Found in Translation

     For many years I have been searching for something, even when I didn't think I was, there was a subconscious hunt taking place. During the time I knew I was looking, I was restless in my efforts. I read, studied maps, interviewed people, and wrote about my findings. But at the end of each book, each conversation, I was more lost than when I began my search. It would be difficult, I was learning, to find...myself. After a long while of getting no where fast, I realized that the path I was looking for was not one I could borrow from another's experience. It didn't matter what others had written or what they told me about their own "once was lost, now am found" venture. Rather than an organized journey with set timelines and expected outcomes, it would be a haphazard exploration of the inner me, and a little bit of the world.

      After escaping my shamble of a childhood, I found a lot of things that I thought would make me content, and maybe they did. But being content wasn't what I wanted. I find content being synonymous with settling. It has become my belief that people should always be striving for something, always working to make something in their life or about themselves better than before. While my life WAS better than it had been, I wasn't really happy. I never felt that I was doing a job that made a difference, or living a home life I wouldn't change for the world. I felt stuck, as I know many do, in a no where job and a no where future (a favorite mantra among community college advertisement). Then I met someone.

      My husband changed my world, my vision, my life and how I wanted to live. It wasn't something he said or did exactly, although his words and actions were and are a big part of it. It was just who he is and what his vision of the future is. He opened my eyes to new places, different cultures (anyone who can learn Greek deserves applause), aspects of the planet I'd never considered before. These new things were not unknown to me in the past, they had just been unimportant (the only things I ever thought were meaningful about the Spanish language were how to get to the bano and where the fiesta was). I had been wrong, and it took Mr. Right to open my eyes. I began to understand through my own experiences that the world we live in is very intricately weaved, like a hand made organic Cotten blanket (my inner hippie loves those!). But I was saddened to see how many holes there were in it, no one can stay warm with a holey blanket, as much as they might think their section is the only one that matters. Let's face it, when your foot sticks out, the rest of your body gets cold, too.

      All of these aspects of life that I have been shown make me realize there is a lot of opportunity to bid contentment farewell. With the amount of unrest and need in the world, there is no expectation of idleness in one's self, only achievement and accomplishment. A good friend of mine expressed her satisfaction and feeling of that kind of accomplishment with her career choice the other day. While I had so long only thought of her as being treated like another number, she made me see that maybe she is, but one of a very few numbers willing to give and help others like she does. She showed me that feeling of making a difference that I wanted.

      After all of these events, I am still looking for myself, but now I know what I am looking for. I want to influence and be influenced, be deeply effected and do the same to others. I understand now that my world is only as strong as the outside world, I want to be a part of that. There is an entire existence outside of my own, I want them to be one in the same. When I do find myself, I want to be making a global impact, a human connection, an environmental collaboration. I don't want a job, or even a career, I want a life-long triumph over contentment.

      Stay tuned for future revelations, I expect to be completely overwhelmed. And I welcome it.

I Love Feedback!

    This is just a quick note on how to leave a comment.  It can be a bit confusing, and I honestly just figured it all out myself.  I would love to hear your advice, thoughts, opinions, critiques, suggestions, etc.  My goal is to keep people reading, so knowing how to make that happen is important to me.

     To comment, simply start typing in the open text box at the bottom of each post.  You must then chose a manner of signature, or how you are posting your comment.  There is a drop down bar where you need to pick an option.  If you are signed in to and have Google email, you can choose that address (if you do use your email, and "subscribe by email" to the post, at the bottom of the box area, you will get my reply emailed to you).  If you do not use email, or do not want me to have your email address, you can also choose Name/URL (here just enter the name you want to use, it will show in the text box). If you do not want me to know anything about you, there is an anonymous option.  This one is sometimes fun as it gives me a puzzle to figure out.  Ben, if you read this, I think I'm on to you!

     That's all for now, I do really appreciate any feedback.  Thanks!

With Thumbs as Black as Night

     Poetic as it may sound, it is sadly true.  Some people who lack the "green thumbs" that skilled gardeners so often take for granted have learned to come to grips with the disability.  But not I.  Try as I may, try as I might...well, basically I just keep trying.  And trying.  Now, keep in mind that I have lived in the scorching hot and bone dry desert most of my seed bearing years.  (Meaning years I've been responsible enough to take care of a potted, living thing.  My doctor does, however, assure me the other ones are quite good and without plans of mass evacuation any time soon.)  I used this death-bringer as a crutch for my inadequacies in the growing department for some time, until I realized that even the plants inside the house were dying.  The ones in the house on the table I sit by every night were dying.  The ones beside the sink I put my dishes in several times a day were dying.  As I began moving all of my brown shriveled feats to the bathroom next to my toothbrush (my grandma always said to put things you need to remember on a note on the bathroom mirror, I like to improve upon advice.  It's kind of like leaving the trail cleaner then you found it.), I knew it would not work.
   
     The feeling of grief and disappointment I found in myself was profound.  I had never felt anything like it.  Before this, and people who know me well will say still to this day, I would tend to turn a blind eye to my own faults.  Who's critical and controlling?  Me? You must have me mistaken for someone else.  But really, profound grief and disappointment.  I had black thumbs.  Not even just black, but blackest black, like the mascara.  My thumbs were like calling the kettle black, black. Finally seeing this shortcoming was like seeing a little a little part of me die.  Would I ever know the deep satisfaction of watching a tiny fleck of hope sprout into reality, and grow to absolution?  Would I ever know the sweet taste of victory, or the real taste of something I grew with my own two hands?  I told myself no.  I told myself to forget it.  I told myself that stuff was for trowel-toting prune-eating pruners.  But there was an urge.
   
     It persisted through day and night, through love and hate, through good and evil.  And so I planted.  I watched, and I waited.  Waiting...waiting...waiting.  Then, just as I was about to etch tortured and dying houseplants into my bathroom mirror, there it was.  Life.  A life I had made, nurtured, supported (it's amazing what 3 weeks of staring at something can do).  At that moment it was nothing and everything all at once.  Barely more than 1/8 of an inch tall, but an entire 1/8 of an inch tall!  Careful not to pee my pants in the process, I placed it by the sink to let in take in its fist gulps of glorious sunlight.  After several days, it had grown nearly 2 inches (so jealous!).  Every time I looked at it my heart skipped a little beat.  Soon it would be a beautiful tomato-bearing goddess, engulfing me in her loving leaves every time I took a bite.  I imagined myself basking in her nutrient-giving fruit.  Oh, the glorious times we would have together, her and I arm in arm, skipping through meadows and such.  A sense of contentment spread through me.  I was complete.
   
     Tonight my husband knocked all 2 inches into the sink.  My thumbs looked up at me and smiled.

I Got Flowers Today

     When I was least expecting it.  It wasn't an "I'm sorry" move, or an "I'm about to tell you something I'll be sorry for" move (at least I don't think, I guess the later could come at any time after receipt of the gift).  It was, on my best assumption, an act of kindness and a reminder of being in someone's thoughts.  And, no matter what people say, it really is the thought in this type of gesture that counts.  Sure, the flowers are a nice perk!  And the thought part is important and meaningful mostly because it was a prelude to the gift.  For instance, being told, "You were in my thoughts all day, I almost bought you flowers", is not the same.  At all.  In fact, the simplicity of being in ones thoughts with an afterward like that is almost a slap in the face (someone might literally get slapped in the face), rather than heartwarming.
     
    The least expecting part is right up there with being thought of.  Not to be taken as an "I was least expecting to think of you today, but I did, so here", but more on the side of the party being gifted. Expecting something is like begging for a let down.  In the off chance the expectation is met, it only leads to more potential let down.  This idea can be applied to many different scenarios; waiting for a proposal, planning on a raise, thinking the bathroom will be cleaned because you worked all day...you get the picture.  My point is that expectation should be taken lightly, in moderation just as any other pleasing, tasty, vodka-ish, thing out there.  Like I said, I wasn't counting on getting flowers today, so if it hadn't happened, I wouldn't have felt any different.  But it did happen, so I was that much more excited and surprised.  


     Now I just have to find a way to tell my husband...