I am easily intimidated. Though, at the same time, easily intrigued. It is the former than I have found much of my life to have fallen subject to and the latter that I hope to pursue with more vehemence as I age. In this practice, I hope that my strings to intimidation will be loosened.
The intimidation is a strong stakeholder in my need for distraction. To fuel this need I depend on books, music and screens. Like many, I disconnect from my surroundings by connecting to a network that stretches far beyond places I would naturally be able to see.
Far beyond places I would naturally be able to see.
What's left, then, of the places around me?
Luckily, for now, they are still there. But they might not be tomorrow. This possibility is a strong stakeholder in my need to be intrigued. This possibility forces me to put my iPhone into my back pocket, pull the headphones out of my ears, and walk. And when I walk without distraction, I see. I hear. I smell. I touch.
I am not intimidated by inanimate objects, inhuman objects. Such things are easy for me to observe and from that ease grows ready enjoyment. I look to detailed architecture, delicate pathways, budding flowers, crashing water. I take in the character of each, store it in my heart, and move on.
It is the character of others that I find intimidating. From the decrepit homeless man on the street to the beautiful woman on the bus; they, and everyone in between, have potential to render me intimidated. Strong laughter and hunched shoulders and high heels and scarred faces and long curls and...they make me want to shrink away into distraction, a distraction provided all too easily by books and music and laptops and iPhones. Only a hand reach away, I can be transported beyond where my eyes can see.
Which is what I have always tended to do.
Until now.
I am actively trying to face this intimidation with intrigue, force my eyes to search instead of back away from the character of others. What is their story?, I want to know. Because, although I might be intimidated, although I want to shrink, I do not. With my shoulders held back and my head held high, and with a look put together to readily meet public eye, I think, am I, too, intimidating?
I don't know the answer to this, and I don't care to. Instead, I try to see beyond what is in front of me. I am looking, yes. But am I seeing?
Always, I want to know more. I don't know how or if I'll ever get there, but I do know this: I must always be intrigued. I must always be awake. I must always look to see what the immediate eye can reach.
Showing posts with label Short Stories: Learning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Short Stories: Learning. Show all posts
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Sunday, January 12, 2014
finding happiness in the moment
Happiness. One might say that, in my family, it is more a privilege than a right. It doesn't always come naturally to us, being happy. But trying does.
We are a family of artists and musicians and scientists and poets. The natural edge of depression carves our creativity. It makes us sharp. It makes us try.
So that's how I grew up; creative, mostly. And always looking for happiness. At first I found it in painting, in making music, in listening to music, in writing stories. And then I found it in books, in movies, in characters. Happiness eventually came in the form of others, in friendships with peers, relationships with family, kindred spirits in animals. And then happiness came from being in love. After many years of trying, after many years of looking, I found happiness everywhere.
The past few years have been the happiest of my life.
I will never take happiness for granted. So when it meets me in art, in people, in animals, and in moments, I soak it up.
This afternoon, on the tail end of a lovely weekend spent with my sister, a weekend filled relaxing and exploring and discussing creative ideas, I took my Labrador Mollie for a short walk. Mollie finds happiness in everything, as most Labradors do. Her tail wags with every step, with every new person she walks by, with every flower she pauses to sniff. Mollie is the best teacher in finding happiness in small moments.
We walked up to Cottage Row, a square of historic cottages along one of San Francisco's Mini Parks (yes, San Francisco has such a thing called Mini Parks). True to taking in every moment, Mollie stopped every two inches to sniff flowers and plants and, I'm sure, less pleasant things. At one point, she even climbed fully into a plant to get a better scent. I pulled on her leash to keep walking, and she pulled back with all of her body weight to keep sniffing. I sighed and gave up.
In that moment of giving up, I decided to look around me. To listen around me. In that moment of giving up, I found pure, unadulterated happiness. The world stopped for a few seconds, was silent for a few seconds. And then a church bell started ringing in the distance. Birds sang and fluttered through the leaves above us. A water fountain trickled in a nearby backyard. The sky was bright blue and white light filtered through the big green leaves of the Mini Park's garden. And I was there, surrounded by all of this beauty, breathing and standing. Healthy, able, whole, and happy.
I will never take happiness for granted. And if I do, I'm sure this four-legged one will stop to remind me. Because, if it is not always within us, happiness most certainly is all around us.
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We are a family of artists and musicians and scientists and poets. The natural edge of depression carves our creativity. It makes us sharp. It makes us try.
So that's how I grew up; creative, mostly. And always looking for happiness. At first I found it in painting, in making music, in listening to music, in writing stories. And then I found it in books, in movies, in characters. Happiness eventually came in the form of others, in friendships with peers, relationships with family, kindred spirits in animals. And then happiness came from being in love. After many years of trying, after many years of looking, I found happiness everywhere.
The past few years have been the happiest of my life.
I will never take happiness for granted. So when it meets me in art, in people, in animals, and in moments, I soak it up.
This afternoon, on the tail end of a lovely weekend spent with my sister, a weekend filled relaxing and exploring and discussing creative ideas, I took my Labrador Mollie for a short walk. Mollie finds happiness in everything, as most Labradors do. Her tail wags with every step, with every new person she walks by, with every flower she pauses to sniff. Mollie is the best teacher in finding happiness in small moments.
We walked up to Cottage Row, a square of historic cottages along one of San Francisco's Mini Parks (yes, San Francisco has such a thing called Mini Parks). True to taking in every moment, Mollie stopped every two inches to sniff flowers and plants and, I'm sure, less pleasant things. At one point, she even climbed fully into a plant to get a better scent. I pulled on her leash to keep walking, and she pulled back with all of her body weight to keep sniffing. I sighed and gave up.
In that moment of giving up, I decided to look around me. To listen around me. In that moment of giving up, I found pure, unadulterated happiness. The world stopped for a few seconds, was silent for a few seconds. And then a church bell started ringing in the distance. Birds sang and fluttered through the leaves above us. A water fountain trickled in a nearby backyard. The sky was bright blue and white light filtered through the big green leaves of the Mini Park's garden. And I was there, surrounded by all of this beauty, breathing and standing. Healthy, able, whole, and happy.
I will never take happiness for granted. And if I do, I'm sure this four-legged one will stop to remind me. Because, if it is not always within us, happiness most certainly is all around us.
.JPG)
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Guest Post by Garrett
Garrett wrote the below essay a long time ago. It goes hand in hand with my last blog post, Bioluminescence, so we thought it would be good to share. I like how we both interpreted our experience differently. Thanks for reading!
The quest for true freedom is a challenge, that to some
extent every person faces. I am most concerned about the freedom to go wherever
I want whenever I want, and the things that hold me back. At the same time, I
find the relationships I share to be more important than anything. So it comes
a time to ask myself: what is more important, freedom or relationships? Is it
possible to have both?
With those questions in mind, I look to the words of a role
model of mine, Alexander Supertramp (Into the Wild, Jon Krakauer). He said “an
experience is nothing unless you have someone to share it with.”
I can give no greater example of his words than an
experience I had myself in the summer of 2009. I was sitting on my boat by
myself, having a moment in time with no connection to any responsibility. It
was just me and the opportunity to sail away.
Laying on the bow of my venture 23, I found myself contemplating life’s
great questions.
In every great moment there is a specific variable that makes
that moment special. In this case there were about four: the moon was greater
and higher than any I had every experienced, the cool wind kept the temperature
comfortable enough to fall asleep anywhere, the sound of a live band danced
across the water, playing a concert just for me. But the most important
variable in that moment was the feeling of isolation. All came together to give
me, for the first time in my life: complete contentment.
As I sat there I experienced two epiphanies. 1. I thought this would be the best moment in
my life, or, more straightforwardly it was all going to be downhill from here (true
or untrue, it was still an unsettling feeling). 2. I was having the best moment
in my life all alone; there was no on to share it with.
Which brought me back to my understanding of the quest for
freedom. For the first time I experienced true euphoric freedom, only to be
followed but the utter sickness of having no one to share it with. I mean real
pain and nausea from the anguishing frustration of loneliness. Minutes felt like hours, hours felt like days
and moments felt lost, as if anything I
forgot would be like it never happened. If a tree falls in the woods and no one
is there to hear it, does it make a sound? I wondered—if we lose the memory, is
it even worth happening in the first place?
I decided it was time to leave my boat. As I rowed to shore
to escape my depression, I noticed a faint light surrounding my oar every time it
hit the water. The more I oared the brighter the light got, until it was as if
fireworks were igniting below my vessel. I stopped to contemplate how to
explain either the scientific or spiritual possibility of the glow. As I turned
on my head lamp, I quickly noticed thousands of jellyfish surrounding my boat.
The glow was their defense mechanism against me hitting them with my oar. I related this situation back to ancient
folklore, fairytales, and even the creation of religion. Stories come from
unbelievable experiences, shared and
exaggerated by their story teller. A Native American in ancient times may have
had the same experience, but without a head lamp, he would maybe would have
understood and shared it to be the story of the magic/holy glowing water. At this point I had my third and most important
epiphany of the night, #3: If you can’t
share an experience, as long as you can share the story, you are never truly
alone.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Shake It Out, Shake It Out
All male athletes were called to
attend a seminar at the beginning of freshman year. Male football, basketball,
and hockey players stood beside swimmers, wrestlers, and runners. The topic of
the seminar: how to treat women. Or, realistically, how not to treat women.
College is full of girls that want to...let loose. A lot of those girls want to let loose with athletes. Sweet, think the male athletes. Their dreams have come true.
There's the fun--the partying, the kissing, the sex. But what comes after? What comes when those girls get clingy, become jealous of one another, get a little "cray cray"? How is a male athlete supposed to behave when faced with such exhausting and demanding behavior of the opposite sex?
To this question, an ill-advised young man had a solution.
"You just shake 'em," he said, "you just shake 'em 'til they get some sense."
And that is what the seminar was for.
I couldn't believe my ears when Garrett first told me this story. I was appalled.
But in retrospect, I think, maybe he wasn't so far off.
There are a lot of people that I'd like to shake right now.
There is a woman who doubts her beauty. I want to shake self-worth into her.
There is a man who turns too quickly to anger. I want to shake peace into him.
There is a woman who refuses to take care of herself. I want to shake sense into her.
There is a man who doesn't know his boundaries with women. I want to shake manners into him.
There is a woman who talks too much and says nothing. I want to shake quiet into her.
There is a man who does not try hard enough. I want to shake ambition into him.
There is a woman who works too hard. I want to shake rest into her.
There is a man who speaks no truth. I want to shake honesty into him.
There is a woman who devalues herself in the presence of men. I want to shake self-respect into her.
I fully understand that one cannot shake self-worth, peace, sense, manners, quiet, ambition, rest, honesty, and self-respect into another. And I'm not trying to make light of the serious issue that man had with his projected behavior to women. But sometimes, I'm at a loss of what to do. I can extend my hand, reassure, give guidance, slap a wrist, offer an ear, and still, it does not help. Sometimes, you simply cannot help those who will not help themselves.
Coming to understand that you cannot always help others is no easy feat.
Now that I have reached this understanding, and know I can't shake help into some of the people around me, I will, in the words of Florence, just have to "shake it out" myself.
College is full of girls that want to...let loose. A lot of those girls want to let loose with athletes. Sweet, think the male athletes. Their dreams have come true.
There's the fun--the partying, the kissing, the sex. But what comes after? What comes when those girls get clingy, become jealous of one another, get a little "cray cray"? How is a male athlete supposed to behave when faced with such exhausting and demanding behavior of the opposite sex?
To this question, an ill-advised young man had a solution.
"You just shake 'em," he said, "you just shake 'em 'til they get some sense."
Oh. My. God.
And that is what the seminar was for.
I couldn't believe my ears when Garrett first told me this story. I was appalled.
But in retrospect, I think, maybe he wasn't so far off.
There are a lot of people that I'd like to shake right now.
There is a woman who doubts her beauty. I want to shake self-worth into her.
There is a man who turns too quickly to anger. I want to shake peace into him.
There is a woman who refuses to take care of herself. I want to shake sense into her.
There is a man who doesn't know his boundaries with women. I want to shake manners into him.
There is a woman who talks too much and says nothing. I want to shake quiet into her.
There is a man who does not try hard enough. I want to shake ambition into him.
There is a woman who works too hard. I want to shake rest into her.
There is a man who speaks no truth. I want to shake honesty into him.
There is a woman who devalues herself in the presence of men. I want to shake self-respect into her.
I fully understand that one cannot shake self-worth, peace, sense, manners, quiet, ambition, rest, honesty, and self-respect into another. And I'm not trying to make light of the serious issue that man had with his projected behavior to women. But sometimes, I'm at a loss of what to do. I can extend my hand, reassure, give guidance, slap a wrist, offer an ear, and still, it does not help. Sometimes, you simply cannot help those who will not help themselves.
Coming to understand that you cannot always help others is no easy feat.
Now that I have reached this understanding, and know I can't shake help into some of the people around me, I will, in the words of Florence, just have to "shake it out" myself.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Free Hugs
Garrett and I recently discovered a wonderful farmers market nestled behind a quaint French restaurant just minutes away. I've taken to meeting him there after finishing my Saturday lessons at the barn; I, my hair astray and Ariat boots covered in manure, meet my beautiful husband, hair perfectly coiffed and Allen Edmonds loafers shined to a T. We come together, our different worlds joining, to enjoy something we both love mutually.
It's a tiny farmers market, but plentiful. Bushels of fresh vegetables and tables of handmade soaps, jams, and honeys line the sidewalk. Vendors offer the most delicious lunches: savory crepes, Panini sandwiches, pizzas, etc., all cooked to order right in front of your eyes. A local bakery has a stand that offers perfect coconut macaroons and raspberry muffins, both of which I've made a weekly habit of buying and bringing home.
It isn't just about the abundance of amazing local produce, though; it's also about the atmosphere. The stucco buildings with terracotta rooftops and earthen-red walkways place me somewhere that feels far off, perhaps a tiny Tuscan village or a quaint Provencal town. It doesn't matter which, it only matters that for about 60 minutes on a Saturday afternoon, I'm delivered from my life in the desert.
So, I think that you get that I love the farmers market. It's peaceful, plentiful, and delicious. It's a nice escape for Garrett and me, a gathering of things we love so well. Nothing disturbs the peace of our farmers market. Except...
Yesterday, there were women walking around with signs reading "free hugs". Hippies, I instantly thought to myself. What are you guys doing here? Why? This is weird. Don't make my farmers market weird. That seemed to be the general initial response to these "free hugs" sign-bearing women. There were three of them, and they looked like pretty regular women; middle-aged, not attractive but not unattractive, ordinary. Except that they were smiling and offering to hug everybody. People were taken aback, and at first nobody wanted a free hug.
But then something happened: the mood changed. People started taking advantage of their free hugs. Yes, there were those who politely declined (my favorite came from a young ASU student with short shorts and a high pony tail that sneered she didn't like to be touched by strangers), but for the most part, people accepted.
I watched the people who so readily accepted this rare affection from these unknown women, and they were all happy. That's nice, I though. But then the women started getting closer. I had nowhere to hide; Garrett and I were waiting for his crepe to finish cooking. I started sweating. I really didn't want a free hug. I get free hugs from Garrett all the time. Really, I do like hugging. I probably average on 5 hugs a day. But not from strangers. What to do here, what to do? I didn't want to be like the snotty ASU student. I wanted to seem open to this free love, even though it was freaking me out on the inside. She got closer.
"Free hug?" she offered with a smile.
"Okay," I said nervously. And I went in for the hug, half-heartedly. I went in with a stiff, angular approach. Hug the woman, look friendly, get out of it; that was my plan. But she held on for a few seconds too long. I went from stiff mode to awkward mode to giving in mode. She was really soft, and her arms around me felt nice. Her boobs were kind of big and low and rested on my stomach, just like my mom's do (is that weird to admit?). She squeezed a little longer and then she let out a relieved sigh. I was comforted.
"Thank you," she said, and moved on to Garrett. He, of course, went in with full intention of a good hug. I looked at their hug longingly. I wanted her to hug me again!
"You give great hugs!" Garrett exclaimed after her.
"Your hugs aren't too shabby either," she replied. I could tell that part of her wanted to hug him again (he gives really good hugs), but she moved on. She had to deliver more free hugs.
We returned to our waiting in line, a little more relaxed, a little more comforted.
When we left the farmers market yesterday, I had my usual gooey macaroon and raspberry muffin in tow. The trip and my bounty are usually enough to satisfy me, and will be next week, but I got a little extra this time. I got a little bit of comfort that came from opening myself up and allowing myself to receive a free hug from a complete stranger. Who would've thought?
It's a tiny farmers market, but plentiful. Bushels of fresh vegetables and tables of handmade soaps, jams, and honeys line the sidewalk. Vendors offer the most delicious lunches: savory crepes, Panini sandwiches, pizzas, etc., all cooked to order right in front of your eyes. A local bakery has a stand that offers perfect coconut macaroons and raspberry muffins, both of which I've made a weekly habit of buying and bringing home.
It isn't just about the abundance of amazing local produce, though; it's also about the atmosphere. The stucco buildings with terracotta rooftops and earthen-red walkways place me somewhere that feels far off, perhaps a tiny Tuscan village or a quaint Provencal town. It doesn't matter which, it only matters that for about 60 minutes on a Saturday afternoon, I'm delivered from my life in the desert.
So, I think that you get that I love the farmers market. It's peaceful, plentiful, and delicious. It's a nice escape for Garrett and me, a gathering of things we love so well. Nothing disturbs the peace of our farmers market. Except...
Yesterday, there were women walking around with signs reading "free hugs". Hippies, I instantly thought to myself. What are you guys doing here? Why? This is weird. Don't make my farmers market weird. That seemed to be the general initial response to these "free hugs" sign-bearing women. There were three of them, and they looked like pretty regular women; middle-aged, not attractive but not unattractive, ordinary. Except that they were smiling and offering to hug everybody. People were taken aback, and at first nobody wanted a free hug.
But then something happened: the mood changed. People started taking advantage of their free hugs. Yes, there were those who politely declined (my favorite came from a young ASU student with short shorts and a high pony tail that sneered she didn't like to be touched by strangers), but for the most part, people accepted.
I watched the people who so readily accepted this rare affection from these unknown women, and they were all happy. That's nice, I though. But then the women started getting closer. I had nowhere to hide; Garrett and I were waiting for his crepe to finish cooking. I started sweating. I really didn't want a free hug. I get free hugs from Garrett all the time. Really, I do like hugging. I probably average on 5 hugs a day. But not from strangers. What to do here, what to do? I didn't want to be like the snotty ASU student. I wanted to seem open to this free love, even though it was freaking me out on the inside. She got closer.
"Free hug?" she offered with a smile.
"Okay," I said nervously. And I went in for the hug, half-heartedly. I went in with a stiff, angular approach. Hug the woman, look friendly, get out of it; that was my plan. But she held on for a few seconds too long. I went from stiff mode to awkward mode to giving in mode. She was really soft, and her arms around me felt nice. Her boobs were kind of big and low and rested on my stomach, just like my mom's do (is that weird to admit?). She squeezed a little longer and then she let out a relieved sigh. I was comforted.
"Thank you," she said, and moved on to Garrett. He, of course, went in with full intention of a good hug. I looked at their hug longingly. I wanted her to hug me again!
"You give great hugs!" Garrett exclaimed after her.
"Your hugs aren't too shabby either," she replied. I could tell that part of her wanted to hug him again (he gives really good hugs), but she moved on. She had to deliver more free hugs.
We returned to our waiting in line, a little more relaxed, a little more comforted.
When we left the farmers market yesterday, I had my usual gooey macaroon and raspberry muffin in tow. The trip and my bounty are usually enough to satisfy me, and will be next week, but I got a little extra this time. I got a little bit of comfort that came from opening myself up and allowing myself to receive a free hug from a complete stranger. Who would've thought?
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