No matter how bad or good a situation, it will change.
Words of wisdom from a coffee table book on inspirational sayings; a chain e-mail your mother forwarded to you.
Last week, this became a tangible and indisputable truth for me; something I knew to be true all along but just never realized its very real implications.
Getting used to something-a relationship, a new job, a way of doing things-takes us to a very happy, or at least a placid, place. Enter change stage left, then, CUT. And vice versa, when the world is cruel and cold to the point where you resent gravity since it too brings you down, and even genuine bliss is temporary; all of a sudden, renaissance. A light, a spark, and an invigorating metamorphosis that gets you back to YOU.
My old job kept me busy, but largely confined me to the island of Manhattan. I was a pedestrian; I took trains and walked home. Then my new job gave me a car, and this reinvented the city for me, much to my dismay at first. Orange collages of parking tickets were strewn on my floor, time restrictions and parking regulations allowed the car itself to be my master. The air was heavy and it wasn't just the extreme heat, but pressures pushing down on me initiating from an increasingly turbid emotional state. Then, a light. I sought a garage to cope with car homelessness. I rekindled a relationship with an old friend, the holidays arrived, and a new attitude began to take shape; these little things, some external and out of my control, and others internal and in the scope of my control, began to reverse the funk I'd felt for months.
The renaissance had begun. The darkness and lies were slowing seeping out of the periphery and I was beginning to explore and discover my new role, see facets of the job that I'd never seen before only because they had not been illuminated in my mind. Although various elements in our life are always there, it's our attitude that determines whether or not we can experience them for what they really are.
So I felt the real change for the better. And it felt great.
Then, abruptly that role ended. In a very brief period, I was phased out of previously very accessible parts of my job.
Luckily since many of the desirable elements of life have been illuminated once again, I will not return to the darkness. I will move forward, cherishing the experience gained and the relationships developed in my previous role and continue to move one leg after the other, onward.
What other choice do I have?
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Here's Hoping Ignorance is Bliss...
Last weekend, little Matthew died. He was just five years old.
This jovial little boy, running all around the house, laughing, shouting, and exuding energy and vibrancy at every turn, is now laid to rest. Imagine his parents, knowing full-well that Matthew was held hostage by a terrible disease, preparing themselves for that one morning when he would not spring up to greet the day, as he had many mornings before. I want to hug them. I want to absorb some of what they are feeling now.
Inside, his cells had divided rapidly; the objective forces of science and biology at work. Externally, Matthew was a happy little boy, unaware of what was happening to him. In fact, he probably knew nothing of his own mortality; he watched kids cartoons, ate animal crackers, and sang songs. He went to school. He laughed with his brother, mom, and dad.
In fact, the words, "you can go to heaven when you're ready," uttered sweetly by his mother as she cradled him to bed one night, were what Matthew knew to be certain; that his life was filled with love and heaven was just another stop on his soul's journey.
Matthew will not feel the awkwardness of middle school. He won't get his driver's license, go to prom, have his first kiss, or get to graduate from college and get a "real" job. But there is something amazingly wonderful about that reality; that although Matthew's time on this planet was brief, he embodied the ideal life we all strive for: he laughed, loved, was loved, and indulged in the simple and real pleasures of life. His child-like naivete and carefree, blissful nature were the essence of his being, and that is a wonderful legacy to leave behind.
So he'll never grow into an adult. But he'll never get the chance to lose that child-like zeal for life; that optimistic and happy demeanor that so appropriately characterized his youth. He won't get the chance to become cynical about the world, to be heartbroken, to become addicted to a drug, to become jaded by politics, to lose his faith, to cheat on his spouse, or to hate his job and complain about his boss.
Matthew is eternally a child; a happy, wonderful, little boy. And this is how we will cherish and honor his memory; although he is gone, he has actually saved us, for he has caused us to pause, reflect, and be mindful of those things in life that are truly important.
This jovial little boy, running all around the house, laughing, shouting, and exuding energy and vibrancy at every turn, is now laid to rest. Imagine his parents, knowing full-well that Matthew was held hostage by a terrible disease, preparing themselves for that one morning when he would not spring up to greet the day, as he had many mornings before. I want to hug them. I want to absorb some of what they are feeling now.
Inside, his cells had divided rapidly; the objective forces of science and biology at work. Externally, Matthew was a happy little boy, unaware of what was happening to him. In fact, he probably knew nothing of his own mortality; he watched kids cartoons, ate animal crackers, and sang songs. He went to school. He laughed with his brother, mom, and dad.
In fact, the words, "you can go to heaven when you're ready," uttered sweetly by his mother as she cradled him to bed one night, were what Matthew knew to be certain; that his life was filled with love and heaven was just another stop on his soul's journey.
Matthew will not feel the awkwardness of middle school. He won't get his driver's license, go to prom, have his first kiss, or get to graduate from college and get a "real" job. But there is something amazingly wonderful about that reality; that although Matthew's time on this planet was brief, he embodied the ideal life we all strive for: he laughed, loved, was loved, and indulged in the simple and real pleasures of life. His child-like naivete and carefree, blissful nature were the essence of his being, and that is a wonderful legacy to leave behind.
So he'll never grow into an adult. But he'll never get the chance to lose that child-like zeal for life; that optimistic and happy demeanor that so appropriately characterized his youth. He won't get the chance to become cynical about the world, to be heartbroken, to become addicted to a drug, to become jaded by politics, to lose his faith, to cheat on his spouse, or to hate his job and complain about his boss.
Matthew is eternally a child; a happy, wonderful, little boy. And this is how we will cherish and honor his memory; although he is gone, he has actually saved us, for he has caused us to pause, reflect, and be mindful of those things in life that are truly important.
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