Multi-generational Mojo

Hey, Friends. This week I am hanging out with the amazing Jennifer Louden and a whole bunch of really fantastic writers. Before I took off for Taos, one of my rockin' new friends, Kanesha Baynard, invited me to share the tale of my recent multi-generational jog at her delightful blog, it's a full nest. Pop on over and check it out!



Diamonds in the Soul - helping high-functioning, under-living people uncover & maintain personal delight & joy in life.

Be Curious

“As I started looking, I found more and more.” -- Valerie Steele

On a breezy evening that threatened rain, but offered amazing cloud formations and lighting, I attended my daughter’s graduation from high school. A monumental event for all, and one that arrived more quickly than a parent could possibly imagine. We braced ourselves for a potentially boring evening as nearly 400 graduates streamed into the stadium, paired off boy-girl boy-girl. The evening, however, flowed seamlessly as the class president opened with a simple statement, “Good job. We did it.” - followed by talented choral groups ranging from high brow classical to street rap.

The most lackluster speech of the evening was the one meant to inspire. The adult speaker literally said, “I’m going to inspire you” and then began to read a list of former graduates (mainly from the ‘50’s and earlier) who had “made it big.” I recognized one name of an actress I adored during the ‘80’s and my husband identified a real estate mogul who he’d had less than pleasant business dealings with. The delivery was dry and as my own eyes glazed over, I couldn’t imagine my daughter or many other students being inspired by this recitation.

Looking out over the stadium, I was struck by the style and creativity of the students on the field. I witnessed mortarboards decorated with glitter and sequins glistening in the evening light. Students with oversized sunglasses; a boy with Mickey Mouse ears cleverly attached to his graduation cap. An array of finery peeking beneath red and black gowns: rubber sandals, glittering high heels, blown out blue jeans and pressed tuxedos. I watched the crowd: proud parents, raucous friends, and people holding elaborate signs, flowers from street vendors, cameras, bull horns and video recorders. In my musing, I became curious about who these people were, where they had been and where the future might carry them.

With curiosity the night came alive. Why did the seagulls soar over the crowd in the intricate patterns of swoop and dive? Who created the formation of night clouds and evening light that added a glow of perfection to the evening? Flashes of history went through my mind (good, bad and indifferent) as names were called to receive diplomas. Children I’d known since they were four years old strolled across the stage as the next generation of leaders. Later, I would pray for their safety and protection as they departed for Senior Spree, private parties and celebrations with family and friends. I wondered where time had gone, opportunities missed and adventures to come.

In my mind, the “inspirational speaker” had missed the mark. While a list of former accomplishments might or might not encourage others to move forward, curiosity could be a lasting companion. Curiosity inspires. It is my friend daily as I wonder about the world and myself. It motivates me to move forward and calls into question (without judgment) why I might stay inert. It encourages me to ask questions and seek new horizons. If I could leave a legacy for the generations to come, it would be this: Be Curious. Be grateful. Be you.

Ponder this: How are you inspired? What would be your legacy for those to follow?

photo by mark karras (used with permission... since he didn't get a model release and janey is featured :)

Bullies in Disguise

Layers and layers of discovery. I move. I rest. I pause. The layers shift and morph. Refining my way toward freedom. Awhile back I had a memory arise and while I’m not sure it’s an actual event, I don’t know why I would have made it up – unless, of course, I needed it to help me with something else.

The scene is pretty precise. I’m 6 years old and in the first grade. I’m in the narrow cloak closet at school and we’ve just come in from recess. I can smell the damp coats and feel someone behind me pressing my face into them. It’s another child, I’m certain. I can’t breathe. A vise-like grip deepens on the sides of my throat – pudgy fingers, I think. My fear tightens as a knee or elbow presses into my spine, stuffing my face further into the darkness of the fabric. The bully tells me to “Stay quiet, or else.” My nostrils fill with the acrid smell of wet wool. I want to scream, but my mouth is buried and the words won’t come. Suddenly, there’s a flurry of activity and the grip releases, the pressure comes out of my back. I’m alone and disheveled in the closet. No real harm, right?

The metaphor to my life is immense. The internal struggles over voice, aloneness and importance are core. They are battles I’ve been peeling the layers off for years. They move and shift and morph. Recently, I’ve had a grown-up bully attempting to put the vise-like grip on my authentic self. (S)he came disguised as someone who wanted my help (which is very seductive for a caregiver.) How long would I allow the knee to press into my back and stifle the scream rising in my chest? It wasn’t until I invited this person to leave that clarity came and I felt the relief of speaking up for what I wanted and needed. The pressure released and I was not alone.

This week in my Advent retreat, we are pondering what it means to say, “Yes.” What is the risk? Will you say yes to your longings? For a moment just ponder the danger of continually saying, “No” to your heart’s desire.

Risk

What does it mean to ask for what I want?

I asked and I received.

Writing. Reading. Creating.

Say Yes!

I asked and I received.

Don’t limit.

Say Yes!

The shadow is the bully.

Don’t limit

My writing, reading, creating.

The shadow is the bully.

What does it mean to ask for what I want?

Memory from a Zeta Sister

"I was just talking to a neighbor who is a Zeta at Sam Houston State, and I had a flashback. Remember when we would leave early for class and sit on the wall in front of the Math Bldg just to people watch? I haven't taken the time to do something like that in years." -- KMP

I received this comment on Facebook from a sorority sister I haven’t seen face to face in over 30 years. Sadly my immediate answer is “No, Karen, I don’t remember that at all.” But then I pause, I close my eyes and I see those girls. I see us in our long 70’s hair and bell-bottomed jeans perhaps a peasant blouse or a Zeta Tau Alpha t-shirt. We are casual friends – sisters – pledged into the same class. I haven’t had contact with her in years and yet today she brings me a very real moment in time.

I can only see it in my mind’s eye. My memory feels so foggy from that time of life, but as I stop and pause, I feel the moment in my body. Tears form in my eyes and my stomach tightens just a bit. They are tears & tightening that cover the span of life - joy, sorrow, loss, memory. I know that girl who has become this woman. She was doing things as a college student that she – that I – love to do today. The woman I thought was never there - the one I thought didn’t come out to bloom until only recently - was laying the groundwork for me there on the campus of Oklahoma State University. She was there all along sitting on the wall in front of the Math Building, people watching. I thought that girl never existed. Now I know that she was there all along. I simply let her be surrounded by the fog of life, but today someone who walked beside me way back then helped lift that fog. A friend held the memory for me. Today I remember and I am blessed.

Today, I vow to find a spot along a wall or sidewalk – perhaps with a friend – perhaps on my own. I will take Karen with me if only in my heart and together those girls of the 70’s who have become women of the 21^st century will take the time to sit and watch. Maybe you will join me. Or perhaps you will share a memory with a friend. The best gifts often come in the simplest forms!!

Peace be with you, friend Karen. Thank you for the sweet memory.

theme worthy?

As you may have picked up on (or not), I am enrolled in a memoir writing program that started in early January. Just this morning it dawned on me that as a by-product of that, I am not just enrolled in a class, I am indeed writing a memoir ☺. Brilliant, huh?

The problem when you announce this is people immediately want to know what your theme is (other than the obvious, “It is about me.”) The great thing about the process of this class is that we are not required (yet) to know our theme. We are simply encouraged to write and write and write about what comes to mind and weave this in with other exercises and somewhere along the way, our theme is going to pop out like magic. The odd thing is that I actually believe this. So, I am just going to keep writing and doing my exercises.

Now, it’s really not quite as random as all that especially since I have been free-writing for nearly five years and there are definitely themes that show up again and again and again. So, I decided I would share where I am today (knowing full well that it could change by this afternoon). Here is a poem I ran across this morning. It popped out of the book, jumped up and down, and waved her words yelling, “ME, ME, ME, Look at Me! I could be your theme!!”

The Uses of Sorrow
Mary Oliver

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.

Theme worthy? What do you think?