HastyWords's Blog, page 49

PHANTOM STEPS

Phantom steps…  steps…  steps…

Walk around his bed at night

He smiles, half asleep, knowing

He was loved and taken care of

Time warps itself around him

Carries him too often from here

And he longs for those moments

Between sleep and wake

Where he can feel her presence

Pretend for just a few more…

He is making her laugh

He is wiping her tears

He is holding her hand

That he can just reach out…

Touch her face

Kiss her lips

Feel her skin

Or just…

Lie and listen to her soft snore

Watch her as she dreams

Or feel her heart beat

Phantom steps…  steps… steps…

Remind him she’s gone

Tagged: blog, cheerpeppers, love, NaBloPoMo, POEM, Poet, POETRY, relationships, Romance, Write

I FOUND GOD IN THE SPINNING

Sometimes, as I lay under a clear night sky, I will imagine I’m a star letting the quiet absorb the sound of my flames.  I begin to feel the loneliness of it.  The sheer desperation to connect burns so bright inside me that I am like a flashlight searching across the universe for someone to notice me.    

I notice you. 

I start to count the stars in the sky and whisper “I see you”.   I notice them from the small amount of universe I occupy.  And then I smile to myself, feeling silly for giving the stars human emotion.

And then I think about Earth.  The spot I am laying on.  How magnificently large it is and how sturdy and stable and reliable and yet… 

Gravity

How strange it is that I am so obliviously dependent on the speed at which the ground beneath me spins.  How night and day are separated by this rotation.  How oceans churn and how the land inhales and exhales inside the atmosphere it has created. 

And I feel small.

I am helplessly reliant on such a small thing for existence. 

I feel like the star.

I am a flash of light desperately seeking to be seen by something much bigger than the universe around me.  I seek assurance that my reality isn’t governed by a chaotic mishap of perfect conditional circumstance. 

I lie there invisible to the insensate reality I call home and I am in awe. 

Without my ability to consciously perceive I would not care about the spinning of the earth or the miracle of my being.  I would not care about falling in love.  About creating kindness.  Or about humanity or the meaning of life. 

I feel small but my sentience makes me feel important.   

I am a living star.

And someone…

Something out there…

Notices me.

 Part of NaBloPoMo and CheerPeppers.com
Tagged: Beauty, cheerpeppers, Connection, Emotion, Fiction, God, NaBloPoMo, Spiritual, Spirituality, Story

HIS ABSENCE

Rain fell from a black sky

But the sand beneath her

Drank it from existence

And she stood waiting

As the rain fell on her

Face, neck, arms, breasts

Accumulating

As if she was made of wax

Her body was exposed

Naked

And spotted with age

Her hair was long

The color of tarnished nickel

And darkened

As it caught heaven’s drops

The sea churned before her

And the melancholy of night

Dove from the beach

Into the inky black waters

And having waited long enough

She knew what his absence meant

His life was finally fully lived

And the day she rescued him

Would no longer be celebrated

So she walked back into the waves

And waited for home to swallow her

Once and for all

And forevermore

 

Part of NaBloPoMo and CheerPeppers.com

 

Tagged: Beauty, cheerpeppers, Death, Fiction, life, mermaid, NaBloPoMo, POEM, POETRY

SLOW REALIZATION

She had been lying on the floor staring at the ceiling for some length of time.  The sun had come and gone and the day had not made any new marks upon her recollection.  Realization would come.  But not right now.

Eventually she would fall asleep and dream about screaming cats and falling rainbows.  Hordes of red angels would march in sharp lines from one horizon to the next until the only thing left of her dreams was a throbbing headache behind swollen eyes.

Realization

She was old.  Overweight.  Exhausted and all out of fun.  She had nothing left to give and it was showing.  Her unkempt hair, chipped nail polish, sandpaper heels, and bristly leg hair proved its case to everyone who saw her.  This was it.  The end.

Realization

Her naked body felt as if it had been strapped to the floor.  How long had she been lying there in her closet?  It had been days and her phone had died.  The closet had been emptied the month before along with half of everything else in the house.  All that was left was his smell.

55 years they had been married.

Kids had been raised.  Grand kids were having grand kids.  Holidays and birthdays had become a web of electronic lives being lived without her. Her house was paid off and retirement had been successfully saved.

And he left.

The love of her life….

Left

Retirement with her was too calm.  Her body was too old.  Her wisdom was too cautious.  Her steps were too slow.  She shook when she served him breakfast and that made him sad.  Their routine had become her comfort and his prison.

Realization

Someone else more beautiful and younger than her would serve him breakfast now.  He would watch the sunrise holding his new lady close, kissing her as the sun set.  He would sit reading the paper while his lovely lady cooked supper each night.  They would skip rocks under the stars and picnic on rooftops overlooking graffiti lives.  While…

She lied alone, stuck paralyzed, to her closet floor.

Realizing

Dying

Decaying

Part of NaBloPoMo and CheerPeppers.com
Tagged: blog, blogger, Death, Depression, Divorce, Fiction, life, NaBloPoMo, Story

WRONG SIDE OF REALITY

 

I can tell because of the fog

That I must take special care

I must write my name in it

On the foggy piece of glass

So as to not forget myself

It’s easy to get lost inside

The wisps of “here nor there”

Surrounded by smoky layers

Of “what if’s” and “why not’s”

I write my name so I can tell

I exist somewhere more real

And that I am in real danger

Stuck in a place much worse

Than Alice has ever found

A plane of existence where

All the regrets are lurking

Waiting to jump from clouds

As if they are real monsters

Waiting to release grenades

Full of poisonous green vapor

Where fields of buried mines

Sit armed and trip triggered

Where friends and foes

And passing random strangers

Stop and watch from the shadows

Hidden inside bushes and trees

To laugh and sneer and ridicule

Every step you take…

Just waiting…

For that moment you decide

You aren’t worth the struggle

It’s my name though

The one I wrote on that foggy glass

Reminding me

I am on the wrong side of reality

For now

 

 

Part of NaBloPoMo and CheerPeppers.com

 

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Tagged: cheerpeppers, Dark Poetry, Depression, Mental Health, Mental Illness, NaBloPoMo, Pain, POEM, Poet, POETRY

#BeREALATIONSHIPS: OH BROTHER

Please welcome Don Ortolano to #BeREALationships.

Where did this relationship between brothers start? Well, actually, it started before my younger brother, Robert, was even born.

I recall the day well, even though it is in many ways, an eternity ago.

It was one of those beautiful, cool sunny days in New York and I was walking with my Mom on 14th street on the lower west side of Manhattan.14th street was a favorite route for Mom. Lined with discount shops, department stores and fun places to grab a slice of pizza, or, our favorite, Italian Lemon Ice, 14th street was a great place for a family on a tight budget , and that certainly described us, to find some excellent bargains. We could walk 14st all the way to Kleins department store.(long gone, but located in the trendy SoHo district today)

It wasn’t a long walk, but not short either for a six-year-old trying to keep up with his pretty energetic mom. On this particular day, after we had enjoyed our Italian Ice, she casually asked me; ” would you like a little brother?”

“Wow, a litter brother?”, I thought. That would be neat… My best, and only, friend, Richard Zimmer had a brother and he seemed happy with him. Besides, if I had a little brother I would always have someone to play with and watch television with.

“Yes… I want a little Brother”, I said.

I remember a sweet smile come to Mom’s face when she said; “Good, I think we will get you one.”

I wondered where we would get my little brother? Maybe we would get him when we got to Lanes (another department store) today? Did they sell little brothers there? Or maybe we would take a bus ride and buy him “Up-Town”, surely they had plenty of good little brothers up town.

Mom assured me that he would arrive in a very special way and I accepted that. Of course, in my young mind i was thinking that perhaps Santa or the Easter Bunny would make a special delivery and I was excited . I didn’t even know when this special delivery would be, but Mom and Dad kept saying “soon”. As you probably know, to a child’s mind, “soon” can be an eternity .

Finally, on May 14, Robert Anthony Joseph Ortolano arrived at 290 west 12th street. I never saw Santa or the Easter Bunny, but there he was, in moms arms; and thus began the brotherly relationship that was, and still is, in my mind: epic.

A major factor in the strength of our relationship, especially in the early years, was an almost complete dependence upon each other for companionship and fun. Mom was very overprotective, leaving us very few friends outside of the home . We became best friends early and that has lasted a lifetime.

Though we are two completely different people, with different needs and affinities, the things we had in common from earliest recollections are almost uncanny.

We loved the same TV shows as kids, laughed hysterically at the same comedy. We could quote lines from Get Smart, F Troop, Gomer Pyle and many more.Good lord , we still quote( and laugh) at the same lines today! But it wasn’t just the comedies: we became engrossed and literally emotionally involved in the TV dramas as well. The members of Vic Morrows squad on the wonderful show “Combat” became very real personalities to us. We lived and died with them every week. A show that lasted only a brief time , The Americans” became an instant favorite. We related to the two brothers caught on different sides during Americas tragic Civil War. We waited with great excitement for the next weeks episode.We both became Civil War buffs and later in life were blessed to be able to visit some of the great battlefields together: Petersburg, Gettysburg and others. The Civil War became a lifelong conversation for us, sharing books, movies and differing views.

Ah, and the Westerns! We became devoted fans of the young scout on the TV hit “Rawhide”. Rowdy Yates was played by a very , very young Clint Eastwood, and thus began another lifelong bond. Eastwood was a hero us. The loner that no one messed with: he was everything that we insecure, not very tough kids ,wished we were. The classic Spaghetti westerns are to this day some of our favorite movies of all time. We could quote line after line and did just that many a night in the bedroom we shared. Laying on our single beds separated by an old desk, we discussed just how cool the “Man with no Name” was.

You see where I’m going with this? We loved the same things. In the face of a six year age difference, we had basically the same taste in everything.

Music! My lord music was,and is, such an important part of our lives. And so eclectic! Everything from the Stones to Queen… Johnny Cash, Frank Sinatra, and Elvis… Of course , the Four Seasons….Frankie Lane….Simon and Garfunkel… We knew all the words…. We sang their songs together in some damned good harmony, thank you very much.

We saw the Stones together… Live…. We saw Sinatra live… Once, the Stones and Sinatra on the same weekend! Incredible.

The summers In Lake Hopatcong, NJ. Priceless. Going to the now closed Bertrand Island amusement park on a warm Summer evening with Mom and Dad . The aroma of the park and the lake…always the two of us enjoying every beautiful moment together we still talk and write about those nights .

This is truly a unique relationship. He is me, I am him… In so many ways. A song comes on, a movie airs, a scent fills the night air… a photo of a lake..And it brings back a childhood memory of Rob and I… Always, the Ortolano brothers.

I could go on endlessly, but this is about a relationship… A wonderful and lasting one. We complimented each other well. Every single one of my precious childhood memories includes Rob in one way or another. There were plenty of not so good memories, but, not surprisingly, Rob is nowhere to be found in those. He just shows up when it’s time to heal the bad, to turn the sad face to a smile.

Time is not our friend any longer. We have gotten older, we have moved away, we have ” our own lives” now. We haven’t seen each other in far too long; life just keeps getting in the way. Not that the relationship has soured in anyway… It just is not as “ever present ” as it once was.

Yes, we even differ on some things today, such as politics and, if I’m honest with myself, which I’m not good at, I realize that there was a time the age difference came into play . In my upper teen years, I was a typical selfish person. I lost sight of my younger brothers needs, and became self centered in mine. But , we have talked about that… And,as I should have expected, I am forgiven for that.

When one takes the whole of the lives we have lived, the summary of it all, I can’t imagine it without my brother .

As I sit writing this, the memories come in great waves. Some of the waves make me gasp for breath, some make me smile…. Many cause a tear or two to fall. Not sad tears. Grateful tears… Grateful for this relationship… Grateful for the years…. Mostly Grateful for that day so many years ago when Mom said ;

“Ok, we’ll get you one….”

My Brother.

Don Ortolano is the father of one of my favorite “real life” friends, Anthony Ortolano. He has two beautiful daughters and all of them have written for me here on hastywords. Don is a beautiful man with a very loving heart.

Tagged: #BeReal, #BeREALationships, Beautiful, Bonding, Brother, Family, Happy Birthday, life, love, relationships

#BeREALationships: I WILL KILL YOU BEFORE I LET YOU GO

Please welcome Jennifer Ortolano to #BeREALationships.

I have always had issues with feeling good enough, feeling worthy enough, and well, just feeling enough. It is important to note that none of my issues stems from my childhood. My childhood was as close to perfect as one could get. You see, I believe I was born with these issues. Sounds crazy, I know, but stick with me for a moment. I have felt, and if I were to be honest, on occasion still feel that my siblings are the better version of me. When I think in my mind about when I was “created” I see someone messing up, “Ooops, I accidentally gave this one an extra dose of “sensitivity” that’s okay, I’ll get it right the next go-around.”

So, when I was in my mid 20’s. Divorced, two children, and found myself in a toxic relationship, this sensitivity really came as no surprise to me. For some reason, a part of me felt I deserved it.

I met HIM at work. HE was the new guy. Tall, Islander, attractive, with a bad boy streak. All the girls wanted HIM, and all the guys wanted to be HIM (although none of those guys will admit that.) When HE started to take an interest in me, when HE started to ask my friends about me, I thought I was being “Punk’d” and expected Ashton Kutcher to make an appearance at any moment.

You see, I never was THAT girl. I never had any guy interested in me during my school years. The popular guys? Forget-about-it. They did not even know I existed. How would they? I ate my lunch in the restroom and never talked to anyone in class.

Then, through the encouragement of my well-meaning friends, I decided “why not?” I always wondered what it would be like to date a popular guy. Why not? I was single, I had my boys, but surely I would not be the only single mom who ventured out in the dating world.

Things were good for a while. HE and I had “clicked.” We each brought something to the table that neither one of us had experienced in the past. I was the “good girl” “sheltered” and “innocent.” HE was the bad boy, spontaneous, and brought a new-found excitement to me that I had never experienced before. It was working. Then slowly, the red flags started to make their appearance, yet- I was in denial about these red flags.

A customer at our store found a stray kitten in the parking lot. Me, being the animal lover that I am, decided to keep the kitten. I had that kitten safe and secure behind the customer service desk for the remainder of my 8 hour shift. When I clocked out, I excitedly bought everything a new kitten needs. Kitten food, a litter box, and a few cat toys. I could not wait to take him home to show my boys. Naturally, we all fell in love with Jake, the new kitten. About 8pm at night I got a call from my store manager telling me I needed to bring the kitten back to work. Apparently, he did belong to someone and the customer somehow “lost” him in the parking lot. I was devastated. I get attached to animals way too easily. They do not judge, and I appreciate that. All they want is to be loved. When HE came over that evening and saw my tear-stained face, I filled HIM in on everything that had transpired. HE was livid, and when I had to return the kitten to the store, because I was worried about losing my job, HE accompanied me there. As I handed Jake back to his “owner” and was crying so hard that I could not properly formulate my words – HE followed the owner out to the parking lot, and beat his ass.

Of course I was in love. I mean how romantic, right? HE beat up this guy, because this guy broke my heart by taking Jake away from me. I just knew HE was the one. I should’ve instead noticed his quick response to being upset and turning to violence.

Not too long after that incident, HE and I were driving. We were taking a side road that over-looked the beautiful blue waters of Puget Sound. I was sitting in the passenger seat while HE was driving, taking it all in. I loved where I lived. Before I knew it, my head slammed against the passenger side window. Were we in an accident? What happened? As I slowly gathered my senses and “came to” I was greeted with HIM saying “You were looking at him weren’t you? That pussy on the bike you were looking at him – do not ever disrespect me again!” Seriously, like what the hell? Did this really just happen to me. Did HE really hit me? The same guy that protected my heart from having to return Jake, HE just hit me?

After I promised HIM that I was not looking at anyone, I was looking at the blue still waters again, taking it all in. HE apologized to me. “I am sorry babe, just the thought of you checking out some dude, and well, that does something to me.”

I forgave HIM. I forgave HIM because that is what we do. Those of us who suffer from low self-esteem, those of us who believe that we are really not worth much – That is what we do – We forgive and look the other way. Pretending with all our might that the “incident” did not really happen.

About two weeks later, as HE and I were getting ready for work, I came out of the bathroom wearing jeans and a t-shirt. It was “jean day” at work, which was a nice change from our more professional attire. HE took one look at me and demanded that I go change. “What? What do you mean, what’s wrong?” I asked.

Boom! I did not see it coming, but HE picked up a book and through it at my head, which thankfully missed. “I can see your ass! The shirt you are wearing does not cover your ass! What is wrong with you? Do you want other dudes to fuck you?”

I went back to the bathroom and changed into a long frumpy sweater, which I made sure covered everything that HE wanted to be covered. This was a low point for me, and I knew, I knew it was only going to get worse – But maybe I could change HIM. Maybe I could love HIM enough to make a difference. Yet again, that is what we do. Those of us who never feel worthy enough, we always seek approval, some kind of validation. Even if in the process it is hurtful.

Incidents like above began happening more and more often like I expected but ignored. I would get hit for not calling him on time, I would get hit for not coming home on time, I would get hit for talking to a fellow male co-worker at work. What had I gotten myself into? Somehow, I still had hope. I always told myself “Okay, he is really sorry. I just need to be a bit more patient, I need to make sure I do not push his buttons.” Because, that is what we do, we make excuses and blame ourselves.

As time went on, the abuse was getting worse, not better. It was to the point where I was scared. “I will kill you before I let you go.” Those were words HE spat out to me in the heat of our arguments. And yet, I stayed.

One day in particular, I was talking to my very gay, very best friend on the phone. Alphonso. Alphonso was having a crisis of his own, and he needed me, Alphonso needed a friend, and I was determined to be a friend to him. HE came out of the bathroom and was quite annoyed that I was still on the phone. I knew what was coming, as HE and I exchanged a few fighting words, I knew I got to HIM, and I knew it was now or never. While HE is calling me a whore, and telling me I wanted to fuck a gay guy, I slowly, took off my long dangling earrings, because in about five minutes, HE will be going for those. As I am trying to defend myself and my friendship with Alphonso, I slowly take the ponytail holder that I have on my wrist, and pull my hair back, because – I knew HE would also go for the hair. And then, then I did it, knowing what would occur after the fact, I still did it. “You know what, FUCK YOU, this is my friend! I am allowed to talk to him on the…”

BOOM! It happened again. I got hit- Hard- This time in the eye. I blacked out. It was bad. I knew it was bad, yet it never pushed me far enough to make me leave. Because that is what we do, we always want to think we are helping. HE will get better, and we can be the one to fix them.

This is the part of my story where things get real, because that is the point of this #BeReal series, right? To this day, 14 years later after HIM, I am still ashamed, I am embarrassed, and feel like there will always be something wrong with me. I never left him. I need you to read that again, I never left him. I dealt with the abuse, thinking that “any day now” things will get better. It never did. The abuse continued. HE even did a stint in jail for domestic violence. I went to visit HIM. What the hell is wrong with me?

After getting out of jail ,one day he drove me to work. HE dropped me off, kissed me goodbye, and- well, HE never came back. HE left me. I went home to my apartment, and HE had trashed it all. HE took my belongings,HE took my money, and well, HE took what was left of my self-esteem. What kind of person gets left by the abuser? I do. I never had the strength to leave. HE left me- and- I was devastated. I failed. I could not fix HIM. I could not fix myself.

It took me a long time to get over HIM. The abuse left scars, both physically and emotionally. I was screwed up. When my now – husband and I moved in together, it was hard. I would come home from work first- no matter what was going on- I would go to our bedroom to see if his clothes and work boots were still hanging nicely in our closet. I just knew he would leave me- I expected that it could be any day. I would come home from work, and his belongings would be gone. That is what I believed I deserved. My now husband, God love him. He was and still is so patient with me. He was part of my healing process. He loved me, the good and the bad and everything in between. He taught me how to love properly, He taught me unconditional love- Something I never thought I would learn from anyone other than my family.

But I have to tell you, all this time later. Married for 9 years, and two beautiful daughters, I have not quite forgiven myself for never leaving my abuser. This will stay with me for, well, probably forever, that’s because no matter how you spin it, there is not justification for me staying, and because of that- I caused a lot of damage, a lot of hurt to myself.

It take time and hard work to get to a place of honesty like I have expressed here. Difficult situations like this take time to process and eventually heal. I experienced great hurt and am still working through that. I am proud of how far I have come and look forward to continuing this healing. #BeReal is being honest about the tough stuff. It’s not lying to yourself or others, and that can be really hard.

And that my friends is #BeReal.

Learn from me. Learn from my mistakes, and if you find yourself in an abusive domestic relationship, then please reach out, reach out to someone, reach out to me.

jenniferortolano@gmail.com

Jennifer Ortolano has spent the last 16 years living in a suburb of Seattle where she resides with her husband and her four children. Jennifer spends her days being active in her children’s school where has formed life long friendships with teachers, and made mortal enemies with over zealous PTA moms.

As a recovering bulimic, Jennifer has a need to bring awareness to eating disorders, while trying to build women of all ages up (unless you are one of those over zealous PTA moms) Her hobbies include writing, blogging, reading, and of course vodka, which she has decided to use as a verb, ie “It is a Vodka Calling type of day.”

Jennifer also has a need to help any and all animals, she will rescue any stray that crosses her path. Her eight cats can attest to this.

Recently, Jennifer along with her long time friend Christin, created the blog Vodka Calling, that takes you on a journey of ups and downs, and everything in between, you may need some vodka for this…..or prozac.

www.vodkacalling.com

Tagged: #BeReal, #BeREALationships, Abuse, Domestic Violence, Family, Marriage, relationships

#BeREALationships: WHEN THE STINK RESURFACES

Please welcome Elaheh Bos to #BeReal.  If you have some time I very highly recommend you check out her website because her books are amazing and my daughter loves them.

When my oldest daughter was three years old and as intense and curious as she is now, she opened a can of sardines, ate a few and then placed the open tin back in its box and closed it before placing the box back in as if nothing happened. This box was then very neatly placed back in the back of the baskets where we kept our cans and dry goods. By the next day, a weird and quite unusual fishy smell started emerging from the kitchen. While we could somehow guess the nature of the smell, we couldn’t find it at first. We opened and emptied cupboards, reorganized the pantry, wiped every surface, and checked in every nook and cranny we could reach. It took three days of complete kitchen chaos to notice the oil leaking out of the perfectly closed sardine box and figure out where the smell was coming from. I was reminded of this recently while we made a quick lunch which involved a can of sardines. It is not the sardines that matter here but the stench of something out of place, the disconnect that happens in life when we are out of sync. These moments when we are forced (through a metaphorical stinky situation) to pull everything apart and figure out where the stink is coming from.

Growing up and for a big part of my teens and early twenties, I felt a disconnect between the stories of my life and the reality of living this life. There was the story of what our life was, a story that was like a large blanket woven from wishes, past dreams, and never-ceasing adventures that got pulled out when in the company of others. It was almost as if my actual life, with its own richness, beauty and yes, challenges, didn’t quite make the cut to appear in its own version. This strong sense of disconnect followed me for years and sometimes I wondered if it actually left a trace, a stench that followed me around. Maybe not quite as potent as three-day-old sardines, but possibly more lethal in what it was doing to my soul. If you have read this far, then you may be thinking that I don’t know how to read very well and that this has nothing to do with relationships. The thing is, it does. It has to do with the most important relationship I have, the one I had to create and rebuild with myself. One that at some point was leaving a strong toxic fictional fish stink that followed me around, making me live as if at any given moment someone would notice and move away, sit further, or point it out. This sense of duplicity, discrepancy, mismatch and fear that stemmed from wondering how to merge the gap and rebuild a relationship that was authentic challenged my perception of self.

I stood a long time festering in discomfort, looking at myself but not seeing the person I was or wanted to be. This process was not as simple as finding the sardine can and getting rid of everything that it came in contact with. This process (which is always ongoing) involved a much more patient and surgical approach of going back and merging different versions, events, messages, stories, memories, and sides of myself until each relationship within myself was mended or came to a peaceful and healing understanding. There are many sides of myself, each with quite distinct personalities and features and since this post is practically turning into a novel, I will only introduce you to two of them and share my relationships with them.

Meet my inner child – A shy girl with big eyes and an even bigger imagination. You will probably not see this imagination at play because there is so much chaos and noise around her that she feels there is no place for her. She goes back into her shell and plays with the worlds she creates in her mind, not realizing that all she has accumulated with time is a large collection of fears.

In this relationship, I learned to create a safe place for my inner child. A quiet place where her imagination could come out to play. Where her voice could be heard and where her fears (although never quite disappearing) could be faced with love, patience, assurance, faith and courage. She often comes with me while I am with my children and especially in my work. I have taught her to show up as often as she wishes and she has thought me that life is always beautiful if we are willing to look at it with hopeful, grateful, and playful eyes.

Meet my confused success coach – She is terrified of failing and even more of disappointing anyone and everyone. All the beliefs she has of success come from an outdated and twisted reality where there is a magical amount that makes you successful and that until that magical bell rings, nothing else is praiseworthy. But worse than her illusions of money, fame, and success is that she has handed her worth (in a nicely wrapped insecurity package) to the mercy and judgement of others.

In this relationship, I gifted her with a large pair of thick furry earplugs. It took some time and a lot of re-education to come to a very different understanding of what success is to us now. Together, we are claiming our self-worth back. I have thought her to tune her ears for fear-based advice, messages rooted in limitations, and for anything that suggests that success comes in one shape and belongs only to those who fit in a certain box. Now these messages go in a neutral space where they can be examined before deciding where they should end up. Better yet, we don’t use the word success much and instead have replaced it with better words. Purpose. Authenticity. Happiness. Service. Love. Creativity. Art. Joy. Family. Beauty. Time. Health. Love. We have a daily practice of journaling and centering ourselves and have created the tools that help root us. Let’s just say I helped her get a new career and she helped me realize that I have a lot more power over my life than I believed I did. We are both much happier for it now.

Sometimes the stink resurfaces and I know that I am out of sync. Maybe I said yes to doing something when my heart was screaming no, so I adjust and learn for next time. Maybe I let fear and insecurity stop me from stepping on the path that I know I need to take, so I pause and redirect. I look for creative solutions and have a meeting with my selves so we can come to a better understanding of who needs to be in charge here. I think the biggest gift of re-building this relationship has been the space that I now have around myself. This space of conscious intention, gratitude, kindness and love.

Elaheh Bos is the founder of Plant Love Grow, a resource site that creates tools to help parents, teachers and health professionals. She is a passionate public speaker, an artist, author and entrepreneur who believes in our innate capacity to bloom. She loves to write books, create new journals and collaborate on different projects with amazing people.

www.plantlovegrow.com

Photo credit: Sabine Yimlim

 

 

This is just one of the books I got my daughter.  If you click on the picture it will take you to Amazon where you can see inside.  I PROMISE Elaheh is amazing

#BeReal-MY RELATIONSHIP WITH TIME

Time.

We manipulate it somehow.  The world does. Or society does with our schedules and our routines.  Our calendars and the way we mark off the years.  The way we pencil in meetings and make plans that we either rush towards or cancel.

Time.

It is the one constant. A rigid passing that we can count on.  Yet we turn it into a chaotic rhyme.  I surmise it is because we are aging and it is the inevitability that time will carry death to our door at any moment that keeps us marking time.

Time.

My relationship with time has been tortured.  I wake up and I rush.  Everyday.  Busy.  I am stealing moments of calm.  I am carving out seconds for love and kindness.  But the majority of my time is spent trying to keep organized enough to not fall horribly behind.

Tick Tock.

Time is powerful.    I simply have not been able to keep up with time’s pace and it doesn’t care.  Time does not negotiate.

Time.

You are both the efficiency and quality control expert in your life.  Prioritize.  Live in the moment.  Eliminate waste.  Time does not care if you are friend or foe it has a job to do and it does that job for you.

TIME’S CHAOTIC RHYME

There is a hole in the wall

That needs to be fixed

Laundry piled up

Waiting to be burned

Counters to be cleaned

Dust, dust, dust

Just keeps showing up

Lunch dates, dinner dates

Work dates, play dates

Writing schedules

Sports schedules

Doctor schedules

School schedules

Birthday parties

Premier parties

Product parties

Holiday parties

Favors here

Favors there

Tik tik tik tik

Stop stop stop

Tok tok tok tok

Stop stop stop

I can’t keep up

I’m falling behind

I’m getting lost

In times chaotic

Ticking rhyme

Tagged: #BeReal, #BeREALationships, Chaos, CONSTANT, life, MANAGEMENT, POETRY, Time, Time management

PEOPLE DOING GOOD THINGS

I have been so super busy getting my post divorce life in order that I had to hit PAUSE for just a short time on my #BeREAL series.  But I have some great voices left to share soon.

In the meantime though…

I want to share a few good things to offset the negativity that has been lurking on all the social sites lately.  I mean, we have election time coming up and we are seeing the worst in people unabashedly stepping out from the shadows and they are barking.

So something good.

My friend Byron Hamel just finished a wonderful film about a group of tough bikers who are fighting child abuse.

“The mission of the Guardians of the Children (GOC) is to recognize and react to child abuse and educate the public to do the same; to serve as advocates to provide strength and stability to families in crisis; and be an answer to the prayer of an abused child or teen for courage, support and protection.”

If you want to help good people do good things you can do that just by watching this trailer