Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Good morning, friends. Sundays are devoted to poetry here at Adulting – SecondHalf. Today, I ask you to take the time to notice the stuff that you don’t typically notice. Notice the unusual color of eyes of the person who waits on you at Walgreens. Notice how perfectly synchronized all of the colors and lengths of hair on your dog’s face, or your cat’s face, come together into perfection and poetry, creating their beautiful expressions of being. When we really notice life, we starting living a beautifully poetic life. Here is my poem for today:
Falling in Love, Again
I love how you still surprise me.
I love that you showed me my favorite peanut butter pie,
even though I could be skinnier.
I love that I was rolling my eyes and watching the clock,
impatient for your movie choice,
And yet, when we watched it, it turned out to be a new favorite of mine.
And you knew that it would be, mate.
I love that you find it vitally important to find new favorites, for me.
I read a story in Real Simple magazine last night that made me think. It was written by Hoda Kotb. She talks about having a young twenty-something page at NBC, working for her, whom Hoda was really impressed with. One day, Hoda complimented the page about her work ethic and her calm nature. She said that the page smiled and replied, “I received that.”
“I received that.” Koda complimented the page, once again, for her serious response. They talked about the fact that compliments are such a gift. Koda thinks that if you respond to a compliment with “I received that,” you are saying, “What you’ve said to me is inside of me now. I’m not deflecting it, I’m receiving it. I accept your kind gift.”
I wonder if I would feel weird saying “I received that,” to someone who complimented me. Probably. But, I could think it, after I smiled and warmly said, “Thank you.” I could decide to receive the compliment, instead of thinking, “oh they’re just trying to butter me up,” or “How could they possibly see that attribute in me? They are totally mistaken.”
Genuine compliments are rare, unfortunately. For some strange reason, it takes guts to tell someone what you think is particularly interesting or special or unique or positive about their persona. When someone has mustered up the courage to give us a genuine compliment and we deflect it, it is almost like throwing a sweet, thoughtful gift, down to the ground, right in front of their faces. Ouch.
Readers, I think that you are incredibly kind, thoughtful, insightful, loyal people who have made a major difference in my life for almost three years, now. I am incredibly grateful for you. Your gift of attention has meant the world to me. I consider you to be a major, meaningful gift in my life.
Please receive my compliment and my thankfulness.
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
I didn’t really start seriously drinking coffee until I was probably in my early forties. Before that, I drank gallons of Diet Coke. When I decided Diet Coke wasn’t healthy for me anymore, I substituted my three morning Diet Cokes, for coffee. Hmmmm. I am going to look up a word for replacing one bad habit for another bad habit. I’ll be right back. Okay, the closest thing I could find was “addiction replacement.” You learn something new every day.
Addendum:
Because Big Brother always knows what I am thinking about and what I am writing about, an article popped up on my feed. Look what is new on the market, below! I am going to look up a word for adding a bad habit, to another bad habit. I’ll be right back. Okay, the closest thing which I could find to describe coffee and coke together, is “comorbidity.” (It pays to come back to the website if you are a subscriber. I edit my blog posts all of the time!)
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Good morning, friends and readers. I hope that this post finds you well, and rested, and peaceful, and hopeful, and thoughtful, and in the moment. My regular readers know that Sundays are devoted entirely to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. I think that this is fitting, because poetry is the form of writing that is the most closely entwined with our deepest feelings and soul. I was very moved by Amanda Gorman’s recital of her beautiful inauguration poem. I love the ending suggesting that we should be brave enough to be “the light”, which we are all really made of, underneath all of the noise and masks and insecurities and ego. Please, as always, feel safe to share your poetry in my Comments section. I would love to read what your soul has to say today. Here is Amanda Gorman’s poem in written form:
The Hill We Climb by Amanda Gorman
When day comes we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never-ending shade? The loss we carry, a sea we must wade. We’ve braved the belly of the beast, We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace, and the norms and notions of what just is isn’t always just-ice. And yet the dawn is ours before we knew it. Somehow we do it. Somehow we’ve weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken, but simply unfinished. We the successors of a country and a time where a skinny Black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president only to find herself reciting for one. And yes we are far from polished. Far from pristine. But that doesn’t mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect. We are striving to forge a union with purpose, to compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and conditions of man. And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us, but what stands before us. We close the divide because we know, to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside. We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another. We seek harm to none and harmony for all. Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true, that even as we grieved, we grew, that even as we hurt, we hoped, that even as we tired, we tried, that we’ll forever be tied together, victorious. Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division. Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree and no one shall make them afraid. If we’re to live up to our own time, then victory won’t lie in the blade. But in all the bridges we’ve made, that is the promise to glade, the hill we climb. If only we dare. It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit, it’s the past we step into and how we repair it. We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation rather than share it. Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy. And this effort very nearly succeeded. But while democracy can be periodically delayed, it can never be permanently defeated. In this truth, in this faith we trust. For while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us. This is the era of just redemption we feared at its inception. We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour but within it we found the power to author a new chapter. To offer hope and laughter to ourselves. So while once we asked, how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe? Now we assert, How could catastrophe possibly prevail over us? We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be. A country that is bruised but whole, benevolent but bold, fierce and free. We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation, because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation. Our blunders become their burdens. But one thing is certain, If we merge mercy with might, and might with right, then love becomes our legacy, and change our children’s birthright. So let us leave behind a country better than the one we were left with. Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest, we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one. We will rise from the gold-limbed hills of the west. We will rise from the windswept northeast, where our forefathers first realized revolution. We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the midwestern states. We will rise from the sunbaked south. We will rebuild, reconcile and recover. And every known nook of our nation and every corner called our country, our people diverse and beautiful will emerge, battered and beautiful. When day comes we step out of the shade, aflame and unafraid, the new dawn blooms as we free it. For there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it. If only we’re brave enough to be it.
This one hit me hard this morning. It reminded me about the time in my life, that my only daughter and I went shopping for the only doll which my daughter has ever liked or cared about. It was last fall, when my daughter was 16. We “adopted” Betty Faye together at the Cabbage Patch Hospital in Cleveland, Georgia.
I knew that I was pregnant with a daughter before she was born. She is the fourth child, and she has three older brothers. I am a “girly girl.” I like clothes and shoes and purses and high heels and lots of accessories. As a child, I loved dolls in every form. I loved Barbies, and Holly Hobbies, and Drowsy babies, and fancy foreign dolls on pedestals. I had the largest collection of paper dolls known to man. I still have a few of my precious paper doll sets, in storage. So, when I was pregnant with my daughter, I started collecting dolls for her, that I just knew she would love, with her whole heart and imagination. I bought the prettiest, most collectible, most cuddly dolls which I had ever seen, in bulk. My inner little girl bloomed, as my pregnant belly bloomed, and “together” we shopped for dolls for my soon-to-be daughter and I expectantly piled them high, in the closet.
For the first couple years of her life, my daughter was my own living baby doll. I dressed her up in a new outfit, every single day. She had the prettiest blankets and bathing suits and bracelets and monogrammed binkie holders, and I reveled in all of it. When she was about three, I started introducing my daughter to her curated doll collection, but she didn’t show too much interest. Her brothers proved to be much more fascinating, as they bounced her, like a ball, on the trampoline or used her for target practice for their dodge ball games. My daughter showed her athletic prowess early on, and the boys decided that my daughter was a worthy, valuable teammate for a lot of their games, and she was thrilled to be part of the action. Plus, never one to sit down much, she much preferred to play with her toy kitchen, dramatically chopping up and carving up plastic turkeys and lettuce, “Gordon Ramsey” style, with devilish flare, or to jump enthusiastically and tirelessly, mimicking all of the intricate moves on the video game, Just Dance.
One day, we had a “come to Jesus moment”, when my daughter was almost four. As I gingerly pulled out a fancy, antique Madame Alexander, exquisite doll from her still intact trademark cardboard blue box, in order to transition the doll over to the next generation, my daughter looked at the doll with a glimpse of disgust and maybe even despair. Then she looked me firmly in the eye and very matter-of-factly said, “Mom, dolls are scary.”
My daughter is a talented artist. She has long, shiny, beautiful hair and she loves to do it up, in all different styles. She is so creative when she paints her lovely nails. (luckily she didn’t inherit my ugly, stubby, chippy little fingernails) We enjoy shopping together. So, while we have shared a lot nice “girl times” together, playing dolls was never a part of our bonding experience. So, imagine my complete surprise when she seemed eager to visit the Cabbage Patch Hospital with me, this past fall, when we were staying in a cabin in the mountains of Georgia. I figured that it was just an odd fascination and curiosity about a giant plantation-like looking building, where Cabbage Patch kids are “born.” Even my husband and eldest son agreed to go, for laughs, I suppose.
We walked all around the doll hospital. It was the first time in a long time, that wearing a mask felt fun and normal and appropriate. All of the salespeople were dressed like nurses, and there were walls of photos of famous people who had visited the Cabbage Patch hospital, over many years. It was a silly, fun, unusual, interesting experience, at a time when we needed that type of experience the most.
After getting my fill of the place, I noticed my daughter kept looking at one of the dolls. “If you had to just pick one doll, out of the thousands of dolls here, which would you pick?” I asked her casually. She giggled embarrassedly and pointed to little blonde, pony-tailed Betty Faye, all decked out in comfy aqua pajamas.
“I’ll buy her for you, if you want her,” I said casually. (trying to keep hope out of my expression) “You know, as a funny souvenir and remembrance of our trip.”
She took me up on my offer right away, and we headed back to the “nurse’s” office, to fill out Betty Faye’s adoption paperwork. I don’t know why my sixteen-year-old daughter showed the interest and enthusiasm for a doll that day, that she had never shown before. Was it to make sure that she didn’t miss out on anything in her childhood, with college and adulthood now looming, so soon in the future? Was it a form of love and connection that she was trying to express to me? Or maybe, was it that a soft, comfy doll to hug was just the ticket, after a year of so much fear and uncertainty that came with the pandemic? No matter what the reason, I lapped up the experience, and so did my daughter. And every once in a while, when kissing my baby girl goodnight, I notice that Betty Faye has made her way off of the shelf, and into the bed, with an ever smiling face, promising that you are never too old or never too young, to enjoy all that life has to offer, all along the way.
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
It took me a long time to realize that GOAT also stands for “Greatest of All Time.” I think that jumping around randomly, eating whatever I want, and the power to head butt annoying people would be the GOAT. It is not offensive to be called a “goat.”
I am delayed in writing because my morning was taken up with drywall/contractor appointments and other distractions, which I allowed. My quiet, peaceful, morning reflection and writing time has gotten off to a rocky start. I read another wonderful meme on Twitter today that said “People who wonder whether the glass is half empty or half full miss the point. The glass is refillable.” (Rex Masters)
I am reminding myself that it is my duty to protect my glass and to refill it with what makes me sing. I must be more protective of my morning routine/ritual and my writing time. I must let my inner goat out, on occasion, to keep things “real.”
“Whatever gets your goat gets your attention. Whatever gets your attention gets your time. Whatever gets your time gets you. Whatever gets you becomes your master. Take care, lest a little thing horn in and get your goat.” -William Arthur Ward
“Look carefully at the goat sitting on the edge of the cliff: Everything that shows you the peace of being fearless is a great teacher for you! That goat is a teacher for you, respect him!” – Melmet Muran ildan
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Today is Inauguration Day. The word “inauguration” means a ceremony to mark the start of something. In my life, I have family and friends whose views would span all areas of the political spectrum, although most of “my people” would land as dots, around the center spot, from what I can tell. I steer clear of political talk, as much as I can. Still, I’ve always prided myself in being open-minded. I like to get to know all different kinds of people. People are way too complicated to pigeon-hole. The older I get, the less I like labels and definitions. I am more attracted to sensations and nuances and the stories behind the stories. I like movement versus stagnation.
If I wanted to personalize Inauguration Day, what would I like to do, to mark the start of, in my own life? What parts of my life would I choose to continue with and to grow and to nurture, and what in my life has given me its lesson, and is ready to be let go? What would a new governing body look like in my own personal life? Things to ponder to make Inauguration Day, a way to help me “to be the change I want to see” (Gandi):
You are the CEO of your own life. Hire, fire and promote accordingly. (Think Smarter)
Drama does not just walk into your life. Either you create it, invite it, or associate with it.
You can’t have change without loss.
Be a good person, but don’t waste your time proving it. (u. fo)
Real growth starts when you are tired of your own shit. (F of F)
Any concern too small to be turned into a prayer, is too small to be made into a burden. (Corrie Ten Boom)
A mistake repeated more than once, is a decision.
A deadline causes stress, a purpose causes motivation. (Holiday Mathis)
A good laugh and a long sleep are the two best cures for anything.
How your life feels, is more important than how it looks. (Think Smarter)
Your direction is more important than your speed.
Your mind is a beautiful servant, but a dangerous master.
Please understand this: Bad chapters can still create great stories. Wrong paths can still lead to right places. Failed dreams can still create successful people. Sometimes it takes losing yourself, to find yourself. (Cynthia Thurlow, NP)
*****I apologize, these quotes all came from one of my many inspirational notebooks. When I see something that stirs me, I write it down. I have to get better at writing down who to credit with these beautiful wisdoms that were shared to me, one way or another. I will make that goal of remembering who to credit, part of my inaugural plans.
These are all good starters to contemplate when doing your own personal inauguration ceremony. Please share some of your own helpful “starter wisdoms” in my Comments section. Here’s to new beginnings, at every level of the game!!
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
“Whenever I get discouraged and want to quit something, I remember the words of my then 3 year-old after she puked carrots all over the living room floor: “I’m gonna need more carrots.” – Jessica Valenti
Out of the mouths of babes! Our three-day weekend was taken up by a lot of our hot water pipes being replaced in our house. Today, we start interviewing drywall people. Yesterday, in a fit of frustration, I insisted that my husband and I drive around town, looking at neighborhoods that we may want to settle in, when our daughter heads to college, in about a year. I was angry at my house. I felt let down. They say that comparison is the thief of happiness, but yesterday that proved false. Kind of like “the country mouse” in the fable of “The Country Mouse and The City Mouse”, I felt a new sense of relief and appreciation and comfort, when we arrived back home, from our drive around town. Just like my body, my home may be getting a little worn down, but its bones are good, it has beautiful views of its surroundings, and it is filled with love. For now, we stay put. Maybe all that we really need to do, is to plant some carrots in our garden.
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Betty White’s 99th birthday was yesterday. Talk about a walking smile – Betty is that!! What an inspiration she is to so many people, mostly by being so alive and joyful!
“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.
I read a news story over the weekend about a very courageous waitress and an equally courageous little boy in Orlando, Florida. The boy was with his family in a restaurant, and the waitress noticed how frail he looked, and that he was covered in bruises. The family did not order him a meal. The waitress wrote a note on a piece of paper. “DO YOU NEED HELP?”, the paper sign read. She held it so that only the boy could see it. At first the little boy shook his head in a slight “no”, but she persisted a few more times, and he finally nodded “yes” assuredly. The waitress called the police, and it turns out that the boy and his sister were being severely abused and malnourished by their parents. The children were taken to safety, and their parents were arrested. The police officer handling the case said that this kind of bravery, shown by both the waitress and the little boy, is extremely rare. In most cases, people just look the other way. And also in most cases, people aren’t brave enough, to ask for help when they need it. This is the year to be a new kind of brave – the bravery shown by a waitress and a little boy.
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
I have written about West Virginia before. West Virginia flies under the radar, and under the cloak of a lot misperception. It turns out that the West Virginia state government has done the second best job of distributing its vaccines to her people so far, with 67% of their allotted vaccines already given in shots to the arm. (North Dakota has distributed 77% of its allotted vaccine.) Apparently, West Virginia had a 65 years and older, priority policy much earlier than the federal government suggested the policy, in its guidelines for distributing the coronavirus vaccine. West Virginia gave their policy of prioritizing vaccines for their seniors, the name S.O.W. which stands for “Save Our Wisdom”. I love this.
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love. (this will be the daily mantra of the blog, for the rest of this year.)
