A $2 Moment....

Two to three weeks ago, at work, the customer I was ringing up for a $16 purchase got that appalled look on his face. He realized his debit card was at home and all he had was a $2 bill in his wallet. Pretty sure it was his lucky $2 bill. We've all been in his shoes. We forgot our wallet, we forgot our debit card, we thought we had $20 in our purse only to discover one of the kids used it. The look on our face says it all. Sometimes it's followed by oh crap, or oh shit, or son-of-a-biscuit eater. In his case it was simple disbelief and owning he did not have the money he needed for the gift he was buying and a small grab-and-go meal. Nor did he live close by.

It was a simple fix. I said I've got this, and I did. My coworker said she'd get his food, and she did. He insisted he'd pay us back. I said look at it this way, you can pay us back or you can pay it forward, or we can call it all good. Easy peasy. Then he handed me the $2 bill from his wallet. It seemed an odd exchange, but sometimes the most priceless events are really just odd moments.

I tucked the $2 away in my wallet in a place that I wouldn't use it. Holding on to it seemed important. There are times when we recognize something is important, but have no idea why. We trust we'll figure it out eventually. I was grateful to pay his bill, and honored, albeit amused to accept his $2. 

Today the young man showed up and reminded me that I'd waited on him several weeks ago. He said you paid my bill. I replied I worried you'd given me your lucky $2 bill, would you like it back? He absolutely did. I grabbed my wallet only to discover I'd hidden it quite well and was concerned it was gone. It was still there though. I think to the relief of all of us. He paid us back, I returned his $2. Hugs, thank you's and God bless you's ensued. It was good. More than good.

Sometimes when we come up short, we need someone to hold on to what little we have. Sometimes we plant a seed of faith and it greatly resembles a $2 bill. Sometime we have enough in our heart to give without expectation. Full stop. Gratitude in action.

It was a blessed beyond measure moment. With a value far far greater than the price of his purchase or his $2 deposit. It was trusting in it's purest form. Paying it forward and holding something priceless at the same time. We were changed by the moment, and it was good.

Measuring and Analyzing...

Years ago (many many years ago) I participated in speech club. I'm pretty certain the only thing I remember from that is this line from Emily Dickinson.....  "I measure every grief I meet with analytic eyes. I wonder if it weighs like mine or has an easier size." How ironic that a line about grief would plant a seed that resonates to this day? Emily, you've had a lasting affect.

A friend commented today about adjusting to new normal's. No one applies the term "new normal" to an event that is full of joy. New normal usually involves some form of radical acceptance. And, man, does the process of radical acceptance suck. New normal involves letting go of what we'd hoped, shaking out the broken pieces, and building a new life. Letting go can be brutal, the broke pieces come in shapes we never anticipate and building a new life is no walk in the park. None of us get through life without the experience of "new normal". Granted, some hide it very well with a facade that convinces almost all of us. I find that part sad, because there is light to be found in our dark and broken places. 

Some new normal's are easier to assimilate and move on from. Some evolve over years, with growth being hard to measure. Some come with obvious victories, some batter us because there is no logical reason for the sudden turmoil cast upon us.

But, and there is always a but, if we measure every grief, could we not also measure every grace? Seems to me they are two parts of a whole. A whole lot of acceptance, a whole lot of faith, and a whole lot of growth. Measure the grief as best you can, on any give day, and accept it. Measure the grace, each and every day and embrace it. I believe grace will outweigh the grief given time. Not an easy path to be sure, but one we can find our footing on. One that leads us to our new life.

Self Talk

Long time no blog. Have I wanted to, yup. Have I, nope. Mostly I've been working. I resigned one job, worked an interim job, transitioned into a new position and hit the ground running. And running, and running.

Truthfully, I've run myself ragged. After long days at work I face the "I should's". I should walk the dogs (and most days I do). I should mow, I should do laundry. I should eat, I should clean up the kitchen. For a solitary person I have a lot of dirty dishes. Mostly cups, and spoons. Okay, plates too. I can "I should" myself day and night.

I'd like to erase "I Should" and replace it with I'd like, I need, I want, I will. Then make sure some of those involve, rest, laughter, and in general slowing down enough to breathe. To be in the moment.

I'd like to feel my feelings. Pull them out of the basket, examine them and release what I'm done with, what isn't mine to carry. I'd like to remove my "mask" of strength, and just be. Be able to connect, to ask for what I need, to be fully supported. I want to sit in my grieving moments, acknowledging all the big losses and little losses, so I can move forward with a life that fills me with hope.

I will talk to myself more. Self, you did good today. Self, life has been so so hard, and yet you survived. Self, it was not your fault. Self, I love you. Self, it's okay to cry. Self it's okay to make mistakes. Self, use your words. Self, it's okay to laugh. Self adopt another dog. Self, follow your bliss. Self, rest. That one bears repeating. Self, rest. Self, live!

When you falter, and we all do, ask your self, how you feel, what you need, how to find rest. Then run in that direction. You can thank yourself later. 

Take A Flying Leap

Sometimes you need to take a leap of faith. You need to say this doesn't work for me any more. You need to say, yes, I'm open to that. I won't, or I will, I'm in, or I'm out, whatever the case may be.

Then you wait for the outcome. Of course, the waiting is the hard part. You know you made the right choice deep in your heart. But the result is so different than you planned. That's because all we can do is our part, the rest is beyond our control. We can hope, dream, wish and pray. Often the picture looks, in fact very much is, different than the life we imagined. 

It's a tough pill to swallow. It involves letting go and letting God. It involves trusting that whatever comes, or doesn't come to pass is part of the bigger plan. We're talking growth here, growth is hard. Not though, as hard as holding growth in. Not as hard as looking the other way, not as hard as giving up because we won't step up.

Which takes us back to that leap of faith. Take it. Because what if it works out better than we ever dreamed?  And if not, because sometimes it doesn't, you learn a lesson, give thanks for the journey and chose another path. Not easy, but necessary. Chose to grow, chose to shift, trust it will unfold according to the plan. Take a flying leap....

You Just Never Know

People are always willing to talk about suicide, just not intentionally to the people who have lost someone to it. Maybe it feels safer to talk to a stranger about it, I get that. It's safe because it's less personal. You are privy to something tragic, but it's not your tragedy. You can express your shock, your bewilderment, your knowledge about what happened, even if it's only pieces of the story. Most times it is only pieces of the story. 

Working in retail I've had this happen several times. People need help in selecting a gift to comfort someone grieving. First they just mention, for example, a friend lost her husband, or a neighbor lost a son. Then as the conversation continues they begin to throw out other details. It was a suicide. I can't believe it happened. They never saw it coming. You just never know do you? No, you don't. Can you imagine how horrible that is? Yes, I can. Even with affirmative answers like that they never consider they might be talking to someone who has suffered such a loss. They have a need to share because they are grateful it's not them and because it's catastrophic. But not their catastrophe. I get they are trying to make sense of what happened.

Perhaps I'm missing opportunities by not sharing my reality at that point. I find it more amusing than uncomfortable when discussions unfold this way. They wouldn't be so eager to talk about it if they knew my history. A few times I've shared my truth. Most times I hold back because it's not about me. Every time I grab a pen and paper and share the names of a couple books to recommend. They don't ask how I know, but are grateful to have something tangible they can do to help their friend. I hope they follow through and buy the books. I hope they give the books, find the words to talk, ways to listen, and are there for their friends. 

If they do that, in a way, I've helped another survivor. For that reason alone I give thanks for being in the right place at the right time. I find peace in those conversations rather than resentment. We just never know what another has gone through, do we? No we don't. 

Let There Be Light

How is it that the rain on the roof, which is a sound I love, sounds very lonely sometimes. How is it standing my ground, choosing my battles, and establishing boundaries sometimes feels like a loss instead of a win. How do I step out in faith only to wait, and then wait some more. How do I live my best life. Full stop.

Okay, I don't have answers to any of these questions. I trust the answers will come. But I will own it's uncomfortable to wonder when. I long for easy as I wrestle with the hard. I'd prefer not to have to be strong. Couldn't I just be soft, content and fully supported? Why do I struggle to have a strong decisive voice, when in fact I am slow to process so I miss the immediate opportunities to ask questions, to be clear and upfront. I do get around to the heart of the matter, but not right away. I wish I was faster, but I'm not. I do sometimes have a quick wit, but otherwise I take the long way around the thinking process.  I'm on the scenic route while others are on the fast track. Things like this make us who we are, and yet we struggle with being who we are.

I don't know about you, but I am just weary. I long for hugs. I miss what was normal and I'm not sure what normal will look like again. I wonder if I'm learning the lessons I am supposed to be learning with the journeys life has taken me on. We have lost a year they say, but have we gained a greater perspective? I am glad that the worst is over. Well, at least I hope the worst is over. I think I can safely say the worst of winter is over and seeing growth in the garden is such a sign of hope. We need more signs of hope. We need more light, more points of light, more lightness in our hearts.

When in doubt I dig deeper for gratitude. I could complain, bitch, gripe and moan. Okay, sometimes I do complain, bitch, gripe and moan. But it doesn't take me as quite as far as counting blessings does. But we long to be heard. We long to be heard in our frustrations, worries and our joys. So sometimes we have to do the bitching to find the release, which gives us space to find our gratitude. Which lets the light in. Letting the light in it gives us light to share with others. So...if you are the light, I thank you. If I am the light, may I share it with you. 

 

Juggling

 Do you ever wonder if life will get easier? Do you wonder if the worst is over, or is it yet to come. I know that sounds pessimistic and full of worry. Do you ever wonder how others juggle all the balls and keep them neatly in the air? I wonder, sometimes, where my motivation went, and will it ever return. Will there always be a hollow spot that joy never quite finds?

I pause and remember that life has been hard. I've been juggling for a long time, bobbling some, saving some, and completely dropping some of the balls. I bet I'm not alone. Honestly, I'm about all widowed out, all pandemic'd out, all grieved out. Except, some of those thing never go away. Hopefully, the pandemic will pass and life, sort of, as we knew it will return. 

However, we have been changed, so life has been changed. It will be different and yet one can hope some familiar things remain. It will be different and I hope we are molded into something kinder, wiser, smarter. 

I had this grand idea when I moved back here that my lonely days would be over. Sometimes we are beautifully naive. Or hopeful, or both. I also never envisioned I'd be divorced once, widowed once and in a world wide pandemic. I was just hoping to have fries with my burger, a milkshake for dessert and live happily ever after. Maybe it is a good thing I was naive and hopeful. 

Which leaves me with the challenge of finding my way again. Sorting out what feels good in my life, what makes my heart feel whole. What baggage to cast aside. Or at least unpack an item at a time, examine and release. In the midst of all this I strive to find peace in being alone. Not alone, alone...you know. Because I have deep connections that sustain me. Just alone to a degree every day. And I chuckle, because I know some people would love to have more alone time. They would love to have my baggage instead of their own. They'd be thrilled with the burger and fries and never wish for the milkshake. Life is funny that way.

So while I wonder if life will ever get easier, I need to count the thousands of ways it has. I need to gather my blessings in a gentle embrace. I need to give thanks, and I need to feed my faith. I need to be gentle with myself as I heal. Life is a mix of bitter and sweet. And...as we juggle we drop some balls along the way. That makes us human. In those most human moments we learn. We heal, we grow, and we move on. We find our way back, we create a new life.