Reflections
There are two ways to say
“Why not.”
The first is as a statement,
“Why not.”
Notice the period.
This is when you decide to
engage your energy.
take the opportunity,
and
move forward.
The second is as a question,
“Why not?”
Notice the question mark.
Whenever you ask it this way,
you will find a way
not to.
As with everything,
it matters how you say it.
Figuring out
what you don’t care about
clears the path
for what you do.
“You’re not wrong.”
“The meal wasn’t bad.”
“He’s not dumb.”
“My life isn’t bad.”
When you define by the negative,
you don’t give
optimism,
hope,
appreciation
a chance to appear.
What are you doing?
“Listening.”
Listening for what?
“I hope I’ll know when I hear it.”
What if you don’t?
“Then that is what I was listening for.”
Huh?
“Exactly.”
Waiting for inspiration to strike
is like looking for lightning
in a snowstorm.
You’ll be waiting a long time.
Better to
show up
stick your tongue out,
taste the snow
and
build a snowwoman
(or man,
or car,
or dog,
or cat,
or something you haven’t seen yet.)
Don’t wait.
Use what’s available.
Begin.
I watched the tide go out
on my hopes,
on my dreams,
on my day in
and
day out
schemes.
I thought
I have so much less than
I thought I would.
I’ve not become everything I could.
But I looked again,
and
like the ocean
or
the sea
when the tide went out,
what has hidden
was revealed.
There was so much more to me
than I had
ever imagined,
every dreamed.
So I gave thanks for the tide --
it’s revelation --
and
embraced my life’s station.
Becoming more
compassionate,
empathetic,
responsive,
concerned
for others
is
admirable,
laudable even.
But
when you apply
none of these to
yourself,
it’s like driving a car with square tires.
You just thump along.
Fairy tales make great movies,
but not documentaries.
What if you didn’t have to do anything
amazing,
astounding,
death-defying,
world-recognizable,
stupendous,
tremendous,
fantabulous
or
even special
in order to be loved?
Fact: You don’t.
(Thank you Fred Rogers)
I’ve been looking for myself.
As I looked, I thought
“Maybe my self is
like the pea the prince’s mother
hid under all those mattresses
and
I will just know it is there.”
But I didn’t find it difficult to sleep,
or more difficult than usual, I suppose.
I kept looking.
“Maybe I will suddenly awake from a deep slumber
to find everyone knows exactly who I am.”
But waking up never felt much different,
except some wakings were more groggy than others.
I kept looking.
“Maybe a cricket, or a genie, or a fairy
will guide me to my self.”
But no magical creatures showed themselves,
except for the occasional squirrel or bird
foraging outside my window.
I kept looking.
And as long as I kept looking for
some sign,
some revelation,
some declaration
from outside myself,
it never came.
And if you keep waiting for
the fairy tale,
the silver bullet,
the surprise inheritance,
your story might never begin.
