my life’s a poem. a dark scary one, that doesn’t rhyme, but a poem nonetheless.
I have this reputation for being positive lately. I tell people it is the only way I know how to be anymore. I sometimes feel fake saying that, because truth be told, there are mornings when I’d like crawl back beneath the blankets and lose a few days wallowing in despair and self-loathing. Being positive and seeing the bright side in things isn’t easy. Not one bit, but again, truth is, I’m committed to finding it.
I know a lot of people don’t see life that way. I know there was a time I didn’t, and there are still days I’d like to give up on it. I can’t. I see people slip away from this life and I see the sadness of their loved ones and I realize how fortunate I am to still have time to make an impact in this life.. I may not have much, but if I make someone smile or laugh or ease their troubles, somehow I imagine it rippling through the world. I had huge dreams when I was little of making this world a better place I still cling to that dream, although now, I realize it will be in the small things and not a huge dramatic act.
I find myself moving away from the negative people. I don’t want to get caught up in their anger and hatred of things they brought to themselves and now resent having to deal with. We all make choices, and we all make bad ones. Trust me when I say, I’ve made many exceptionally questionable ones. The difference is that when something sucks, you have to find a way to accept it as a temporary thing and push past it, no matter how f-ing horrible it is. The worst that could possible happen rarely does, so anything better than that is a bonus.. And you have to go on, absolutely have to hang on to the joy wherever you find it, whether it’s the smell of cut grass, a child’s laughter, great coffee or narrowly avoiding an accident. You have try, and I mean it’s work, to find the good. We joke about being strength-based at work but it really is being strength-based. I think about it like when you are crossing a huge muddy pond. You have to cross -there’s no alternative– so you can trudge through, deal with being dirty and wet the rest of the day and bitch about it, or accept the wet and muddy experience as getting to play in the mud and have fun. Sometimes you make it and sometimes you fail, but if you never tried, you’d fail 100% of the time. I don’t want my life to be an hundred million failures. I will have successes, even if they are rare.
What brought me here today is the fact that another person I know has now moved on to the next life. It’s not like we were close or even more than acquaintances, but it’s another person gone. Most people don’t know how many people I have lost in my life. It’s a lot more than you might guess. I still struggle with losing the one person who knew me best. Even now, more than 20 years later, I can still hear that voice, see those eyes, and remember all the insane moments we shared together. What I miss most is knowing that no matter where either of us were, or what had transpired, or who we were with, when we were together the world should step back and tremble. I can’t explain it. I still have lots of people who love me and that I love, but … some people you know have been in your life for many lifetimes and now you just have to wait until your paths cross again in the next. And even with that, I could sit back and mourn what might have been, or I can go on. And go on I do.
Time is precious. I realized when I was sick that I don’t tell the people I love that I love them often enough. I find myself saying it almost automatically now at times, and I think it might sound flat and insincere, but the fact is, I’d rather have it become routine now, so that when I am gone, that person has heard me say those words, and say them often. I love you is such a big deal, and at the same time, not a big deal at all. I see children dying, parents dying and I think, I’ve been blessed by more time – why was I so lucky? Maybe it was because my job is to make things a little brighter for everyone around me.
Make no mistake, I can be mean, hurtful, manipulative, even vicious. I’m not proud of that. But I like to think I am also kind, and loving and sincere. And of that, I am proud. I’m struggling with the idea that I have been given this time to make something happen, and I’m just spinning wheels. But I keep going back to believing that I am where I am because I need to be here now. I overcame this cancer bullshit so that I can make my world a better place in some small way. Or write mindless blog entries that go on and one and really make no sense. I don’t care. This is my blog, and if you have entered into this rant, welcome. You are free to exit if I’m boring you out of your mind.
The other day I read this story about an homeless man with a sign that said “Be Love” around his neck. You can read it here: http://www.positivelypositive.com/2013/08/26/be-love/
I want to “be love”. Yeah, it may be corny and sappy, but whatever. So I’m going to try harder.
In other news, I was the recipient of some amazing kindness a week ago. I love the band Off With Their Heads (OWTH). When I was going through radiation, I listened to the “In Desolation” album EVERY SINGLE MORNING on my drive to and from Hershey. Drive got me motivated, and I sang loudly to every single track, every single day (in frogger-that little green beast, using my ipod and wearing headphones because it never did have radio) It was like a mantra. When I got the all clear after treatment, I emailed the band, and Ryan Young emailed me back about and mentioned that some of his songs were about that specific thing, and that it meant a lot to him. I was touched. A year later now, and I emailed him again, saying I’ve been listening to “Home” since it came out and it was probably coincidence, but I’m still cancer free, and asked him to try and get out an album next year, ya know, to keep up the trend. He emailed me back and congratulated me and said he’d try and asked for my address to send me something. I told him not to worry about that, but I sent my address. A few days later, a package came from Ryan. It was this amazing purse made from the “In Desolation” album art. AMAZING. I mean really Amazing. I was so excited and was talking non-stop about it for days. It wasn’t just the purse, which is AMAZING, it was about the connection, that someone I only got to know through his music took the time to send me something so perfect. He’d already given me the gift of his music, but then took the time to give me something else to treasure. What a fantastic gesture and what a generous heart. It really touched me.
This gift, and this rant about time and positivity, are connected. The purse and my life are gifts. I can treasure them, and appreciate them daily, or I can ignore them and ignore the intent of what I have in front of me. The music of OWTH is a gift too. I was able to identify with the pain in the lyrics, the loss, the frustration, and still feel the truth underneath it all. Universal truth, and the desire to know something different. Yeah, maybe it’s the tylenol pm talking (for those of you concerned about my turning into a drug addled client, I have not taken a percocet in more than a week) but I just feel honored. Honored I have more time to make something happen and honored that a virtual stranger and I shared a moment, and I feel more blessed than ever that I shared an experience with someone I will likely never meet.
So I must away to bed now my dahlings, the eyes are drooping and the laptop just needs to make it a few more months, which it won’t if I fall asleep with it on my lap and drop it. Thanks for laboring through this less than humorous rant. Sweet dreams.
oh yeah. I started writing poetry again. I won’t post it here, but ask me and I’ll let you have the link to my amazing work at another blog site. I am a fucking awesome poet.
PS. I just proofed this the next day. Wow…not doing so well with the ol’ proofreading at 2 am. But I think I fixed it…sorry for my errors and some poor writing. I really need to step it up.