Confined beauty

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Rose bushes that are scraggly, need pruning, are struggling to stay alive and are infrequently watered make me sad.

There’s a stretch on my drive home that has a ton of them planted in the tiniest openings in the sidewalk. It’s like someone ran out of concrete every few feet and wanted to make sense out of their mistake.

“Hey, Hank — see those 10″ x 10″ patches? Let’s plant something there.”

They look tired, but they persist. They don’t thrive, they simply push on. They pull what they can from the dewy mornings, damp and foggy evenings, and hope on a daily basis that there’ll be more tomorrow. That they might be pruned a little. That they’ll get a chance to grow again.

That tomorrow doesn’t come, but they hope that it might. Someday.

The sun beats down and its petals are fried and crispy. Signs of life are but mere remnants.

They’re kind of like us, in a way. We hold out hope that better is just around the corner.

We remember better days and want to get back there. We know what we’re made of, and we know we have beauty to share — if only we could get the chance.

A break.

An opportunity.

We’d like for someone to come along an unlock our splendor. We see them pass by each day, but nobody is the one.

But we’ll wait. For as long as it takes. We don’t give up easily when there’s so much life in each of us.

Yes, we will wait. Patiently.

Tonight I am thankful for knowing that no matter how rough the going might get, holding onto the beauty that’s inside each of us is one of the most important things we can do — for ourselves, and for a world that deserves to see it.

The Write Away

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I saw a Facebook comment someone had posted about a news story. The individual meant to say that someone had “the right of way,” but, for whatever reason, it came out, “the write away.”

Maybe it was a typo that turned into an autocorrect fail, or maybe the person really thought that’s what the phrase is. It doesn’t matter. But it got me thinking.

As writers, sometimes we share our point of view, another’s point of view, we think out loud, we rant, we rave, we release, we ponder. I’d like to think that we do all these things while keeping truth at the forefront. Maybe we do, or maybe we don’t. But when we write and — in particular — when we release, we can write away the topic at hand.

Whether blogging or journaling, writing a novel or a poem, our release can be the equivalent of putting a letter in a bottle, tying a note to a balloon, or scribbling recklessly on college-ruled paper and lighting it on fire.

I write for the joy of it, for its cathartic properties and because I know that keeping things inside instead of writing them away will make me go mad.

And when we need to let it out, we owe it to ourselves to release it fully. Don’t yield to anyone, even yourself. Don’t second-guess.

You have the right of way. Take it.

Tonight, for the new perspective on the right of way, and for a typo that shed light on the truth, I am thankful.

A Diamond in the Rough?

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We see the potential in a lot of things — potential that tells us something is worthy of our time. Worthy of our investment.

An old car we want to restore.

An old house that needs some TLC to graduate from fixer-upper to the space of our dreams.

A struggling business that we want to buy because we can imagine the profit it will turn.

Rarely do we give relationships the same time, it seems. More and more, it feels like a decision is made about a potential significant other in the first thirty seconds.

Some might say they simply know what they want, so why waste the time? I would be in that camp, in fact. But what if we were programmed to fully consider someone for five G-rated dates until our brains were able to decide anything?

What if we were incapable of forming any opinion about someone else until the end of that fifth outing?

Would we have longer lasting relationships?

Would we have fewer divorces?

Would we be less afraid to put ourselves out there?

Would we be more in tune with what’s best for us in the long run instead of just for one night?

I’m not advocating wasting time, as I’m a big fan of cutting my losses. I am advocating giving some people the same sort of chance we’d give a fixer upper, a car bathed in rust and any other diamond in the rough.

Tonight I am thankful for the thought process that a home renovation show spurred in me, and for knowing that just a little bit of time can reveal a lot about our investments, our motives and the people in our lives.

The Try

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When it comes to possibly stepping outside of my comfort zone, I can be pretty swift about passing up such an opportunity. After all, why change comfy?

The interesting part is that I clearly realize that there is, in fact, opportunity in switching things up. And yet I shy away from it.

During those rare times when I face it head on, however, I realize that the fear of stepping outside my comfort zone is far worse than any discomfort caused by going after it.

The stress of imagining every possible outcome is far greater than the actual outcome.

The act of taking the bull by its horns makes you realize the horns aren’t that big after all.

We don’t stop breathing, our world doesn’t end, and we’re not less than we were before we tried something new if we try and don’t succeed.

The try is more important than the results, because at the end of the day it’s a numbers game. Without the try, there will be no success.

But when we try, we are telling ourselves that we’re worth it. And we are.

Tonight I am thankful for trying and for coming up empty, because the next try will be that much easier to tackle.

It comes to this?

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Five weeks ago, I adopted a rescue for my other adopted rescue. The first needed a buddy, so a buddy I set out to find.

I got the first from my vet, and rescue #2 ended up coming from the same place. They’d been neighbors and would paw at each other playfully during their five months cooped up in cages. I knew it was no way for young kitties to live out their lives.

Sometime during the past week, rescue #2 — Tucker the tabby — began to not look so hot. Long story short, Tucker is at the vet, newly diagnosed with cholangiohepatitis, and is essentially awaiting his fate.

I feel terrible.

What started out as a good deed — an adoption to reunite a kind, quiet boy with his friend and give him a forever home in the process — has kept me in tears most of the evening.

While Tucker is resting comfortably at the vet’s office thanks to pain meds, antibiotics and a cocktail of other things, Jack is here with me at home meowing loudly and wondering where his friend has gone.

If the meds don’t bring Tucker’s toxic blood levels down, the next step would be an ultrasound to, more or less, figure out what to operate on.

To say that we won’t be operating kills me. I cannot afford it.

I cannot afford him.

If love was money, this would be a non-issue.

He will either be given back to the vet, or put down. I’ve never put any creature down.

I have love coming out my ears, but not dollars. And dollars are what it will take to save him if the meds don’t work.

They say that I’ve done my best and given him a loving home that he wouldn’t have otherwise known. They say it’s in God’s hands, but I feel like the answer is in my wallet. But it is empty.

Tonight I am thankful for a vet with a large, beautiful, understanding heart, for a quiet, shy boy that I had for five short weeks, and I send up prayers for a miracle to happen.

The Tomorrow String

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One of the most interesting things about this world that we all share is tomorrow.

Tomorrow. It means a clean start full of fresh offerings, radiant hope and exciting potential.

Tomorrow. It asks that we all hang in there so that we can give it a chance and see what it delivers.

Tomorrow is never guaranteed, occasionally dreaded, but always just around the corner.

Tomorrow inspires doing, yet also spurs complacency. The latter is a slippery slope, because putting something off for a day could ultimately make it irretrievable.

One day becomes one week, then one month. Before you know it, it’s been a year of nothing — nothing but tomorrows that have banded together like an impenetrable force that challenges you to break through it.

Can you?

Tomorrow is a blessing and a gift, but it’s a gift we can easily — and inadvertently — take advantage of.

Tonight I am thankful for remembering that the gift of tomorrow can also be a stumbling block. The tomorrow string wants to clothesline us, but if we can harness its potential, we can be the ones in control.

What are you putting off?

The Offering Plate

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Have you ever seen something, met someone or been in a situation that suddenly seemed to make sense of your life?

Occasionally you pause and really think about it — your existence, that is. Its twists and turns seem nonsensical. Its ups and downs feel more exhausting than educational. Its challenges seem anything but character-building.

The compass of your life feels like it’s spinning out of control. It doesn’t stop and point in any particular direction, it just spins.

It’s dizzying, like a teacup at Disneyland, like having one too many glasses of wine, like spinning on a merry-go-round, and like being tossed about in the surf without being able to catch a breath or get your footing.

Then in a split second, it all makes sense.

This is why I’m here.

This is what I was made for.

This is why my life is the way it is.

I often wonder why my life is the way it is. I like it a lot — don’t get me wrong. It’s just not “the norm,” according to society for the most part…not that the norm is necessarily the right way for all.

Mine is a quiet life. I’m recently starting to see its potential, or rather the contribution I could make to the world. I think I’ll get there someday.

I’ve felt for years like the offering plate was being passed in front of me, and all I could give were a few pennies — old, dirty, tarnished pennies…pennies with gum and little bits of paper stuck on them. Now I’m starting to give nickels, even dimes. I can see the day when I’ll be able to give quarters, then when I’ll be able to maybe even give a five dollar bill — or write a check.

This has nothing to do with actual money. It has everything to do with how I’d like to pay back this life, and how I’d like to show my thanks — my gratitude.

I went to a concert last night that reminded me I have a few talents with a thick layer of dust on them. They’re talents that used to give me incredible joy, but I let life take over and forgot to make time for those things that made my heart sing. Last night I saw them again, and I promptly apologized to them for having been shelved as long as they have.

My life is the way it is — quiet, simple, solo — because I’m meant to make time for them. I was reminded of my potential by two strangers — strangers who are now inspirations, and whose own contributions became like a new friend to my spirit.

For them, for clarity, for the order which came to light, I am most thankful.

When the offering plate comes around, what will you give?

Help matters.

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I wasn’t sure if he’d been struck or not, but his appearance certainly struck me.

A man was face down on the concrete, his body contorted in such a way that told me his position wasn’t intentional. It looked like he simply crumbled — his body was in a heap.

Nobody had pulled over to wait near him as far as I could tell, but I assumed that someone had for sure called the police to alert them of this man’s situation. He was in plain view. Morning commuters by the hundreds were flying by. Even I continued driving, just like everyone else.

And then I stopped a block later. Was I just going to keep driving? Of course not.

I imagined hearing a news story about a dead man found on a sidewalk in broad daylight, and I imagined the uproar over nobody checking on him. I imagined his devastated family wanting answers. I retrieved my phone from my purse and called 911.

Even if someone already had called, what’s the harm in calling again? A life could be hanging in the balance, and that life needed assistance.

I told the 911 operator I saw the man on the northwest corner of Beach and Trask.

“So what street is he on?”

“Um…both. It’s a corner. He’s on the corner,” I said.

“Oh. Well, is he a transient, by chance?”

The question confused me. Did it matter? He’s a person — a human being. He has a name. And if your job is to protect and serve, I can’t imagine how that question is relevant.

Even if transients were less deserving of assistance, which they aren’t, that logic would reason that the non-transient public should naturally be kept safe from him — in which case assistance of some form is still needed.

Quickly.

But regardless of his status.

So, please — just send someone out to check on the man, face down on the concrete, who clearly is out of place during morning rush hour. The scene doesn’t add up. At all.

How did 305 people escape from a Boeing 777 following a crash landing in San Francisco? They helped each other. They spoke up and gave their fellow passengers a hand. They didn’t ask whether someone was sitting by the window, in the middle or on the aisle before helping. They didn’t ask whether a person in need had been seated in first class or not.

They didn’t ask these things because they don’t matter.

Help matters.

I can see how getting the full picture to pass along to an officer is important. But in situations like this morning, there should only be two buckets of people: those who need help, and those who don’t. The man fell into the former bucket, period. Everyone in that plane was in that bucket, too.

Tonight I am thankful for making the call I know I needed to make — for me, and for him. I don’t help as often as I know I can — and surely I turn away intentionally at times, but we live in a world where doing the right thing is a rare thing. Today it felt good to make it a little less rare than it was yesterday.

Zip it.

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There’s a lot to be said for speaking your mind. There’s even more to be said for speaking it in a tactful manner.

A lot of people these days are praised for running their mouths. For being crass. For being the type of “blunt” that isn’t productive. For telling secrets that aren’t theirs. They get jobs because of it, they make millions off it. They turn lives and private matters into public fodder.

I spoke my mind in a not-so-productive manner at work once. To a coworker. It was brief, but it ended in me hanging up on them. Mature, right?

It wasn’t the best decision I’ve ever made. I was frustrated with my role, and had been for a couple of years…not because of said individual, but because I was done with the job. I was done with the politics, the red tape, the BS, the everything. The job would’ve been fine otherwise. Yet I hung up on someone who didn’t deserve it. I think the only person I’d hung up on before that time was a dude I dated in my mid-20s…and I only did that because he liked to be completely drunk when he’d call. Who has the time?

I should’ve given my time to my coworker, but I didn’t. I let my environment get the better of me. Don’t we all at some point or another?

There are some people who move through life with such a wake in their shadow that they almost seem deserving of my treatment. This guy wasn’t one of them, however. He was just in my wake.

Tonight I am thankful for knowing that environments can take over, and that we should all be more aware of our responses. I was aware a little too late, but the number of times I’ve thought of that situation could’ve made me a millionaire by now…or at least helped me accumulate a down payment on some property. Here’s to being aware of our environments, of the true cause of any angst and to not taking others out as we struggle to stay afloat.

The phrase, “If you have nothing good to say, say nothing at all” is more true more frequently than we realize. May we all tune into it.

The Sneaky Weasel

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Preparation is like a sneaky weasel. Entertain it when you have a free moment — give it some attention here and there — and things generally maintain their order. Ignore it and it’ll catch you off guard…each and every time.

Preparation is the thing which tells us that if we’re up before our alarm goes off, there might be a reason for it. Is there something you could — or should — be doing?

Preparation occasionally masquerades as routine. Doing something day in and day out — something that might seem tedious but necessary — is the thing you’ll look back on with a sense of pride when you realize all those days paid off. Maybe it’s preparing for a race or an event, or perhaps it’s the day when a simple hobby becomes more and earns you a few extra bucks. Maybe it’s fitting into a bridesmaid dress.

Preparation removes the uncertainty, allows for restful nights and a clear conscience.

Is there something looming that needs your attention? Are you doing your part, or saving up your energy to hope that luck pays you a visit?

Tonight I’m thankful for preparation, planning and realizing that even if things don’t ultimately go the way we’d like, we’ve done our best and set ourselves up for continued efforts in the future. It feels good to prepare. It feels even better when we see the fruits of our labor.