try, as sometimes when I feel quiet there are good things just below the surface, at those times if you and I are both lucky we may find that a plate of warm gooey half-baked cookies awaits us. My fingers move, my mind is trudging along behind. There are certainly doubts that we will share cookies this Monday afternoon, I feel that all that I have to offer is a bowl of Cornflakes. I look through my cupboards in search of a box of instant oatmeal, because I think that on this gray day you might appreciate ingesting something warm more than you would enjoy a cold bowl of cereal that will go bad if you let it sit for too long. Sorry it looks like I am out. I will go to the store in the morning and buy the ingredients to make you a delicious tiramisu from scratch. I have never made a tiramisu, so it will definitely be a challenge and it may not be ready by tomorrow morning or tomorrow afternoon for that matter. Don't worry I won't let you go hungry, I will try to show up everyday with something in hand. I know this meal that I am offering today is hardly a meal and it won't provide you with the sustenance that you need to make it through the day, and for that I am sorry for us both. Have patience for I am still learning to cook, and I promise you that one of these days when you come to my table I will surprise you with a feast.

Uncovering My Essence

It's amazing how much a person can change in a year. Sometimes I like to look back at where I was in my life a year ago and contemplate the events that have happened during that time and the ways that I have changed. My first post in October was about change, however, I have even changed since then. I am discovering that I have changed in ways that I didn't know that I needed to.It's not that I have been trying on new identities over the course of the past year, it's more like I have been shedding whatever isn't really me and getting closer to my essence.

Last year at this time I was giving public talks centered around the topic of Embracing Life's Imperfections. At the time I knew that I didn't want to speak to anyone as an expert on any topic, and I didn't want to speak with the intention of inspiring people. I just wanted to get up and talk as myself about things that were important to me. However, when I spoke, I still felt as though I was standing up in front of a room full of people pretending to know something that they did not know, which was exactly what I did not want. Also, I knew that I didn't want to be any kind of coach, counselor, or social worker. However, some part of me was still tied to that identity as a "helper". I feel that the cord which tied me to the "helping" profession has been cut, liberating me from a false identity that I picked up some years ago.

Yesterday my husband and I went to a tea house for an afternoon date and to gather information for a piece that I am writing. Drinking tea in a quaint tea house for the purpose of writing an article, felt like I was connecting to the life that I am meant to lead. I definitely feel challenged, as my normal writing comes straight from the center of my chest while writing a review comes out of my head. It's okay if I feel challenged by the tea piece because I am finally wearing an outfit that fits me instead walking around in some strangers two sizes too big hand me downs.

With hindsight certain things in life are beginning to make sense; I have been given more of the puzzles pieces. Although I was a good speaker, and maybe an okay counselor I could never make it work as a profession, and now I am glad because ultimately that's not who I am.  

Writing everyday has contributed significantly to my transformation. The more I write, the more I become visible to myself. As I become visible to myself I learn who I am and who I am not. The process of shedding happens without my being aware of it. Sometimes loss is gain.

Friendship

If I could do it all over again, meaning my life, I would go back and experience from childhood through to adulthood what life would be like to be popular. I don't mean being a pretty cheerleader, although that might be nice. What would my life have been like if I would have been self-assured and outgoing? I imagine that the experience of going to school would have been completely different than the one I had, where I was plagued with constant stomachaches and just wanted to stay home with my mom where I felt safe.

I know that beauty is not the key to having a great social life and school experience, although when I was in school I believed that beauty reigned supreme. As an adult I have seen kids, teens, and other adults that are well liked and even popular that aren't necessarily beauties. Having an outgoing personality and being a good friend is what makes other people desirous of your company. Whenever I see an average looking girl that is surrounded by friends, it gives me a warm and hopeful feeling. As a kid I always believed that looks were the most important thing, and I didn't have them, therefore, I wasn't popular. The real issue for me was not so much lack of popularity, but lack of friendship in general.

For years I blamed everyone that I went to school with from grade school through high school for giving me such a lousy social experience in my most formative years. Now being slightly more mature, I can see that the problem wasn't theirs, it was mine. I was painfully shy, and I still am. Shyness prevented me from making friends, and from being a good friend. I simply got freaked out from being around other people. Making friends, and even showing up for school was beyond difficult for me. I still battle shyness, I still struggle with friendship. I would love to be that person that entertains groups of women in my home, giving them the security to know that they can come to me for friendship. I would love to be that woman that serves her friends hot cocoa and warm gooey chocolate chip cookies when they are down. I would say, "you can take refuge in the shade of my leaves when the heat becomes too much" because that's the kind of friend that I am.

Yes, if I could do it all again I would lose the shyness and be a great friend with many friends. I would love to show up for kindergarten every morning with a feeling of excitement and anticipation for the day ahead; the chance to learn new things, play on the playground with my friends, have milk and cookies for snack and return home at noon to nap and play with my best friend Kelly for the rest of the day. Lying in bed with the sweet memories of my day running through my mind. My mommy kisses my head, and I am drifting off to sleep to be greeted by delicious dreams of a summer night's sky lit by the light of a thousand fireflies.

Childhood Dreams

When you were a child what were some of the dreams that you had about life? What did you imagine your life would be like when you grew up? What was your dream job? Where did you picture yourself living? What was important to you?

When I was a child my fantasy was to be a singer. I wrote songs, and spent large chunks of time lost in images of an older version of me, that looked a lot like Olivia Newton John, on a stage with microphone in hand belting out Xanadau. The Christmas that I received a Solid Gold microphone, inspired by the hit show Solid Gold, I was elated with the feeling that I was that much closer to my fantasy being fulfilled. When I was twenty-one, an unfortunate event occurred, I heard myself sing for the first time. I mean I really heard myself, without Barbra or Olivia turned up to ten to drown me out. I was tone deaf. I never cared about singing again after that day. The dream that I had held onto for sixteen years I abandoned just like that. Interestingly enough there are many nights when I have dreams that I am on stage singing and I sound really good. I guess the dream never really went away, it's still stored in all its glory in my subconscious.

My other fantasy job was to be a writer. When I was ten years old I got my first real typewriter. It was a blue Holly Hobby, with a picture of Holly Hobby on it, but it was a real typewriter. When I was fifteen my parents let me sign up for a writing correspondence course. I still remember getting my large red binder with writing materials in the mail. What a great day. It was such great fun sending in my writing assignments to my editor in New York. And yes, I typed my assignments on my Holly Hobby typewriter. I am grateful that my parents indulged my fantasies.

One thing was for sure, I knew that I wanted to be on stage. In elementary school I did some modeling for the Boston Store, an upscale clothing store in Arkansas. My little cousin was modeling for them and I wanted to also. I wasn't asked by anyone at the Boston Store to walk the little blue runway. My mom asked for me, and the Boston Store agreed. My first time on stage I didn't want to leave, I loved being up there so much. Because I wouldn't exit the stage when I was supposed to, the emcee had to start describing my socks and shoes(which didn't come from the Boston Store).

There was a time as a teenager when I paid to be in my school's beauty pageant, the Miss Southern Belle Pageant. That story is for another time, however, it is an example of belief that I really was pretty, and deserving of attention even if no one else could see it and I had to nominate and pay for myself to be included.

Where did I want to live? In elementary school I wanted to live in California. When I was a teenager that changed to New York. I really wanted to sit on the stoop in Brooklyn with my imaginary Italian family.

Lastly, having fun was the most important thing in life.

Please send in comments about your childhood dreams. Did you get close to reaching them? Do they still exist somewhere in your heart or subconscious? What can you do now to regain a sense of childhood wonder, and the ability to dream?

Livin' the Dream

A character in a movie that I was watching yesterday said that she was living her dream. The movie was Starting Over from 1979, starring Burt Reynolds, Jill Clayburgh, and Candice Bergen. If you haven't seen this movie, I highly recommend taking a day out for a Jill Clayburgh fest and adding this to the queue. Candice Bergen's character gets a recording contract, which is pretty funny in itself, as she is tone deaf and her voice is beyond hilarious. Even though she and her husband are recently divorced and he is still struggling emotionally, she's feeling pretty great; she's living her dream. When Candice's character Jessie made that statement, it sent all sorts of marvelous images running through my mind of living my dream. How would it feel to actually be at a place in life where I could say that? Is it possible that even after forty I might one day reach a point where I am living my dream? I don't know why it took a character in a Burt Reynold's movie to open my imagination to the possibility of living my dream in this lifetime, but it did.

Last night I was driving my daughter home from play practice, listening to the Human League, transported back to my teenage self in 1983 when my whole life was about dreams and believing without a doubt that one day I would live them. Don't You Want Me is playing on the radio, I am starring in the role of mother to a teenage daughter, however I felt as though at forty-one I had a magnificent life ahead of me. I'm not just talking about a life spent driving carpool and doing laundry; I'm not complaining about these things because I do love being a mom. The vision that I saw was of me in a convertible driving around California, my hair mussed by the wind, living the life of a writer that actually makes money, like enough money to live on comfortably. In my dream I am living this creative life, the one that I wanted since I was a kid, the one that I should have been living all along. Feeling like,"wow it's still possible, everything is still possible". I want this year to be the best year of life that I have had so far. Like Candice Bergen's character Jessie, I want to say one day in the very near future, "I am living my dream".

Warm Cookies

All day I have thought about you, longing for us to be together again here on the page. I have pushed and pushed for something to say, but continued to come up empty. I am empty still, yet wish to be filled once again. As the words come out one by one, fullness replaces the emptiness. This state of depletion happens from time to time. Sometimes there simply are no words even when the desire to speak and write is strong. The words that do come are awkward and shy and ask me please not to publish post. They know that they are half baked, not ready for ingestion. But the longing is so intense, the desire to publish post, the wish to meet once again in the corner of the bookstore by Chagall's Amoureux de Vence.
I am ready to serve this half dozen warm and gooey, but not fully baked chocolate chip cookies. Bon appetit.