A foreword (because I can in a blog). I write a lot of poetry about relationship - I write a lot about relationship; about people. I love that I can write poetry about people I've just met, or people I've known a while, and I love that I can blend the two, sometimes to write about a concept, though you wouldn't know it. This is about two and so, I suppose, a concept in a way.
There is a peace
in your eyes
that to my weary soul
satisfies.
In one glance they promise
- though you don't know -
to never my heart
bruise or abuse,
and never let its heaviness grow.
It's not in their color
or shape,
but in the character that there reflects;
reveals,
and how it affects
when mine your gaze intersects,
there calm and invigoration collide;
understanding and clarity subside.
So pardon my nervous silence rare,
imparted by the magnificence of your stare.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Monday, September 23, 2013
The Weight of Identity
There is great power in knowing who you are; great benefit. This doesn't necessarily mean that the opposite is true; one is not weak because they do not have a true, reality-based understanding of their self. They are however prone to deception; there is vulnerability.
You've probably met someone who would fall into the category: they either tend to have some far-off ideas of self-aggrandizement, or they have no idea of the wonderful things they have to offer. The latter is something I'm passionate about, and I see so often and wish there something to put in the water; some easy remedy, but there isn't. Then again, people who are amazing and painfully aware of it, detract from said amazingness...not exactly attractive company to most.
Identity is a repeated theme to me, as I said it's something I'm passionate about and interested in. It's something I'm constantly exploring in myself, and constantly noticing in others. Lately I've been thinking about the weight of our identity, and where it lies. Were I to identify myself, some pieces would come the more I thought about it, or are things I could easily forget, even about who I would claim myself to be. And even further, sometimes I'm told things about myself, that for all my introspection, I find hard to believe. Sometimes, beyond all that, I think I am things, bad things that I am not; and until I am told otherwise, I might live under.
What does our self-proclaimed and self-recognized (in the sense of believed and bought-into) identity do in our lives? How does it compound on each interaction and activity throughout each day, to form our perceived identity tomorrow? It affects our motivations, it affects our relationships, our actions, our pursuits, our relenting. The security, or lack thereof, in who we are - and not what we do - is detrimental!
One of the biggest things I notice is that we do not look to secure places to reflect back to us who we are. We look to people who don't know us, well or maybe at all. We look to activities; hobbies or occupations. We look to cultures and societies. We tend to look to a mirror that says we are not enough, or we are not the standard. Since when is there a standard on identity?
If only it were simple, I often think. And it often seems simple...from the outside. But when you begin to untangle that knot of the compounding misleadings of the years of a person's life, you see that there is no simplicity. There may be clarity as you begin to see the weight of words, and interactions, and expectations...and countless other things, but never one single culprit.
There are days at the end of which I find that I am totally fulfilled; totally at peace, totally secure. Usually I think about it, and I am operating as who I am with no fear, concern or anxiety about if I am what I am, or doing what I am, or am what I'm doing! Those days have me thinking, among all the starkly obvious deluded souls - what if all those people could operate freely as who they are? What would this world look like? And how do we begin to see and be who we are?
You've probably met someone who would fall into the category: they either tend to have some far-off ideas of self-aggrandizement, or they have no idea of the wonderful things they have to offer. The latter is something I'm passionate about, and I see so often and wish there something to put in the water; some easy remedy, but there isn't. Then again, people who are amazing and painfully aware of it, detract from said amazingness...not exactly attractive company to most.
Identity is a repeated theme to me, as I said it's something I'm passionate about and interested in. It's something I'm constantly exploring in myself, and constantly noticing in others. Lately I've been thinking about the weight of our identity, and where it lies. Were I to identify myself, some pieces would come the more I thought about it, or are things I could easily forget, even about who I would claim myself to be. And even further, sometimes I'm told things about myself, that for all my introspection, I find hard to believe. Sometimes, beyond all that, I think I am things, bad things that I am not; and until I am told otherwise, I might live under.
What does our self-proclaimed and self-recognized (in the sense of believed and bought-into) identity do in our lives? How does it compound on each interaction and activity throughout each day, to form our perceived identity tomorrow? It affects our motivations, it affects our relationships, our actions, our pursuits, our relenting. The security, or lack thereof, in who we are - and not what we do - is detrimental!
One of the biggest things I notice is that we do not look to secure places to reflect back to us who we are. We look to people who don't know us, well or maybe at all. We look to activities; hobbies or occupations. We look to cultures and societies. We tend to look to a mirror that says we are not enough, or we are not the standard. Since when is there a standard on identity?
If only it were simple, I often think. And it often seems simple...from the outside. But when you begin to untangle that knot of the compounding misleadings of the years of a person's life, you see that there is no simplicity. There may be clarity as you begin to see the weight of words, and interactions, and expectations...and countless other things, but never one single culprit.
There are days at the end of which I find that I am totally fulfilled; totally at peace, totally secure. Usually I think about it, and I am operating as who I am with no fear, concern or anxiety about if I am what I am, or doing what I am, or am what I'm doing! Those days have me thinking, among all the starkly obvious deluded souls - what if all those people could operate freely as who they are? What would this world look like? And how do we begin to see and be who we are?
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Re: Social Media & Pondering Cause for Hiatus
I originally set out to write something different, and I already know it won't be so. One of the few times I plan something, and even then the plan goes out the window...college was hard for me.
I find myself still battling the need to explain my every thought. And yet somehow keep a blog alive, I guess. But even here, as of late, I would say my writing has become quite esoteric (I love to use that word, 10 pts) and far less relate-able than is the desired goal. Being the perpetual introspective naval-gazer that I am, (though maybe in a less negative way than the connotation of that phrase) I notice that it's not a simple change because it lies in something deeper. Every personality test I've ever taken - colors, myer's briggs, kiersey, enneagram, etc. - will describe me as one who desires to be known for who I really am...and also nearly obsessed with self-discovery and personal cultivation.
I'm pretty aware of this, so I try not to obliviously smother anyone with the need to be heard; just get it off my chest. The problem is that there's an enabler; a coddler, if you will, known as Social Media.
In this day and age, you want to be heard by someone? There are maybe ten widely-used platforms, and hundreds more where that came from. Someone will hear what you have to say, or read it, or see what you see, and half-heartedly agree with a 'like'. It is a pretty blatant cry to be noticed and to be validated.
Admittedly, I find myself caught in it just as much as the next person, but I also find it easy to criticize, and make light of because I see the holes in it. I see that it's filling a void for me, and I'm sure many others, in an unhealthy and unrealistic way. Where is the true relationship? It's fading. Fast. I mean, I say I'm caught because I love some advantages, such as how readily available the updates are on the lives of friends around the world. In other cases it's merely an illusion of real connection, "friends" from grade school or high school, or friends of friends. And so, that's where I find myself caught in the middle and walking a line.
I've been hankering for a social media hiatus, but found it a little hard to enforce when unemployed; spending 35% of my hours asleep, 15% actually with people, and the other 50% by myself trying not to go crazy from boredom. I've been riding the brakes on it for a while, thinking how much would it really affect my life? A lot of jobs I was looking at or interested in, required you to be knowledgeable in social media...do you think checking it 25 times a day counts? It also seemed a little sad to me, to say I need to give it up to give myself a reality check - but it's true!
If I'm honest with myself, if we were all honest with ourselves, we could put that time a lot better places. Heck, I spent over an hour on Pinterest, which I didn't previously even understand the point of, tonight, just so I wouldn't have to really use my brain! That's a cop out. (Poor cops, gettin' a bad rep.)
So it's less of a formal hiatus, as I've done a few times in the past, but more of an intentional keeping-self-in-check. Bearing in mind, that I'm passionate about communication and conversation, but that's rooted in being passionate about relationship; realistically there is no relationship being carried on there [in social media]. I want to get back to the reality that's sitting there in the background, going on without us.
I find myself still battling the need to explain my every thought. And yet somehow keep a blog alive, I guess. But even here, as of late, I would say my writing has become quite esoteric (I love to use that word, 10 pts) and far less relate-able than is the desired goal. Being the perpetual introspective naval-gazer that I am, (though maybe in a less negative way than the connotation of that phrase) I notice that it's not a simple change because it lies in something deeper. Every personality test I've ever taken - colors, myer's briggs, kiersey, enneagram, etc. - will describe me as one who desires to be known for who I really am...and also nearly obsessed with self-discovery and personal cultivation.
I'm pretty aware of this, so I try not to obliviously smother anyone with the need to be heard; just get it off my chest. The problem is that there's an enabler; a coddler, if you will, known as Social Media.
In this day and age, you want to be heard by someone? There are maybe ten widely-used platforms, and hundreds more where that came from. Someone will hear what you have to say, or read it, or see what you see, and half-heartedly agree with a 'like'. It is a pretty blatant cry to be noticed and to be validated.
Admittedly, I find myself caught in it just as much as the next person, but I also find it easy to criticize, and make light of because I see the holes in it. I see that it's filling a void for me, and I'm sure many others, in an unhealthy and unrealistic way. Where is the true relationship? It's fading. Fast. I mean, I say I'm caught because I love some advantages, such as how readily available the updates are on the lives of friends around the world. In other cases it's merely an illusion of real connection, "friends" from grade school or high school, or friends of friends. And so, that's where I find myself caught in the middle and walking a line.
I've been hankering for a social media hiatus, but found it a little hard to enforce when unemployed; spending 35% of my hours asleep, 15% actually with people, and the other 50% by myself trying not to go crazy from boredom. I've been riding the brakes on it for a while, thinking how much would it really affect my life? A lot of jobs I was looking at or interested in, required you to be knowledgeable in social media...do you think checking it 25 times a day counts? It also seemed a little sad to me, to say I need to give it up to give myself a reality check - but it's true!
If I'm honest with myself, if we were all honest with ourselves, we could put that time a lot better places. Heck, I spent over an hour on Pinterest, which I didn't previously even understand the point of, tonight, just so I wouldn't have to really use my brain! That's a cop out. (Poor cops, gettin' a bad rep.)
So it's less of a formal hiatus, as I've done a few times in the past, but more of an intentional keeping-self-in-check. Bearing in mind, that I'm passionate about communication and conversation, but that's rooted in being passionate about relationship; realistically there is no relationship being carried on there [in social media]. I want to get back to the reality that's sitting there in the background, going on without us.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
The Words of Others & Silence: Things Realized & Forgotten
I've been spending a lot of time alone lately. Too much. I like myself alright, but more than ever it brings forth some realities I either have yet to come to terms with, or need to be reminded of. Mostly about how I view things, or what motivates me; those sort of things. I'm borderline self-obsessed (I say half-joking, kind of like how they say if you worry you're crazy then you're not...right?), so I think about these kinds of things whether or not I spend a lot of time alone. But unemployment...woof!
I do a lot of talking, thinking, writing; I am very into putting information out into the proverbial ether of theory, if you will. I tend to forget, or have to learn (and re-learn) some about the opposite. What do I think about holding my tongue? About silence? About not saying something just because I have something to say?
I've been self-teaching that not every thought or idea in my mind needs to be expended. It's a hard pill to swallow, but maybe not everything needs to be expressed. I might even be a healthier person if I learn how to not to express...my near-every-waking thought! In some ways, I think it's helped me focus a bit more, or so I hope it will. I worry I'll lose a little of the magic of bunny trails, but I might be one of few people who even likes those...(proof they're still there to be had.) But lately I have a lot of drafted blog posts; a veritable bone yard of paragraphs that urped out of my brain but really went nowhere when I remembered I don't have to say everything.
I realized all these expressions gestate in silence. I not only like silence; I need it. I forgot this, in a conscious sense. I know myself well enough to know I need meaningful interpersonal interactions, but silence usually falls by the wayside. Toward the end of my time in my last house, during the rare moments when no one else was home, I often found myself opting out of watching a movie, or even listening to music, - sometimes doing anything at all. Sometimes I'd get home from something, exhausting or exhilarating, and just bask in the quiet.
Now, there are times like my stint of unemployment where the silence feels like it breaks me. I start talking to myself...an embarrassing amount, which is anything more than a little bit. It's like forgetting that people can hear me, I've been alone so much! Usually at that point I will go to a coffee shop and sit on Pinterest, or to Target for an hour and buy nothing, just to feel like I'm with people (youngest of six much?). It's almost like going out just to make sure there wasn't some sort of apocalypse, and then I'm like, "Crap, there's no one left! Now what...?" Nonsense maybe, but it's how it feels.
The need to be around people is neither something new or forgotten about myself; it's always there in my peripheral like the nose on my face. But here I sell myself short by forgetting that, though I'm probably known more for freely talking, I actually love to listen. People are fascinating to me, and when I'm not in a vicious-cycle of feeling unsocial due to being a deprived extrovert (it's uncanny what it does to one), I really enjoy just being around people. I enjoy getting to figure out who they are, what they think about things, how they tick; get a different perspective. Shutting myself up and instead taking in is life-giving.
It is selling myself short because it is untrue to who I am. Like not going to to a party - I love parties - because I only know one person, or I'm alone...not like no one's ever met at a party! I forget that I like getting to know people, at all stages; ten-second interaction at the checkout, or hours-long talks with old friends. And as absurd as it is to think about, I let myself get scared.
Every time I catch myself in the aftermath of any of the aforesaid scenarios, I realize how ignorant I can be of how I work. Then I count myself thankful for the silences that drive me to leave the house, ones that give me space to contemplate, and the words of others instead of my own.
I do a lot of talking, thinking, writing; I am very into putting information out into the proverbial ether of theory, if you will. I tend to forget, or have to learn (and re-learn) some about the opposite. What do I think about holding my tongue? About silence? About not saying something just because I have something to say?
I've been self-teaching that not every thought or idea in my mind needs to be expended. It's a hard pill to swallow, but maybe not everything needs to be expressed. I might even be a healthier person if I learn how to not to express...my near-every-waking thought! In some ways, I think it's helped me focus a bit more, or so I hope it will. I worry I'll lose a little of the magic of bunny trails, but I might be one of few people who even likes those...(proof they're still there to be had.) But lately I have a lot of drafted blog posts; a veritable bone yard of paragraphs that urped out of my brain but really went nowhere when I remembered I don't have to say everything.
I realized all these expressions gestate in silence. I not only like silence; I need it. I forgot this, in a conscious sense. I know myself well enough to know I need meaningful interpersonal interactions, but silence usually falls by the wayside. Toward the end of my time in my last house, during the rare moments when no one else was home, I often found myself opting out of watching a movie, or even listening to music, - sometimes doing anything at all. Sometimes I'd get home from something, exhausting or exhilarating, and just bask in the quiet.
Now, there are times like my stint of unemployment where the silence feels like it breaks me. I start talking to myself...an embarrassing amount, which is anything more than a little bit. It's like forgetting that people can hear me, I've been alone so much! Usually at that point I will go to a coffee shop and sit on Pinterest, or to Target for an hour and buy nothing, just to feel like I'm with people (youngest of six much?). It's almost like going out just to make sure there wasn't some sort of apocalypse, and then I'm like, "Crap, there's no one left! Now what...?" Nonsense maybe, but it's how it feels.
The need to be around people is neither something new or forgotten about myself; it's always there in my peripheral like the nose on my face. But here I sell myself short by forgetting that, though I'm probably known more for freely talking, I actually love to listen. People are fascinating to me, and when I'm not in a vicious-cycle of feeling unsocial due to being a deprived extrovert (it's uncanny what it does to one), I really enjoy just being around people. I enjoy getting to figure out who they are, what they think about things, how they tick; get a different perspective. Shutting myself up and instead taking in is life-giving.
It is selling myself short because it is untrue to who I am. Like not going to to a party - I love parties - because I only know one person, or I'm alone...not like no one's ever met at a party! I forget that I like getting to know people, at all stages; ten-second interaction at the checkout, or hours-long talks with old friends. And as absurd as it is to think about, I let myself get scared.
Every time I catch myself in the aftermath of any of the aforesaid scenarios, I realize how ignorant I can be of how I work. Then I count myself thankful for the silences that drive me to leave the house, ones that give me space to contemplate, and the words of others instead of my own.
Sunday, September 08, 2013
Because He Meets Me, & He Will
Today it occurred to me, if asked why I believe in God what I might say. Something I've often struggle with because I could have a million answers, - do you want a short one or a long one, do you want a tear-jerker or a heart-warmer, are you actually open or just trying to catch me in what you perceive to be a hollow label?
Something happened today that led me to my concise answer, which here leads to the broader one:
The biggest and best blanket statement I can make about why I believe in God is that He meets me where I am, every time.
Every time, He stoops to my level, to communicate how I need to hear it that day, or that minute. If I need something specific to remember I'm loved, boom. If I feel insecure about something, He sends someone to tell me the exact opposite of what I'm believing - the truth. If I need my attitude whipped into shape, He puts me back in my place; not unlike a father setting a child back in their timeout chair after they throw a tantrum. (Yes, sometimes I have what I think I would refer to, mostly in loose but honest terms, as tantrums...) When I am frustrated with Him and it feels like I'm talking to myself, He meets me in conversation. He waits on me when I'm stubborn, shelters me when I'm weary. When I'm fighting battles that are far above my ability, He enters in with ferocity. When I mess up, for the hundred-millionth time, He welcomes me back mercifully. I hold up my messy broken pieces, and He gives me back a whole.
Every time He meets me where I'm at. I've learned not to believe in Serendipity or coincidence, because the thought of all things I have needed and have found, being coincidental is absurd and improbable. It's maybe not always shocking, or mind-blowing, but it's always just what I need, where I am, and I never feel anything but loved. Loved in empathy. Loved in affirmation. Loved in correction. Loved in jealousy. Loved in gentleness.
When I think about it, that's what's worth talking about. I have many answers and look forward to many more compounding throughout my life, but that's the short version. It's why I believe what I believe, even when I don't have all the other answers. One thing built on another, and another on that, all to the point that is the sum of my faith having survived and grown.
Don't believe it to imply that my life has just been easy, all daisies and roses, but this is how I'm sustained. The beauty being that it only takes being open to God showing up in your life, and He will.
He is relentless, He is personal, He is absolutely on-time, and His purpose is Love.
Something happened today that led me to my concise answer, which here leads to the broader one:
The biggest and best blanket statement I can make about why I believe in God is that He meets me where I am, every time.
Every time, He stoops to my level, to communicate how I need to hear it that day, or that minute. If I need something specific to remember I'm loved, boom. If I feel insecure about something, He sends someone to tell me the exact opposite of what I'm believing - the truth. If I need my attitude whipped into shape, He puts me back in my place; not unlike a father setting a child back in their timeout chair after they throw a tantrum. (Yes, sometimes I have what I think I would refer to, mostly in loose but honest terms, as tantrums...) When I am frustrated with Him and it feels like I'm talking to myself, He meets me in conversation. He waits on me when I'm stubborn, shelters me when I'm weary. When I'm fighting battles that are far above my ability, He enters in with ferocity. When I mess up, for the hundred-millionth time, He welcomes me back mercifully. I hold up my messy broken pieces, and He gives me back a whole.
Every time He meets me where I'm at. I've learned not to believe in Serendipity or coincidence, because the thought of all things I have needed and have found, being coincidental is absurd and improbable. It's maybe not always shocking, or mind-blowing, but it's always just what I need, where I am, and I never feel anything but loved. Loved in empathy. Loved in affirmation. Loved in correction. Loved in jealousy. Loved in gentleness.
When I think about it, that's what's worth talking about. I have many answers and look forward to many more compounding throughout my life, but that's the short version. It's why I believe what I believe, even when I don't have all the other answers. One thing built on another, and another on that, all to the point that is the sum of my faith having survived and grown.
Don't believe it to imply that my life has just been easy, all daisies and roses, but this is how I'm sustained. The beauty being that it only takes being open to God showing up in your life, and He will.
He is relentless, He is personal, He is absolutely on-time, and His purpose is Love.
Saturday, September 07, 2013
Weary Seafarer Among Waves
I am in my boat; it is in the ocean. The waves rock me, I know them well. I shouldn't find myself caught off guard by any one, at this point, but so often I still do. I am tired and tossed by them. I am a sailor, made for the ocean, but somehow it holds animosity for me - like the flame of a candle up to me, taunting; a small threat capable of great destruction.
The waves keep coming, they are relentless. Each time I think, I am a sailor, made for the sea, and yet each time I wobble and waver on their account. Some are smaller, for which I'm thankful to learn balance. Others come fast and hard, chipping away at the vessel. I know that they are coming, my heart races at just the thought. They are apt to find me - aboard a boat, in the ocean, and they are waves. They are relentless. Oh! How my tired heart longs for steady currents.
Such a craft is not made for such water, so it seems. Feels as though I am in a small dingy, while others tell me it's a great and beautiful ship, with an excellent keel. Still, for some it's not good enough: it has its cracks and its loose planks, so it is unfit for sea, they say. No matter what I'm told, the reality is it's ravaged by the water; the very thing for which it was made. Often as I feel her brittle creaking and hear a subtle groan, and think, maybe it's best not to sail anymore.
I could always talk myself out of sea sickness, again. Or maybe, truly for the first time. One day, the education of each wave will be the honor of this ship, the tales to be told years after my passing. And so I must bolster my heart and my vessel for the storms inevitable to fare, - for if I am a sailor, I must certainly stay well out to sea.
The waves keep coming, they are relentless. Each time I think, I am a sailor, made for the sea, and yet each time I wobble and waver on their account. Some are smaller, for which I'm thankful to learn balance. Others come fast and hard, chipping away at the vessel. I know that they are coming, my heart races at just the thought. They are apt to find me - aboard a boat, in the ocean, and they are waves. They are relentless. Oh! How my tired heart longs for steady currents.
Such a craft is not made for such water, so it seems. Feels as though I am in a small dingy, while others tell me it's a great and beautiful ship, with an excellent keel. Still, for some it's not good enough: it has its cracks and its loose planks, so it is unfit for sea, they say. No matter what I'm told, the reality is it's ravaged by the water; the very thing for which it was made. Often as I feel her brittle creaking and hear a subtle groan, and think, maybe it's best not to sail anymore.
I could always talk myself out of sea sickness, again. Or maybe, truly for the first time. One day, the education of each wave will be the honor of this ship, the tales to be told years after my passing. And so I must bolster my heart and my vessel for the storms inevitable to fare, - for if I am a sailor, I must certainly stay well out to sea.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)