i have never heard a bagpipe without the hair on my arms standing on end.
i have never listened to ronald reagan or jfk speak without getting goosebumps.
likewise, i never expect to listen to maya angelou speak without a glistening tear in my eye, because her intellectual depth is fathoms deeper than any other in the world...
Last year Bob Dylan compiled a song list for Starbucks' Artist Choice Series. In addition to offering up a keen selection of country, blues, and jazz, he also supplied notes and commentary as to why he held the songs in such regard. BUT, the best part was the forward.
He wrote, "When I was asked to put together this collection of songs, I wasn't sure what to do. So I just grabbed a bunch of things I was into recently. Some people have favorite songs, but I've got songs of the minute -- songs that I'm listening to right now. And if you ask me about one of those songs a year from now, I might not even remember who did it, but at the moment it's everything to me."
I bring this up as today's lesson: Nothing is final. One day you're high. The next day you're low. You might have a funky, expressive, or awful haircut today, but soon it will grow into something else, something new and random. Maybe you grew up liking pop music and boy bands, but now you like a specific mash up of electronic & classical. You might decide you don't want to smoke cigarettes anymore; that it's just not who you are. Maybe you were a staunch republican but now have curiosities about the well-spoken and well-organized democratic nominee. Perhaps you were madly in love last week, but woke up today feeling comfort in solitude, without a desire to be held.
Everything is fine. Not finAL.
We tend to instantly identify with "things." And we believe in them so much, when in fact, a belief isn't known to be true. It's a hope for the truth. We hold grudges because of what someone said when we were young. We store hurtful words and replay them in our minds until we think it to be true. And some of us believe a TV commercial and think we need a faster computer, a smarter phone, a stronger pill, a more relaxed-fit jean, etc. We think that certain things, thoughts, or actions make us who we are and sometimes we become addicted to those thoughts or behaviors and then become too afraid to let them go.
I write and post a lot therefore many people assume I have every self-published word memorized or that I live these shared thoughts constantly. This is not the case. My brain doesn't reference myself very well actually, and I'm sure I contradict myself every other day in one way or another. One day I feel like I have all the wisdom of the world and the next day my soul wears thin and I stutter just ordering ice cream.
And everything is fine.
Because I trust in the ever-changing climate of the heart. (At least, today I feel that way.) I think it is necessary to have many experiences for the sake of feeling something; for the sake of being challenged, and for the sake of being expressive, to offer something to someone else, to learn what we are capable of. These meanderings, rants, and blogs for instance, provide a great deal of comfort just sharing it, even though i put a part of myself on the line to be criticized or considered an ass. Oh well, courage is triumph of the soul is guess. And an ass can still be of great service.
So remember, you have the right to change your mind.
About anything.
Anytime.
This is not the ending.
P.S. – No doesn't mean forever. It simply means, "Not right now."
And on the topic of not right now, whatever happened to you in the past is not happening now.
You will be safe behind your honest decisions and mood swings.
I promise.
[via the journal of jason mraz, 10.2.08]
by kent nerburn
Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. One time I arrived in the middle of the night for a pick up at a building that was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.
So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.
"It's nothing," I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated."
"Oh, you're such a good boy," she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"
"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.
"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice."
I looked in the rear view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.
"I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.
"Nothing," I said.
"You have to make a living," she answered.
"There are other passengers."
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."
I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware—beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
[weboflove via dooce]
i’ve gotten along just fine amongst the sharp thorns and the grey branches.
i’ve slept like a kitten in the mouth of my cave, safe from the wind.
i've struggled to brace the rocks inside, to escape before it all collapses.
i've dug deeper into the earth to find a confidante.
the river carries fallen leaves to the silted spoils in the valley of me.
i dig even deeper, into the black, in search of myself as the one.
i struggle to escape the collapse, as my sanguineous wounds lay agape.
i succumb to sleep on the fringes of home, facing the spirits upon my doorstep.
i'm moored by the poison of the nettles in my skin...
...as i lay here, restless.
this town just wasn't made for two, it wasn't made for me and you; but when the streets call my name, what can i do?
through these playful lips made of yarn, like me, that fragile scorpion; unraveled words like moths on old scarves, i know my world's a broken bone, but i melt my headaches and call it home.
i want to go where everyone goes, i want to know what everyone knows, i want to go where everyone feels the same...
all my life's a circle...
my true self, is truly a culmination of who i came from and where i've been. i'm quite content with the realization that 'the real me' is actually a 'real them.' everyone learns things about themselves from their environment and from the people they associate with. in the self-absorbed society that we live in today, i am more comfortable defending the fact that i am a product of my environment. some may call it affectation, i call it learning. often times the thought of someone copying your style is viewed negatively; i, on the other hand, think that it's the ultimate compliment. from gestures to habits to phrases, the fact that someone can remember the way you do things is a sentiment to the fact that you impacted their life when you carried out the operative function. this just goes to show how the cycle begins again; just like i learned from the populace of my past, i pass my knowledge on to all those who follow me. and so it begins again...
cat's in the cradle...
when i think back to my childhood, the most vivid memories, though negative, often revolve around one person: my father. as far back as i can remember, my parents have been divorced; in fact, there was never a time that i can recall when my mother and father were married and living in the same place. most of my memories began when my mom took me and my sisters to live with my grandparents. i was young, afraid, and nowhere near a point of understanding why i could only go home to one parent when all of my classmates went home to two. it just seemed normal to me; after all, i had nothing to compare it to. i am the youngest and only son and in a nick-at-nite-world that means that i should aspire to be just like my father. he should have been my role model. he should have been there for me to play catch with; he should have been there to give me the talk about the birds and the bees. he wasn't. so many times he would call and say that he was on his way, coming to get me, to spend time with me; instead he would leave me waiting on the curb in tears, only to show up three hours late, or not at all. i hope that i learned from this, his, mistake; i know better now.
a better place to be...
all these times of heartache, left me to lean on the one person that was always there for me, my mom. she was the one who brought us away from a home full of bad memories, she was the one who told me about girls, she was the one that spent the time teaching me about the ups and downs of life, she was my role model. i can only imagine that trying to be mom and dad was no easy task, but she did her best given the circumstances. she more than anyone has shaped me into the person that i have become.
i wanna learn a love song...
eventually i stopped waiting. i stopped caring. i made the decision that if i was going to make it, i could do it without him. i had plenty of other people around me that had the time for me, who cared for me, and who had an influence on my present day self. i learned life lessons from the people who had the time to teach me. more often than not, i learned the most from people that didn't even realize that they were teaching me. my old principal from high school, ken hart, was a great example of that. the time that he spent butting heads with me way-back-when taught me how to deal with my stubbornness, a lesson which helped me get into the college of my dreams. i owe that feat to him. he stepped in for a short time, after realizing that a father figure was absent in my life.
let time go lightly...
i see myself following in the footprints of my influences in life. as far as the person that i am now, i am, for the most part, content. i'm writing my own past, and trying my best to sculpt the world that i will occupy in the future. the past year has been a tough one, and i'm not out of the woods yet. i have major life changing decisions to make to get my life back on track. i don't blame anyone for the turbulence in my life, but i do know the difference between an excuse and a reason. there are certainly reasons why the last year has been so tough, but as a very wise man once told me- "tough times never last, but tough people do."
the shortest story...
things aren't as bad as they seem. i don't hate my father. i forgive him for all of those tears, but i will never forget them. i don't know that he has learned from his mistakes, but i hope that i have. i don't want to end up like the cat in the cradle. i continue to learn from the people that i surround myself with, and i appreciate what you all have to offer me. i carry with me the memories of a turbulent life, the mistakes of myself and others, and the strength that has gotten me through it all. things can only get better with time and the fact that i am still here is a testament to that. i've slipped, i've fallen, and i've bounced back many times; each trip has only shown my strength and endurance. now it's time that i return from a reminiscent past and continue to concentrate on now...
this is a rewritten version of an essay that i wrote in 2002 titled 'all my life's a circle: a psychological self-assessment.' i edited it down a bit, and updated it at the same time. each section is named after a harry chapin song from the album 'greatest stories live;' an album that holds a bittersweet place in my life, as it reminds me of my childhood and days gone by, both good and bad.
i have been reading this every father's day since i wrote it, as it encompasses much of my still strained relationship between my father and i. we've never really gotten each other, and i am not sure that we ever will.
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