Bite-sized inspiration

"The ship of my life may or may not be sailing on calm and amiable seas. The challenging days of my existence may or may not be bright and promising. Stormy or sunny days, glorious or lonely nights, I maintain an attitude of gratitude. If I insist on being pessimistic, there is always tomorrow. Today I am blessed."

--Maya Angelou

***

Life is short and we do not have too much time to gladden the hearts of those who travel the way with us; so be swift to love, and make haste to be kind, and the blessing of God: whose creativity crafted you, whose love leads and saves you, and whose holy breath sustains you, be ever with you, and all the world, this day and evermore. Amen.

(Author unknown; from my friend's memorial service)

Tragedy as a teacher

Dear Brooke: We gathered to mourn your absence and celebrate your life today. There were hundreds of people there -- a very full Trinity Church -- witnessing to your warmth and your generous, loving spirit. We cried for the anguish you endured as you bravely fought your illness; we laughed at your joyous approach to living (inspiring 3 weathered climbers to dance to techno music at 4 a.m. on an isolated road in Yosemite Park); we shared your teacher's awe at your brilliance as he marveled at the lessons you learned on the very first try and your capacity to master everything you studied; we smiled at your curiosity and your efforts to problem-solve Apurva's snoring when you shared a room with him on a school trip; we took note of your loyalty and your lasting example to us to live fully in the moment; and, we resolved to go forward carrying you in our hearts -- each day, each moment -- to ensure that your exceptional presence will not get stamped out by an enemy as desperate as the devil.

Today was a journey for us all. We came to the church bereaved, bewildered and yearning for your presence. What we found were countless people touched so deeply by your life that they gathered from all corners of the globe to celebrate you, even in death. I was left to wonder how many would do the same for me. Your life is a challenge to bring greater awareness to each moment and to disconnect from the frenzy I so often invite into each day. I go to bed tonight resolving to awake with the determination to delight in the present, even in trials or discomfort, rather than eagerly await for its departure; to let it teach me something, as you did by admiring the rock surfaces while trying to find your way on a craggy cliff in hand-stiffening cold. We came carrying glimpses of the person we knew, and left with a fuller vision of the richness that dazzled us all. We journeyed from the despair of your suffering to the hope of your legacy.

Forgive me, Brooke, for the frustration I expressed toward you in my last post. I know it wasn't you, but the illness, that pushed you to your final decision. Forgive me for the rawness. I still struggle to comprehend it all but I've resigned myself, as your father said today, to let myself be humbled by that which I don't understand. What I know is this: You were exceptional. You gave much of yourself to others. You were an enthusiast of life and its hidden treasures, possessing a vision and level of awareness that few have. And you were so loved.

You will not be forgotten.

Sitting with the questions

Brooke, I woke up with an empty hollow today, filled only by the questions of why you did it. I swing between anger and compassion for you, between frustration and bewilderment.

I can't imagine the exhaustion and isolation you faced as you lived each day not knowing when your high would swing to the lowest of  lows, and vice versa. Your illness had already cost you a relationship with someone with whom you shared 7 years of your life, and I imagine peering into the future was daunting for you. If getting through each day was work, the possibility of a stable, lifelong relationship perhaps seemed out of reach. I imagine that felt like insult added to injury.

The fact that this illness exists breaks my heart. It seems like a cross too big to bear. I know it can't be because I take God at his word that He doesn't send us anything that we can't conquer while relying on Him. But I still am saddened by the heavy toll it takes and the complete disruption of life that occurs. I look at every illness or hurtful event as instruments in our distilling process, yet what strikes me about bipolar disorder and extreme depression is how high the stakes are set and how many we hear of losing the battle. It makes me yearn to find those who are living with the disease under control, versus living under control of the disease.

Why did you do it? I know you must have been in a terrible spot to consider it and carry it out, but I think of going forward from this point and each moment of beauty that you'll miss; each milestone with a friend or on your own journey that won't be crossed; each memory your parents and friends won't get with you now. It breaks my heart. I struggle to better understand and to keep your humanity in focus so as not to judge you or lose sight of the person I appreciated, but what a tragic end to a life filled with promise.

I'm left to swallow the words I intended to share with you; to burn down the fences of pride that kept me from reaching out to you; to wonder forever how the heck it got to this point and if there was anything I might have been able to do to make your short life happier, and perhaps a bit longer.

A door shut forever

I lost a friend tonight. Tragically, he gave up on life. He had so much going for him -- a winning smile and a kind heart, lingual skills, a Harvard degree, friends and family who loved him. We studied abroad together 9 years ago. He was the first face I laid eyes on in the Philadelphia airport as our group gathered before boarding our flight to France to become School Year Abroad's Class of 2000-2001. I instantly developed a crush on him. There was something so soulful about his brown eyes, his tousled brown hair, the dimples in his smile and his shy spirit. As a high school junior, I doubted that this dashing post-graduate student would be interested in me. I didn't think I could take the rejection, so I returned the smile he readily gave me and inspected my shoes while I felt his gaze on me.

Brooke seemed to be able to do everything effortlessly. He spoke flawless French, having spent the early years of his life there while his father was headmaster of the school. He was a great soccer player, an avid biker, he had a leading role in the school play we performed while we were there, and he was incredibly smart. I remember seeing him walk into school in the mornings with rosy cheeks and windswept hair, slightly matted at the hairline from his bike ride to the campus. That year we had record amounts of rain but I still remember seeing his arm draped over a muddy soccer ball and his excited grin as he headed outside unfazed by the soggy landscape.

We were divided into four groups based on language. Brooke was in the first group. I was not. But even though I was at a distance from him in the classroom, it was evident that he was an academic force. His thoughtful intellect left an impression on his teachers, and he walked the hallways often lost in thought, seemingly turning over something he had learned that day or perhaps, something that he was still working out to his satisfaction.

He began dating a sweet and sincere girl, gentle by nature, who seemed to bring out the best in him. They were clearly very happy together and seemed to complement each other well. They stayed a couple for seven years, before they went their separate ways amicably. I have always wondered what might have happened had I not inspected my shoes that day in the Philadelphia airport. How my life would be different now. It is my Sliding Doors moment.

He randomly popped into my head this past weekend. I can't say why. I humored myself with the thought of making up for lost time and getting to know the guy I chose to watch from a distance nine years ago. I thought of befriending him on Facebook, but the silly schoolgirl in me again shied away from connecting with him. I told myself that with all that he had going for him, he must have plenty of friends; that even after all these years, we were still in different leagues (best language group vs. not; high school graduate vs. junior; Ivy League vs. not). I let meaningless labels prevent me from reaching out to somebody who made an impact on me, who could have been a new friend, and who needed a friend more than I could have ever imagined when I arrogantly presumed he didn't.

And now I'm left with the sadness of a life cut short way too soon; of great potential vanishing to the grave; of a hole that can never be filled and a family whose pain can never be completely healed.

This news comes on the heels of a recent discovery for me that another great guy with whom I went to high school killed himself last December. I found out via Facebook last week and it got me thinking about the horrible tragedy of mental illness. Both of these guys were such good people and there was something so special about them. Their kindness and giftedness are embedded in my memories of them. They had family and friends who loved them, were proud of them, and tried to reach them in the crippling moments of despair. And yet, tonight, I turn out the lights on a world that is poorer for their absence.

No one is replaceable. Their spot can never be filled.
The damage can never be undone.

Don't let another moment pass before you contact that person who's crossed your mind recently, or the one you sit beside daily. Time cannot be taken for granted. It just might be your last chance.

Bite-sized inspiration

live with intention.
walk to the edge.
listen hard.
practice wellness.
play with abandon.
laugh.
choose with no regret.
continue to learn.
appreciate your friends.
do what you love.
live as if this is all there is.

--mary anne radmacher

Witness

Crushed by the pain that only another human can inflict, her voice rose shrilly above the silence in our hallway. My neighbor had just been told over the phone that her husband, the father of her infant, was having an affair. The heartache hung from the uncontrollable shrieks strung together to confront him. How could he, if not in consideration for her than for their child? she asked him.

There is no pain so deeply felt than that inflicted by the carelessness or malice of another human being. I stood in my entrance hall paralyzed by the raw emotion and involuntarily sharing a pivotal, tragic moment in three lives: the breakup of a marriage. "Happily ever after" was ending. Real life had hijacked the fairy tale. My innocence shattered alongside her hope: No matter how much we believe in and plan on an end result (happy marriage, etc.), life offers no guarantees. Unpleasant realities arise without an invitation.

As I stood a silent witness to the demise of this woman's imagined future, I knew that there are few things in the world so ugly as the death of hope -- whether it be in the broken heart of a betrayed spouse, or the glazed eyes of refugees living in limbo.

Hope is that life-substance that helps us look past our current disappointments to have faith in the future. It is the vaccine that gives immunity against the pathogen of despair. It moves us past life at a standstill, past our static selves paralyzed by pain, to open our eyes to the possibilities of finding joy again. Slowly, at first, we learn to trust, to allow ourselves gradually to lose that chapter and be captured by life's goodness again -- the chance to practice our passions, whatever they may be, and to impact positively our world one person at a time. For the truth is this: Just as we can inflict the greatest pain over each other, we also can lift each other up to great heights.

I worried about this woman into whose life I had been pulled without ever having met her. Pain was our common denominator. I worried for her reaction today and for her healing in the future. Would she be one of those bitter colleagues at the office, an "empty-shell" person that Sandra Oh describes in Under the Tuscan Sun? Or would she be like Frances Mayes who grieved, grew and got a new beginning? I sincerely hope it will be the latter for her, the child's and the world's sake. When these huge hurts are overcome, one becomes an ambassador of hope, of which our world is in great need.

I eventually did get to meet her. I worried in her pain and grief, she'd do something regretful. I imagined that she must feel so alone and so I knocked on her door. I asked her if she needed anything and she smiled and calmly apologized for shouting earlier. "I was having an argument," she explained. I reassured her that I understood. She briefly teared up, thanked me and shut the door. Her discretion impressed me. I could relate with her pride.

I prayed that what she truly needs she receives and that she may find and walk the road to healing. My decision today: I will not be a silent witness when faced with despair.

--February 3, 2008

***

Inspired by that encounter I wrote the following two poems: 

Phoenix

The news breaks.
The cold shower soaks you to the bone:
You've been betrayed
by the one closest to you.

Reality hijacks the fairy tale.
Castles in the cloud crumble to dust.
All that you knew and took for granted is shattered.
Your life is a blank slate.
Your comfort zone evaporates,
sparing not even the immediate perimeter around you
You are not even at home in yourself.

A monumental task lies before you
as you stand dazed on quivering knees:
Rise phoenix-like from the ashes of your former life
to rediscover yourself beyond
the comforts of the hypnotizing routine
that carried you up to the moment of truth.
Your tears will someday bring life to another in this situation.
You will be a testament to courage,
an ambassador of hope.

For now, grieve
but surround yourself with supportive friends
who will share in your loss
and pull you from despair's quicksand.

***

Untitled

Pain strikes like a snake
at your most vulnerable spot
The venom of despair and anger
burn through your blood,
paralyzing your thoughts

You cry out and collapse
expecting death is near
But you awake the next morning
with the ache
surprised by your body's ability to run
without your participation

Some sit with the venom
as if it were medicine for their pain
It overtakes them and
transforms them
into a poisonous presence

Others spit it out and
detoxify their wound
the scar will always be there
but its power and the pain fade

A very few find they are
strengthened by their wounds
discovering new purpose and drive in their lives.
They are an enviable lot --
seemingly immune to the venom
that swallowed so many
But it is their pain management, not immunity,
that is their secret strength.
They open themselves to the
challenging effects of suffering
and rise above it all.

Just another day?

"If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other."  (Mother Teresa)

What is it about normalcy
that allows us to forget that we belong to one another?
Each day in which we're allowed
to sail from dawn to dusk without tragedy,
we ignore
trample upon
and bicker with each other.
We see only obstacles
or time thieves in each other.
We are offended if anyone should think differently than us --
and God forbid they express their opinion!

But when horror strikes --
as it did on September 11 --
we act as if we all breathe from the same pair of lungs.
We forget our petty disagreements
and differences.
We lean upon and
cling to one another
as lifesavers in a stormy sea.
Gone are our annoyances
with the challenges of living together.
We see our kindred spirit,
are reminded of our shared humanity,
and recognize that we do, in fact, belong to one another.

--July 2, 2008

Missed opportunity or understated success?

In this day and age, there's now such a thing as "digital dating abuse." The Family Violence Prevention Fund set up thatsnotcool.com to educate teens about unhealthy texting patterns, violating your partner's email account or social networking page, and/or pressuring said partner to "sext" or take nude pictures.  Here's the pitch:

Your mobile, IM and online accounts are all a part of you. When someone you're dating is controlling, disrespecting or pressuring you in those spaces, that's not cool.

I think it's a great idea and a laudable cause, but I wonder how many teens will get drawn in by sock puppets. That kind of mascot worked brilliantly for Fandango, but those are movie tickets and this is abuse. Maybe I'm wrong and the lighthearted nature will ultimately hook more teens and increase the viral component. But I think FVPF and the Ad Council missed the full potential of the campaign by packaging it in gauze, and risk alienating themselves from the demographic by trying too hard to be cool or treating them like kids.

Love this ...

"Based on a true story, this poignant moment in a concert hall reminds us how even the most embarrassing situations can be turned around with a little patience and encouragement." (Foundation for a Better Life)

Third best job in the world?

If being the island caretaker in Queensland, Australia is the Best Job in the World, and going on an international shopping spree is the Second Best Job in the world, what would be the third?

Continuing with the theme, travel and writing would be basic components. But would the job involve sampling cultural fare in a certain tier of restaurants around the world (consider me signed up!)? Or hopscotching globally to follow musical acts (as mentioned by a fellow blogger)? Or dancing in international competitions (another with my name on it :-] )?

Ideas?

Bite-sized inspiration

I am only one, but still I am one.
I cannot do everything, but still I can do something;
and because I cannot do everything,
I will not refuse to do the something I can do.

--Helen Keller

Death Row

I can't imagine what it must be like less than 24 hours before your family member is scheduled to die; the current of emotions that must seize you. I can imagine even less what that's like for a victim of domestic violence whose ex-husband is up next.

Mildred Muhammad is in that position now. Emerging from the shadowy years of her marriage to the D.C. sniper, she has used the discussion on her ex-husband's crimes and punishment to draw attention to the millions of families victimized by violence at home. I can understand that she might feel relief at the thought of her greatest threat going to the grave. But with her children about to lose their father -- and, however frightening a character he may be, he still is their dad -- things get more complicated.

I'm at a place now in my healing where I'm beginning to be able to recall the good memories of my nearly five-year relationship without shuddering at the impact of it. But those fleeting moments of remembered emotion -- contentment, joy, affection -- leave me with confusion sometimes and awe that despite having been in grave danger, the mind is still able to preserve and recall positive moments relating to that person.

I wonder if it's like that for women with years of an abusive marriage behind them. Do any positive memories get folded between the PTSD flashbacks and nightmares? Or is it only a steady stream of anger, disillusionment and a desire to erase their spouses from their past? As the clock ticks closer to 9 p.m. Tuesday, will Ms. Muhammad be remembering the good times that brought them together initially? worrying about the impact of his death on her children? or praying for the victims' family and envisioning the world without him?

UPDATE: John Allen Muhammad died Tuesday at 9:11 p.m. in Virginia. Here, his wife mentions how she and the children are dealing with the emotional aftermath of the execution.

A favorite right now ...

Bite-sized inspiration

If we study the lives of great men and women
carefully and unemotionally
we find that, invariably,
greatness was developed, tested and revealed
through the darker periods of their lives.
One of the largest tributaries of the River of Greatness
is always the Stream of Adversity.

--Cavett Robert

Rihanna speaks out

When this story broke in February, I was at work fighting for professional composure to hide the emotional rawness that creeped to the surface as I learned more details. Rihanna's trauma gave me flashbacks of my own, being only seven fragile months (what seemed like seven minutes) into trying to pick up the pieces of my shattered self. I had already tried to walk away at least six times by that point, with one final (successful) attempt awaiting me 7 months in the future.  But the only thing I felt that day in February was transported back to the fear and panic of August 2008 -- surviving the verbal abuse, humiliation, intimidation and rage that left a hole in my wall and in my soul.

I never fixed the wall. I made a choice to leave it as a reminder of what I escaped from, what would have been waiting for me in the future. The hardest thing about emotional abuse is that it's experienced in your mind. You don't look in the mirror and see a black eye. There's no police report detailing the ways he's hurt you. As soon as the attack passes, you're weaker but you deny it, you spin it, or you believe his insults. The punctured wall proved my fairy tale had become a nightmare. It was a matter of time before he aimed for my head.

Having said that, I made the same mistake that Rihanna talks about. The wall should have been my wake-up call, and it was for a good 9 months. But I let the lingering feelings of love and his pleas and promises woo me back to lethal ground. It took a death threat for me to come to my senses.

**My favorite quotes from this interview:

"I'll say this to any young girl going through domestic violence: Don't react off of love. F' love. Come out of the situation and look at it third-person and for what it really is and then make your decision. Because love is so blind. It's so blind. "

"I am strong. This happened to me. I didn't cause this. I didn't do it. It happened to me and it can happen to anybody; and I'm glad it happened to me because now I can help young girls as they go through it."

The green-eyed monster

"Jealousy in romance is like salt in food. A little can enhance the savor, but too much can spoil the pleasure and, under certain circumstances, can be life-threatening."

--Maya Angelou

Bite-sized inspiration

You have made us for yourself, Lord, and
our hearts are restless until they rest in you.

--St. Augustine of Hippo

Time for Power Playlist #2

I've transitioned from "I think I'm leaving" and "I'm leaving" to the next phase of reaping the rewards of reclaiming myself, building a stronger core than before, growing in new ways and having fun.

What would YOU put on the new list? (Please be genre-agnostic. I don't care how the song sounds; I love hearing new ones and if it's got the message, I'm down with it). 

Songs that have been suggested or come to mind:

So What? (Pink)
Stronger (old-school Britney)
Hate on Me (Jill Scott or Amber Riley) :)
Stronger (Kanye)
Superwoman (Alicia Keys) **LOVE it!
Stronger (Mary J. Blige)

To avoid repetition, here's Power Playlist #1:

***

Bruised but not broken
Get up, stand up
Stand beside me
My Worst Fear
Spotlight
Take a bow
Stand
Beautiful
There's more to me than you
Ten thousand angels
Remember that
Burn
I'm moving on 
A Voice Within
Georgia
Shut Up and Drive
Bye Bye
I Will Survive
Who I Am
Tattoo
Better in Time
Fighter
Breakaway
The Climb
One Day Closer to You
A New Day has Come
Weight of the World
Born to Fly
More Beautiful You
Bless the Broken Road
That's the Way it is
Respect
I Didn't Know My Own Strength
Consider Me Gone
Womanizer
Apologize

***

Email me or post a comment. I'll update the list as I get suggestions. I think we might be able to build the best playlist ever. :)

Living masterpieces

February 28, 2008

Simply existing does not mean that we become the person God intended when He created us. We are the coal that needs to be re-formed into the diamond. Only by inviting Him into our lives and efforts and not shielding ourselves from the pain that distills our essence further can that happen.

If marble had nerve centers, Michelangelo's sculptures would be screaming as he worked. Yet at the end of the process, they would step back and admire their form with awe, thanking him for releasing them from that which obscured their identity.

The same is true for us. We start out as a block of marble -- undefined to the untrained eye, yet God sees what is behind, beneath, within it all. He uses our frustrations, passions, pains and joys to chisel away the parts that obstruct our true selves. The more we invite Him into our lives, the more accurately we reflect His vision of who we are; so that, ultimately, we, too, will step back and thank Him -- despite the painful moments of definition -- for revealing our true selves and bringing us to life.

Dance with fire

October 2007

Scattered clothing
stolen kisses
bodies churning
love is missing

Empty passion
fraudulent words
lying actions
unquenching thirst

Vows are broken
trust is shattered
souls imprisoned
hearts are battered

Betrayal tells
a lack of grace
resistance quelled;
a change of pace

Diseases, hurts
self-doubts and pain
can love ever
be whole again?

Feared leaks of truth
clamp down the tongue
a bloom of youth
fades from the sun

Smoke fogs the mind
eyes start to burn
escape desired
nowhere to turn

Wounds are branded
atop the pyre
stealing someone:
a dance with fire.

Ostrich

Your head is buried in selfish sands
You pine for flight,
convinced that because you are a bird
you are entitled to it.

But your leg muscles are
stronger than your wings
--conditioned by the many times you've run away
from people you've invited into your life

Flight happens with others
but your form of relating carries you away from them
Your wings flap in an impressive span,
having mastered the art of display
and engagement
but they know nothing of
the soaring sensation accompanying a commitment
to live life's best and worst moments with another;
the euphoria of leading the flock for awhile
and then circling back and relaxing in formation.
These you may look at as leashes on your azad ('freedom' in Farsi)
but parvaz (flight) happens with others.

Community unlocks our potential and
pushes us to our perfection.
But you are blind to the reality
driving your loneliness
And you will be for as long as
you smother your senses in selfish sands.

January 8, 2008

Bite-sized inspiration

If it is to be, it is up to me. If peace is what we need, I must be the one to plant the seed. If love is what we desire, I must be the one to light the fire. If happiness is what we demand, I must be the one to make and carry out the plans.

--Author unknown