May 2020 – Page 2 – Voices in My Head

Cookies, Cream, and Gratitude

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Life is full of challenging little obstacles, have you noticed? Miraculously, I’ve jumped over the blog-a-day hurdle, but as it turns out that was the easy part. In this age of technology, my next obstacle is to figure out how to solve my current problem of feeling like a ghost, thanks to my inability to communicate with readers and bloggers. Meanwhile, until I get around to actually doing it, I will continue to suffer through the agony of dysfunction and blunder my way through, hoping that the problem will somehow magically solve itself. Good luck with that.

I have this feeling that I’m living life in a blog vacuum because every attempt at being in touch with fellow bloggers is stymied. I can see you and hear you, but you hear nothing from me in return. I know that you’re out there somewhere, reading, commenting, liking and following—but my responses go unheard. Clearly, there is something seriously amiss in my relationship with the WordPress platform, and until I get it resolved, I’ll be living life out here in the ghost lane all by myself.

I’d like to fix the technological problem, mind you, but I need the incentive and a little willingness to get me past the objection stage. It’s like that go-to-the-dentist feeling again. I don’t really want to, but if I am to gain the benefit, I must be willing to suffer a little pain. Rats. Maybe the degree to which I suffer relates to the depth of my willingness. If it’s really worth it to me, I’m all in. If not, most likely I’ll turn and run the other way. So my ask myself, is it worth it? Am I willing to do whatever it takes to solve the problem? Maybe. Eventually. I guess that all depends on how much I want what I want.

I once spent a zany afternoon at the pig races. Yes, pig races. I loved watching all of those adorable pudgy little pink piggys whip around the track in hot pursuit of the cookies and cream waiting for them at the finish line. Clearly, those little cuties had everything they needed to get what they wanted, and they were going for it, full steam ahead.

It’s never easy to sit myself down and do the hard stuff, but eventually I’ll reach a point where it is harder not to do it than it is to just do it. Willingness is the gun that shoots me out of the gate. Without willingness and incentive, the finish line is forever away. For now, at least I’ve made it into the chute, waiting for the starting gun to blast me out onto the track. It may be a while before it does, but it will go off sooner or later and I’ll get there. Eventually.

Meanwhile, until eventually happens dear readers, likers, and followers, please know that I appreciate you beyond words and thank you so much for being there. Even though you may not see me or hear from ghostly me, I am, in fact here and thanking you—as the little girl accepting a big award once said—from my bottom to my top. I hope that you will see me soon.

Bring on the cookies and cream.

Loving What I Hate

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Yesterday I spent a few hours hanging out in a dentist’s chair with a myriad of dental miscellanea and numerous fingers simultaneously stuffed into my mouth. Whoopee. When will lunch with friends be considered essential business, I wonder?

I have never been a big fan of dental visits, dating back to my early childhood when my poverty- stricken widowed mother dutifully took my sisters and me to a free dental clinic that was furnished with rows and rows of stark black dental chairs manned by budding dental students who poked and prodded and operated without benefit of Novocain. It was terrifying.

Later when things improved, off I went to a dentist who flew his own plane and had a mistress. I swear he poked around my mouth and created multitudes of man-made cavities to support his habits. I don’t know how my mother and I ever survived those years, but I’m fairly certain that she provided at least the down payment for the plane, while my school principal questioned my excessive requests to be excused for dental appointments. Had she known early on about his expensive indulgences, I’m sure she would have jumped chairs and moved on sooner.

Hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars later, I still have all of my teeth—well, sort of, I guess, if an implant, a bunch of crowns, and a permanent bridge count as my teeth. I guess they do—I paid for them.

I have spent about a kazillion hours stressing out over the thought of an upcoming dental appointment. Noooo! Don’t make me go. I don’t want to . . . oh, the things that stick in our memory banks. It makes me wonder—how much of my life is, or has been, influenced by memories of the past?

I’ve done my best to drop the pre-dental-appointment hand-wringing habit, but sometimes I still catch myself in the act of stressing out ahead of time. Occasionally, I’ll even toss in a little resentment about how much it’s going to cost to sit in a dentist’s chair and endure a few hours of torture in the process.

Somewhere along the way though, sandwiched between the lines of past memory and present resentment, the light dawns and I realize that I am seeing amiss. I am seeing fear and hate. I could be seeing gratitude and love instead. A little transformation, please.

I am grateful that I still have teeth in my head to fix. I am grateful that I am able to pay to for necessary repairs. I am grateful that the days of terrifying dental torture is a thing of the past. I am grateful for the amazingly fabulous, wonderful technology that has brought dentistry into the present where I now live. I am grateful for a staff of kind, caring and experienced people who look after my dental health. I am grateful for every opportunity to let go of the past and transform fear into love.

Just to keep this in perspective, I offer one final note—and this one is the mother of all gratitude— I am especially grateful that my name is not George Washington and that I don’t have to live with wooden teeth. Eeks.

Note: The photo above is courtesy of New Waves of Light, a website designed by anonymous individuals around the world who share the intention of bringing light and love to a world of darkness and chaos. (newwavesoflight.org or NWOL.us).

Blessings in Boo-Boos

Stuff happens. That was the opening sentence of yesterday’s original blog before the great delete debacle happened, and what could be a better example of stuff than that? Lessons Yep. It happens when and where you least expect it. There’s big stuff and little stuff and all sizes of stuff in between, but stuff it is, and the question becomes, so what am I going to do about it?

I got a chuckle out of the response from one reader who said that when stuff like that happens to her, she runs outside and yells “fire, fire!” I am definitely going to try that sometime. The neighbors may try to catch me with a butterfly net, but hey—that’s all part of the fun.

Fortunately, yesterday’s incident was a one-act play and I was the only actor. Sometimes though, the stage is filled with an entire cast of characters enmeshed in a comedy of errors or a tragedy involving pain and suffering. When personally involved in such a scenario, I like to pretend that I’m sitting in the audience observing the show from afar and not let myself become too entangled in the story. When the play ends, I go home and analyze the plot to see what I might have changed, and study the parts of the players and my reaction to them. Often, I rewrite the ending so that everyone walks away with a sense of peace and satisfaction

Ah, good old Pollyanna. She loves those happy endings.

Then I take on the role of a theater critic, except instead of evaluating the play, the plot, and the acting, I look for meaning, lessons, and blessings. Was it worth identifying with the pain or suffering happening on stage? Was there a benefit involved, however miniscule or obscure? Did I learn anything? Is there something that I could have done differently? If I had changed my reaction, might there have been a better outcome?

Sometimes I think that the stuff that happens is a set-up job to help us move forward on the pathway toward our own enlightenment. Every glitch that comes our way arrives complete with an ending that allows us to learn a lesson, find a benefit, and embrace the blessing that is inherent within it. The ending is up to the players. We can choose happy, or we can choose unhappy. Each actor decides his or her own role.

So did I choose a happy ending after yesterday’s big boo-boo? Was there a lesson? The world didn’t end because I made a mistake. Was there a blessing? Absolutely. Once I recovered from the shock of what I had done, I thought the whole incident was hysterical. I felt a profound sense of gratitude because I was able to recover quickly and whip out a replacement blog in the space of ten minutes, and enjoy the freedom of writing with the sense of wild abandon of dancing as if no one was watching.

God bless the boo-boos, for without them we would miss the profound teachings that life has to offer us. The great lessons, gifts, and blessings always await our discovery, if we will but seek to find them. Happy hunting, my friends.

Learning Lessons in Real Time

I just spent a couple of hours writing today’s blog. I put the finishing touches on it before pushing the publish button, then accidentally pushed the delete button instead. Shoot me now. It was all about how everything happens for a reason and that there is a lesson that can be found in every unhappy, unfortunate situation. Well now. Didn’t I just give myself the opportunity of a lifetime to practice what I preach? Back to square one. Sigh.

Fellow writers and bloggers, can you relate? Lesson 1: Save. I knew that, but I flunked Save. Some of us are slow learners.

So I suck my heart back up out of my stomach and begin again. Okay, so where was I? There was something about learning from my mistakes, about wrenching my elbow out of joint while trying to extract my foot from my mouth, blah blah blah.

It was about converting miseries into miracles. I felt pretty good about it too, and even managed to find a link to add (a shortcoming, you may recall) but now alas, poof—it’s all gone. Maybe with luck I can find a new link to the thing about links. Stay tuned but don’t hold your breath.

Meanwhile, like the kid in the room with all of the manure, I know that there must be a pony in here somewhere.

Well I’m just going to have to fumble my way through this one till I find a point, or come to an end, or figure it out, or giggle my way through this cruel twist of fate, or maybe suss out a lesson, or learn to get by on a hum, a wing, and a prayer. You know—resort to your basic stream-of-consciousness stuff. What can I say?

One of the things that I’ve learned along the way is that by the time I’ve pushed the publish button, I feel as if I’ve put in a whole day’s work and it’s only 9:00 a.m. I’m done. It’s breakfast first then nap. Like I always say—we get to repeat our lessons until we learn them. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

It would really be cool if the missing blog suddenly reappeared like magic but I doubt that’s going to happen. But the miracle that I was talking about in the missing blog was about finding compassion, love, healing, and happy endings in the midst of what I call the miseries, those life situations that make you want to pull the ostrich act and run off in search of sand into which to stick the head, kind of like now, this moment, when I’d like to run off and stick my head under the covers.

Well so here’s my question to myself. Have I learned anything here (besides push the Save button, I mean)? I don’t know about that yet. It’s a little too soon. Maybe I’ll figure it out later. Or not.

Maybe it’s just about another lesson in letting go, and going with the flow, of being okay with the way things are, of loving and forgiving myself in spite of my silly foibles, of making the best of whatever the situation is. The deleted blog took a lot of time and thought. This one was whipped off in about ten minutes and was a whole lot more fun to write. Don’t know about you, but I enjoyed the process. Hope you enjoyed the read!

Ta ta for now. Off for my nap.

What’s the Point?

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Some days are just better than others. Some days I can sit down at the computer and stuff rolls out faster than I can type. Other days, not so much. Today is one of those other days. I keep wanting to compare my life to my jumbled computer filing system, but that’s just bad news and doesn’t work out well. It’s frustrating.

Friends tell me that during the pandemic, they’ve cleaned out every drawer, every closet in their home. I, on the other hand, have added to my disorganization by creating a new anthology of computer files thanks to my recent habit of writing a daily blog. Good luck to me if I want to add a link to something that I wrote days or weeks ago, because I can’t find it. One of these days I’ll print them all out and stick them in a notebook with some sort of index system. The whole sorry mess mirrors the closets and drawers of my life that still beg for my attention. Sigh

Wait—is this the point where my dear friend who was upset with me for not showing myself in a more favorable light might be angry with me again? Or perhaps is it the point where I might be a little angry with myself? (See? A link here would be a really nice touch, wouldn’t it?)

Okay, now I‘m stuck. Where am I supposed to be going from here? Is this the moment of panic where I say to myself, “See? I knew I couldn’t do it!”? Nope. Not going there.

Maybe it’s time to have a little chat with myself. Okay, fine. So I’m stuck. It’s not the end of the world. Maybe there’s a reason for stuck. Is there a point to all of this go-nowhere jabber? Am I missing something?

Oh—I get it. Maybe the point is that I don’t always have to know what I’m doing, or what is going on, but it’s okay, because that’s life. Maybe the point is that there doesn’t always have to be a point to everything, or that there may be one, but I just may not see it. Maybe my only job is to let life flow without having to control the outcome, or have an opinion about everything, and just let it be whatever it is. Maybe I’m just supposed to be the observer, the one who sits back, watches, and accepts without judging, who forgives and loves unconditionally.

I like it. That kind of a life would work for me—a-let-go-let-God sort of an existence. Maybe I just need to have enough faith, enough trust in the process to know that it’s all okay, whatever it is. Pollyanna? Maybe. But isn’t that a better existence than stressing out over every cluttered closet or lost computer file, or guys who run around with M-14’s because they don’t want to wear masks?

Maybe it’s time to practice equanimity and work on seeking a balance between being and doing (Be-Do). I can be Pollyanna and still clean up a few computer files along the way. I can shift my focus from fear to love. I can have a little faith, trust myself, and add a link. And I did. Yay me. It’s a start. Just start. Maybe that’s the point.

The Bridge from Then to Now

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There was a time when I thought it might be kind of fun to be a columnist. It was an intriguing notion, but there seemed to be just one little problem. It turns out that it was me. Imagine that!

The problem was that I had this idea that there was no way that I could ever, in my wildest dreams or imagination possibly conjure up the wherewithal, the way, the wits, determination, self-discipline, the inspiration, the creativity to crank out a column on a regular basis. Oh, the pressure! The very thought scared me to death. No sir. No column for me. I packed that thought away and slipped it into the recesses of memory along with all of my other fanciful dreams and aspirations. But that was then.

And this is now. Today, I am awake at o’dark thirty, sitting with my trusty computer on my lap cranking out a blog for the 37^th day in a row, sorting through a never ending flow of words, possibilities, and ideas that compete to show up on the page.

This is a stunning turn of events. However in the world did such a thing happen, I wonder?

What have I learned between then and now? What has changed? I guess it’s me. Wait—what am I saying? Of course it’s me.

There are about 200 more words left to write before I close the computer clamshell on today’s blog. How can I answer such a profound question in so few words? How do you cram a lifetime of personal growth in a couple of hundred of words or less?

If I had to put it in a word—literally, one word—it would be listen. Or maybe three words—listen, listen, listen.

I have always known that there is a still, small, quiet Voice within that is a whole lot smarter than I am. A spirit, a soul, a guide, or whatever one may want to call it.

But like a stubborn teenager, I have rebelled and refused to listen. I have gone off on merry toots thinking that I knew what’s right, good, and best for me, until I fall flat on my face and realize that maybe I was wrong. The prodigal daughter surrenders and returns—at least for a while, until the next time. But the voice waits patiently, ever there, to forgive and embrace me as I reenter the fold and I repent, sorry to have so rudely kept this kind helper waiting for me to get over myself. Countless times, I have left the fold, made my mistakes, then returned home.

Finally, finally, I have learned the wisdom of listening to the Voice that is a whole lot smarter than I am, the Voice that tells me the Truth about me, rather than the lies I tell to myself, the Voice that says yes you can instead of the one that says no you can’t.

Somehow through my years of trial and error, of listening and not, I have crossed the bridge between then and now and finally landed here in my Lazygirl writing the 37^th blog du jour. Who would have thought?

If I had it to do all over again, I would have listened more. Listened sooner. Listened to the Voice that knows a whole lot more about me than I do. I highly recommend it. It will take you to better places than you can ever imagine for yourself.

Tell Me What You Really Think

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It’s a brand new day on which to write another page of my life. What will be written today, I wonder? Who will show up on the page? Will Julia be lighthearted and funny today? Will she be serious and introspective? Will she be a little self-deprecating, or slightly irreverent? Or maybe check all of the above? Always a mystery, always a surprise, ever an opportunity to sit back and watch as the daily script of my life plays itself out.

Today I am aware that there are multitudes of personalities crashing around inside clamoring for attention. Me. ME. No, ME!! The committee in my head is busy at work jostling for position. It’s a circus in here. The jugglers and the clowns are duking it out for top billing and the jugglers are losing. It’s hard to keep juggling while duking it out.

Last night, one of my dear friends called to share a few thoughts about Voices. She loves me. She thinks I’m wonderful. She thinks that sometimes my writing fails to express the me that she sees, and that upsets her because she believes that I am showing the world a picture does not match her view of me. She wants me to shine, to show the best of myself to the world, to show myself in a favorable light. I’m fine being in it warts and all, if it helps anyone else.

Her comments sent me off on yet another inner quest in search of motive and purpose. Why do I write? Who am I writing for? Am I afraid of vulnerability? How do I feel about being judged, or misjudged? How am I being perceived, or misperceived? Does it matter to me? Do I care what others think? If so, why?

What a gift to have a friend who loves me enough to tell me what she really thinks.

Oh, but wait. Have I interpreted her words correctly? Did I get it right? The only way I will get an accurate answer is to ask her. My perception of her comments is strictly that: my perception. Perhaps one or both of us might be wrong. Sometimes the windows through which we view life might get a little foggy and benefit by a bit of Windex.

Here’s the bottom-line question to myself. Will I let the perceived images and impressions of others stop me, from writing, or from telling my truth? Will I let the perceptions and interpretations of others change the way I write? Or the things I say about myself? Or allow my vulnerabilities to tempt me to go into hiding? No, I think not.

I had a little chat with myself about that, and conclude that whatever turns up on the page is okay with me. And whatever anyone thinks is none of my business. So, what is it today? Is it lighthearted and funny? Serious and introspective? Or maybe a little self-deprecating, or slightly irreverent? Or check all of the above? What do you think?

Whatever it is, it didn’t quite turn out the way I expected, but that’s just part of the mystery. Always a surprise, ever an opportunity to sit back and watch the daily script play itself out. We are the writers, producers, directors, and actors of each new day. We are the ones who make it up as we go, and we’re the ones who see it through the eyes of our own inner vision. I don’t know about you, but my script has a happy ending.

Voices of Wisdom Within

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This morning while I was lying awake, I heard a male voice softly call my name.

It got my attention and I answered. Yes?

No answer. I was disappointed. I wanted more. I wanted a replay of the full-blown conversation that occurred years ago as I drifted between wakefulness and sleep.

I was a captivated participant in a profound conversation that was going on in my head between myself and an unseen male voice. He was a wise teacher; I was a naïve student asking kindergarten-level questions. Even in my naivety, I knew that I was privy to something very unique and very special.

I awoke with a sense of awe, feeling unconditionally loved by an unseen being who knew my name and cared enough about me to pay a personal visit and take me under his wing to teach me for a while. Though I vividly remembered the event, I had no recollection of the words exchanged. What stood out above all else was that this unseen being was patient, kind, understanding, gentle, and loving. He never responded to my simple, childlike questions in a way that made me feel small, insignificant, or stupid. I was treated with great respect and dignity in spite of my naivety.

Both the voice that softly called my name today, and the one who was my teacher so many years ago were clearly audible. The “reality” of those voices lends credibility to the words, and makes me yearn to hear them more often, more clearly. Maybe someday.

Meanwhile, I must rely on the unspoken words that come to me by way of impression rather than expression. Clearly, I am still a student, still in a classroom where I must acquire the ability to discern the differences between the many voices of the personality and the Truth within myself. It is a trial and error process. Sometimes I get it right. Sometimes I don’t. But always, I get to repeat the class until I ace the course.

This morning’s voice was a welcome reminder that we are blessed to have wise teachers as guides, Elder Brothers who have graduated before us and moved on to higher realms. Perhaps it is such a one who called my name, ready to hand me another assignment.

Today I realize that today’s assignment is that I must remain calm and stay strong in the eye of storm and reach out and grab ahold of a hand that will help me stand steady amidst the turmoil. As I reach out for help, I must also reach out to another, the one behind who struggles to keep up.

Who is this that calls me by name? Perhaps it is the voice of God, or the Soul, or Spirit, or Jesus, or the Higher Self. Whatever the name, when it calls, will I answer? Will you?

Dusting Off What Truly Matters

I read that clothing sales are down and pajama sales are up. Small wonder. A life in the day of a pandemic—wait—what day is it today? Time and waistlines are partners in expansion.

This week has brought me a case of lethargy complete with days that roll on by at both the crawl of a turtle and the speed of light. Is that even possible? I get up, arm myself with my coveted cup of coffee, park myself in my Lazygirl, and suck my thumb for a while until the caffeine kicks in. I contemplate, meditate, then write the blog du jour and from there, it becomes a downhill slide.

All of my good intentions, my stabs at creating a life of balance between inner and outer work go cattywampus as I search for the eject button on the Lazygirl. Huh. There doesn’t seem to be one. Drat. An unnerving pile of laundry grows in the night while layers of dust turn the dark hardwood floor the color of ash—evident mostly in the morning sun that shines its light on a dusty path as I make my way to the kitchen. Handy for me I have a friend who loves her new vacuum cleaner so much that she runs around our condo building looking for floors to vacuum. It’s a Teneco by the way. Never heard of it, but if I didn’t have her to do it for me, I might have to buy one.

I know there’s a message in here somewhere. I just need to find it. Ummm—it might have to do with how I feel about myself as I laze away the days living like a slug. Yep. That’s it. How do I feel about myself? Not good. It feels as if I’m letting myself down again by not doing the things that I know are good for me. I’m not listening to the urging of the quiet voice within myself that encourages me to get up and get moving. Life in the slug lane does not produce a feel-good sense of self. It’s depressing and I don’t like depressing. It’s enough to make me decide that it’s time to do something about my attitude. But what?

Just get up and get moving. Oh, really? Is that all? How you do that without energy, enthusiasm, or will? What am I missing? Hmmm.

Oops. Maybe I’ve lost sight of what matters most. Maybe I’ve forgotten to keep my eye upon the donut and slid headlong down into the emptiness of the hole. Maybe I have lost sight of my meaning, purpose, goals, or flunked willingness. As much as I want to clear away the dust and return to a cleaner, clearer better version of myself, there are just times when I need help. Pay attention, Julia. Ask for what you need.

Okay, God. I can’t do this myself. I need some willingness please. Like magic, willingness appears and morphs into want to. Instant presto—the fans are flamed and I’m back. When that happens—watch out world—here I come.

Forgetfulness is a mistake that I seem to repeat, but as an earnest student in the university of life, I get to retake my classes until I learn what I must. Since one of my goals is to graduate with honors, I’d better get busy and work for an A+ in Feel-Good 101.

It’s All in How You See

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When I refused to buy into a friend’s negative diatribe about current events, she accused me of sticking my head in the sand. Yep. Guilty as charged. She is absolutely correct. My ostrich self absolutely does not want to listen to anyone’s terrifying rants about the state of world affairs. It hurts my heart; it’s painful to my ears.

Don’t get me wrong here—I do not deny that the world is in a messy state and that it’s getting messier by the day. It’s just that I don’t want to focus on the big, the bad, and the ugly. It’s why I turned off the TV. Nope—I prefer the ass-end-up, head-in-sand perspective.

There are ways to see, then there are ways to see.

Here’s the thing about messy and the ugly. The more we see it, the more attention we give it, the more energized it becomes. It’s like using sand to make concrete, to plaster layer upon layer of it around the mess to make it hard, permanent, impenetrable. It becomes real and we’re stuck with it until enough of us show up to chip away at it, piece by piece until it is gone, demolished and starved of the energy it needs to survive. We can do that, you know. Like the Berlin wall. We have that power, if only we will use it.

There are ways to see, then there are ways to see.

What if we were to join together to see a new world? What if, instead of seeing a world of fear, we used our creativity and imagination to envision a new world of love, truth, beauty, goodness, harmony, and cooperation? What if we all used the power that we have within ourselves to create a new reality of peace and joy, a world devoid of fear, messy, ugly?

These are some frightening and exciting times, my friends. I keep thinking about what might be ahead, and wondering how it will all look a year or two from now. The only thing that I know for sure is that somebody pressed the reset button to get us off to a sorely-needed new start. It’s what I call making in-flight corrections. How nice to have an opportunity to do so while we are still here, living on this planet. Yes, we’re probably in for some uncomfortable times, but I know deep in my heart that we’ll be fine and that we’ll be better off for it.

We are so blessed to be standing at the crossroad of the past and future where we can dream up a new world and propel it into manifestation by the sheer power and force of our will and belief.

Yes, I prefer my Pollyanna approach to life over my friend’s negative world view beliefs. I did then, do now, and always will. You might call me an ostrich, but when there is good news on the horizon, I will happily extract my head from the sand and race full steam to meet it head on. The world is full of good news right now. We just need to see it.

Let’s get busy and start chipping away at the concrete walls of the past and replace them with some beautiful new sand castles in the air instead. Are you in?