Imperfect Thanks

Photo credit to The Artful Parent

What does it truly mean to give thanks, dear friends? It has begun to seem like such a cliche´, this "giving of thanks" we practice every year at this time. We gather with family and friends, and some of us might even go around the table asking each person for what we are thankful - and yet we have so much to be thankful for, most of us, and to limit that gratitude to one day seems perhaps the height of ingratitude.

I must admit I am like most. Some days I get so caught up in the day to day grind, the problems and issues and minutiae, that I forget all for which I am so grateful. Perhaps this is why having one day dedicated to giving thanks is so precious. Perhaps it is because it reminds us that we should be finding that gratitude every day of every year, and giving thanks on a regular basis. I try to practice this, and have tried harder this year than most of the other years I've spent on this planet - mostly because there is so much to be grateful for this year.      

Photo credit to Holding Balloons in LaLaLand

I am thankful for a husband who loves me even when I don't particularly love myself, who supports me and encourages me, and yet also helps me to stay grounded. I am thankful for my beautiful daughter, who is the centre of my world, and has been since the day she was born. I am thankful for my wonderful niece, who moved in with us this year and turned our family trio into a quartet, and a much more interesting quartet, too. I am thankful for my sisters, who have over the years become my best friends and not simply my siblings. I am thankful for in-laws and a sister-in-law who have also become my family over the years, and who long ago ceased to be nicknamed "the outlaws". I am thankful for a best friend who knows all my secrets and flaws and still chooses to be my best friend. I am thankful for a male friend who started as a friend and has become the "brother I never wanted", with all that entails. I am especially thankful to have experienced a very special reunion this year, one about which I am not ready to write but which I hold close to my heart every day, and which brought me peace and joy - and another child. I find myself surrounded by family these days, a discovery that lessens the sting of the loss of my beloved parents.

I am thankful, too, for the new adventure I began this year. It all started with this blog and went from there, at a rapid and almost dizzying pace. With the adventure came new friends and new opportunities, new ideas, and new ideals, too. I have met people, gone places, and done things I never believed I would or could do. I have climbed a mountain, both in the literal and figurative sense. I have found people that I admire, respect, and adore. I am so thankful for the chance to do all of this, for the good sense I found to seize the moment and embrace it. I am profoundly thankful that the world granted me this opportunity, and that I chose to take it. I am so thankful for all my friends who were there before this adventure began and who stuck around for the ride, cheering me on, offering words of encouragement, and sharing in both my successes and failures.

My life is not perfect, dear friends, and nor am I. In fact, perfection is not something I seek. At one time I thought perhaps that was the goal, being the perfect person. And now I am thankful to see how wrong that was, how it is imperfection that makes the world an interesting place, and how we can only try to be better, not perfect.

Photo credit to Holding Balloons in LaLaLand

My life is not perfect, but it is so very, very good. It is so very worth being thankful. So, for Thanksgiving this year I am thankful for so very much, but mostly I am thankful for the reminder to experience gratitude every day. I am thankful, dear friends, for every day and every experience and every moment. For this, dear friends, is life, the good and the bad, the easy and the hard - and I am thankful for this life, for every single second of it.

Photo credit to d.Sharp journal

Forgave

Well, dear friends, sometimes this life takes you on journeys you did not plan and did not expect. The last few months have been that kind of trip for me, as some of you know. This journey continues to take unexpected turns, and there are valleys to forge through and mountains to climb. This week has been no exception, and it has brought me to a place where I consider the nature of mistakes, apologies, and lessons.

The week began badly, I admit, and it was because of an error I made. It was an error in judgement, an error born of my own flaws and frailties. I hurt someone. I damaged a relationship. I was wrong, very, very wrong, and very, very repentant.

And then, just as I was moving on from that incident, after the one I had hurt was working on forgiveness, someone hurt me. They involved me in an episode that I shouldn't have been involved in, and they angered me. I was on the other end, this time, the victim, and suddenly I felt the hotness of that place.

What saved me from that incendiary anger, though? What kept me from tipping over the edge? It was because when I was the transgressor, when I was the one who had done wrong, I was forgiven. I was shown grace and dignity by the person I had injured. They told me I was wrong - they expressed their anger and their hurt - and then they forgave me, and we moved on. It was as if the universe knew I needed an opportunity to "pay it forward" - to take the forgiveness granted to me and bestow it on someone else. And I did.

I forgave the person who hurt me. I told them of my anger and my pain, and then I forgave them. It doesn't erase what they did, and I hope they learned what they needed to learn from the episode (as I learned from mine). What it did, though, was free me. I had been shown a kindness, and now I showed that kindness to someone else. My karmic debt was balanced. I know the universe doesn't design these things, dear friends, and that this is sometimes just how life works, with these little coincidences and synchronicity. To me, though, it seems this week has been designed to show me both sides of the forgiveness equation, to experience both ends in a short time frame, and to glean whatever lessons I could from it. What I learned is that forgiveness is a gift you can both give and receive - and that it is freeing whether you are the recipient - or the giver.

The Black Dog That Was Really A Fog

After I experienced it I did some reading about it. The phrase that kept coming up to describe it was "the black dog". Apparently that is what Winston Churchill called it when he experienced it, and it's a nickname that might have even older origins than that. What is "the black dog"? It is depression, dear friends.

The metaphor of a black dog that haunts you is an apt one for depression, and yet my own depression was not a black dog. No, my depression was a sort of misty fog that rolled in slowly after the unexpected death of my mother. It stole in quietly, until it blanketed my world and obscured all beauty from my view. I suppose that's why I didn't recognize it. Unlike a black dog that suddenly appeared where before there had been none this fog was sly and insidious, infiltrating my life so subtly that it simply seemed part of the landscape. Perhaps this is why it took me so long to acknowledge it, long after those around me had noted it.

My mother's death was tragic and quick, with but a few brief days in the alien world that is intensive care. I was there when she died, and I thought I handled her death, and the subsequent funeral, well. I did not really cry, or break down. I thought that signified coping when really it was nothing but denial and forestalled pain. I went through the funeral and the family visits afterward, and returned home to normal life - except that nothing was normal, especially me.

I began to experience severe stomach pains, pains that would wake me every night at almost exactly 3 am. I began to think this was a sign of a serious illness, and I sought medical attention. As the days went on the pain intensified, and I was slowly becoming incapable of eating or sleeping. The fog was growing daily, and yet I could not see it. I could not see the spring leaves on the trees, the flowers beginning to poke through the ground, or any other signs of the greening of spring. No, I was focused on this intense pain inside me, a pain I became convinced was connected to some horrible disease.

I went through two CT scans, an endoscopy, several rounds of lab work, x-rays, weekly visits to my doctor, and several ER trips. Each one found exactly nothing to explain the pain I was experiencing. The pain was real, it was intense, and it grew daily, just as the fog surrounding me seemed to increase. Finally, my husband, my clever, clever husband, insisted I needed help. I needed to see a therapist, and I needed it now. He arranged it, and I went. It likely saved my family, my sanity, my happiness, and my life, dear friends.

You see, the pain I was experiencing was real, but it was simply grief turned inwards. As I poured my heart out to my therapist, as I cried rivers of tears and told her of my pain, it began to diminish. The more emotional pain I expressed over my loss the less physical pain I felt. The more I cried the more the fog cleared. I began to see the logic behind my fears over the physical pain. I was afraid - no, terrified - at the prospect of leaving my daughter due to an unexpected illness - just as my mother had left me. The thing I came to realize, though, was that it was the fog that was stealing me from my daughter, not some mysterious illness. She was already experiencing losing me, losing me to a fog that she did not understand and could not see.

I had a few sessions with the therapist, and the fog began to clear, gradually but with increasing pace. One day I woke up and there were simply a few wisps of fog left, and I could finally see all the beauty again. This time, though, it was beauty intensified. It was as if seeing it for the first time, because the fog might have obscured my vision but it also left me with a newfound passion for that beauty. The fog left me with a hunger that needed to be fed, a hunger for music and words and excitement - and beauty.

I was fortunate. My depression was of the situational kind, brought on by an unexpected death and not a function of my body chemistry. It was not something that has dogged me throughout my life, although I know it could return some day. I am wary now, though, and I watch for those tendrils of fog licking at the window frames of my mind. I hope if the fog ever rolls in again that I will recognize it quickly and be able to address it just as promptly. I have seen the fog, though, and thus I have great empathy for anyone who suffers, whether theirs be a fog or a persistent black dog. I escaped the fog, and I hope they one day find the fog lifting or the black dog retreating into the distance. I am grateful every day for a family that loved me enough to help me clear the fog. I stop every day to appreciate something of beauty, whether it is a song or a flower or the face of my daughter. My black dog that was really a fog is gone now, and it left behind a renewed desire to live. I embrace that daily, and that embrace is just another way to keep the fog at bay.

For One Moment

There are certain things that touch your soul, dear friends. It may be a painting, or a poem. In my particular case it is quite often a few brief words, a quote that sings to me for some reason. The quote above is one of these. It resonates deep within me simply because this is something that has begun to happen to me with increasing frequency, and it all has to do with opening my mind and heart to allow my soul to be touched.

My new writing project has begun to put me in touch with so many new people. I have met so many people from so many different walks of life - police officers and lawyers, city councillors and fibre artists, musicians and chefs. The common thread in all of these encounters has been finding a moment when those individuals and I shared something special - a moment when we bared some part of ourselves - a dream or an idea or a vision - and thus opened our soul. We made ourselves vulnerable in some way, and allowed another human being to glimpse into our core. This is a risky proposition, dear friends. Vulnerability can lead to pain. It can lead to being dismissed or, even worse, ridiculed. What I've found, though, is that we all truly want to share those things with someone. We want to be able to expose that bit of our soul and maybe even see a tiny bit of the soul of another human - and when we do so, oh, what a feeling, dear friends.

I have come away from most of these encounters with new friends, and people that I, quite frankly, adore. They have become a part of my life, and of my own soul. In some small way I sense the same is true for some of them, too, and they have welcomed me into their hearts. Some I am in touch with frequently, and some I only speak to on occasion. Some I may never speak to again simply due to distance or circumstance. I know this, though - for one moment our lives met, and our souls touched. And that alone, dear friends, is truly enough to fill my soul with joy.

Be Remarkable

There are times, dear friends, when you find something that simply resonates with you. It can be a song, a photo, a quote, or even a video. A friend posted this on his Facebook wall today and it just caught my attention. Perhaps it is because I have started in the last year to truly embrace life, to try to live a life that is true and genuine, and, in some humble way, remarkable. You see, even if it isn't remarkable to anyone else it is to me, and that is what truly matters. When you seize those opportunities that come your way, when you see the potential in the world, and when you see what can be achieved you start to see how all things become possible. You begin to see the beauty around you, and you begin to see a path form in front of you. These are choices we can all make, dear friends. We can choose to "live", or we can choose to be "alive". We can choose to be remarkable.

Twirl

This past weekend, dear friends, I decided I needed a perfume. Now, I am not really a "perfume" person - I tend to avoid those store entrances in malls that are lined with perfume counters as they give me an agonizing headache. I've noticed, though, that my husband's cologne is a smell I have come to associate with him. He only purchased this cologne in London in December 2010, and yet it has now become a scent that makes me think of him when I am laundering his shirts. I suppose it has become his "trademark fragrance", and I began to think I might want one, too. This decision coincided with the opening of a brand new drugstore in my city, and one with an impressive selection of designer perfumes.

I went down to the local store, and was dazzled by the display. I had no idea how to choose a fragrance - I know what I don't like, which are perfumes that are too funeral-home flowery or musk-heavy. But how to choose a perfume? I decided, in a way that will likely only make sense to me, that what I needed to do was look at the perfumes by some of my favourite designers. The reasoning was that if I liked their clothing then perhaps I would also find their scents appealing. Surprisingly this theory was quite sound, and I found several fragrances I liked - ones by Versace and Burberry, Chanel and Dior. None of them seemed quite right, though, until I stumbled upon a new perfume called "Twirl" from Kate Spade. Now, I like Kate Spade quite a lot. Many of her designs have a retro-50's feel, which is an era in clothing design I've always admired - those nipped waists and little black dresses appeal to me. She has brought these designs into the new millennium, though, like this one:

Kate Spade also designs shoes, and since I loved those shoes I was very hopeful about "Twirl", too :

Kate Spade designs are feminine without being cloying, sweet without the sugar rush. Finding a new scent by this designer seemed auspicious and it begged to be tried. So, I pulled down the bottle of Twirl, and sprayed it on a card to experience the scent. Satisfied that it was not too floral or too musky I then sprayed it on my wrists and neck.

Almost immediately it felt right. There was just something about it, something that seemed very "me". There are floral notes in it - according to a description I found online it combines orange blossom, magnolia, and jasmine. There are notes of blackberry, watermelon, and red currant. And yet there is even a bit of a bakery scent about it, too, which I found described as "a touch of a French macaroon fresh from a patisserie". It was not an overwhelming scent, just the right touch of floral and fruit and yes, even bakery. Even the bottle felt right to me, and the name just evoked a sense of whimsy and joy. I felt enveloped in a sense of happiness when I inhaled the fragrance, and it seemed perfect.

So, I purchased my new "signature scent", and home I went to pull it out of the carton. I arrived at home, pulled off the plastic wrap, opened the box and stopped dead. There on the carton liner was this:

Just those simple words, and yet as soon as I saw them it seemed fate meant this perfume for me. You see, I know I can't walk around every day with a cocktail in my hand and confetti in my hair as if I have just arrived at a party - but, dear friends, I can live like I do. I can live every day like it's a party, and a day to celebrate. I can envelope myself in this fragrance and let it remind me that every day is a reason for joy. I can let it remind me that we can find joy in a cup of coffee, a text from a friend, a beautiful flower, or a lovely scent that resonates with our soul.

I wore my new fragrance out that night to a gala evening event, and during that event whenever I caught a whiff of my new scent I thought "cocktail in hand and confetti in hair" - and the event just seemed that much sweeter, and that much more celebratory. I didn't just find a new scent, dear friends - I found yet another reason for joy. Those reasons are everywhere, just waiting to be found, and sometimes even at a drugstore perfume counter.

Reunion

There are times, dear friends, when you run into someone that you knew long ago, so long ago that it feels like another lifetime. Sometimes those are occasions that lighten your heart, and it sings with joy at the reunion. There are other times, fortunately rare in my case, where it is a reunion infused with guilt and shame and regret. Recently I ran into someone from my past, and sadly it was a reunion of the latter sort.

I was volunteering at a local event in my city. I had agreed to pick up some people at the airport, and I had their names on a list in my hand. I scanned the names quickly, and they meant nothing to me. Just another airport run, just a few more people to transport. I found them in the crowd, waiting for their luggage, and I shook hands and introduced myself. In the face of one man I saw an odd look, but I became busy with another person who had had their luggage delayed, and so my attention turned to them.

When we were in the car driving away from the airport I was giving my name and phone number to the person with the missing luggage so we could ensure it arrived. Suddenly, from the back seat, the man who had given me the odd look asked if I had grown up in city "X". I had, I replied - and wondered how he knew? Then he said he had been friends with a friend of mine, a girl named A. "A" hadn't just been my "friend", she had been my best friend through high school, and maid of honour at my wedding. I turned slightly from the driver's seat, looked at the man, and suddenly it all came together - his name, his face, my home city, and the connection with A. I felt a fluttering feeling in my chest, and I realized with dread that it was my heart slowly sinking.

You see, this man had, at one time almost thirty years ago, been a boy who had been best friend's with "A"'s boyfriend at the time. I had known him back then - in fact, I had dated him very briefly, and then, I am ashamed to admit, tossed him aside and moved on to another boy without a backward glance or explanation. "A" had told me how hurt he had been, and how cruel I was - but I was a different person then, just 16 and truly in love with only myself. I shrank into my seat as I realized that this man might well remember me, but probably not fondly and not with good feelings.

I summoned up the courage to ask if he recalled the roller skating rink, and he responded that he did. I stopped the questions then, as I knew he recalled it all as clearly as I did. The cruel game of luring him into my sphere, having him think we were involved, and then treating him like he was something stuck to my shoe when someone "better" came along. I was horrified. Embarrassed. Ashamed.

I sat in the driver's seat as memories flooded back, wondering if they were flooding him, too, and wondering how he recalled those brief moments in our lives. I felt nothing but shame and regret, dear friends. He commented to one of the people travelling with him that he had been a "good kid" back then, and I agreed, saying that I hadn't been such a good kid, but had developed a conscience as time went on. And I did, dear friends. I learned that you can't play with the lives of other people and not suffer the consequences. I learned that cruelty is like a boomerang, and when you inflict it on others it will surely return to you some day. I learned that I was not the centre of the universe, and I grew up.

I saw this man a few more times over the course of the weekend, and while I wanted to speak to him couldn't find the words. Then, the night before he was leaving, I was dropping him and his companions back to their hotel. He stopped by the window of the car I was driving, and I told him that seeing him had opened so many memories, many long kept in tiny boxes in my mind. He said he hoped they weren't all bad, and I said they weren't, and I meant it, as I had thought of people I hadn't thought of in thirty years. I told him that it had been great to see him, and that I hoped he would take care. And it had been great, dear friends. You see, when he stepped into that car and told me who he was I had been forced to remember the person I had been so long ago - selfish and cruel, unkind and inconsiderate as only a 16-year old girl can be. My encounter with him made me realize how much I had changed over all those years, and it made me think about how I treated not only him but others. It was a chance to look back and re-evaluate who I had been, and why I had acted as I did. In the end it allowed me to forgive myself, even if perhaps he didn't forgive me (or, maybe, he had forgiven me long ago - that's not for me to know).

It's funny how such a brief encounter with our past can have such an impact, dear friends. His name on the list in my hand didn't trigger my memory, and nor did his face - but once he reminded me I was almost back in that place again, skating around a roller rink intent on my own desires and goals regardless of who I ran over to achieve them. It took me a couple of days to sort it all out - to think about the fact that I had been only 16, and that I had changed so much in the intervening years. It also made me realize, though, how we can carry guilt and shame around for so many years, and how freeing it can be to let it go. Seeing him again, after 30 years, ended something that began so long ago and that I had never resolved, but that I hadn't even been aware needed resolution. It was a stunning moment, rich in memory and meaning. It was, dear friends, growth of the most painful and profound kind - and the kind that allowed me to remember who I was, and rejoice in who I now am.