I’ve been pondering friendship lately. Why I choose the people I choose as my friends, why I continue to call them ‘friends’ when they obviously don’t consider me to be a very important fixture in their lives…
…and I realize that for many years, I did the same, and it wasn’t because I didn’t care for them, but because I either didn’t know how, or that I was lost in my own bubble. It’s easy to get caught up in your day to day busy-ness that we forget to keep in touch with the people who matter to us, or to stay silent out of fear of rejection.
If you have someone you care about, but haven’t given them the attention that the level of your affection would indicate they deserve… call them. Text them. Email them. Hell… tag them on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram. Let them know they cross your mind.
Today, I called my dad. Of all the people I love, he is probably the most un-aware of my feelings, due to familial habits of interaction.
Who will you reach out to?
I’m so appreciative that I am flexible enough to bend or break at my own whim. There’s freedom in knowing that ultimately, the choice is mine.
It’s difficult, at first, when there’s no one left to blame but yourself; when you shoulder the responsibility of how you feel, when you stop giving the power of your experience to others through blame. But the difficulty will fade quickly if you allow yourself to dwell on the thrill and excitement of being The One With Whom The Buck Stops.
There’s a little discomfort when you realize that it wasn’t your parents, after all. It wasn’t your bosses or your teachers or your spouse or your kids… it was you, me, ourselves, all along.
Granted, when we’re kids, our parents are (or should be) responsible for us, but there comes a time when, once we’ve learned this information, or once we become adults in our own right, the burden shifts from them to us. That can be a bitter pill to swallow, when you don’t figure this shit out until you’ve reached your mid-30’s!
But I know folks in their 60’s who haven’t figured it out yet, so I’m not upset. I’m grateful to have been blessed with (hopefully) many years of rectifying my mindset, and playing the game as it was meant to be played.
Namaste & Blessed be, friends!
I’m wearing a shirt I bought about two years ago and took the tags off of last Friday. It’s buttoned closed, and I feel good.
Have I mentioned yet how awesome I feel?
I feel great. And I’m not sorry for it. I’m not sorry that I feel amazing. I’m not sorry to tell you that I’ve lost 10 pounds (I believe that’s ‘nearly a stone’ across the pond) in the past few weeks without trying. I’m not sorry to say that I have a husband that is so absolutely amazing that I sometimes can’t believe he’s human. Really. It’s just not normal to be that zen in your love for someone… is it?
He sees me at my absolute worst and doesn’t love me ‘in spite of it’… he just loves me. He doesn’t stand there thinking how horrible I’m being, he’s thinking ‘how can I help the woman I love, who is so obviously hurting?‘. It’s just not normal, I tell you… the man is my friggin’ rock.
I’m not sorry to shout to the rooftops that I’m happy. I’m thrilled beyond measure with my life. I’m not sorry that I dislike listening to people complain these days. I’m not sorry that one minute I’m annoyed, and the next minute I’ve figured out how to love you for whatever you’re doing or did, and love myself for not liking whatever you did or didn’t do.
I’m not sorry that I make people acutely aware of their own alignment with their Higher Self, or lack thereof. I’m not sorry that I sometimes don’t recognize my own inconsistencies, but see yours clearly. I’m not sorry that I am sometimes so unaware of my state of misalignment that I get angry when others point it out, that I sometimes take a little longer to see the truth in another’s observations.
This post was longer, but there was an obvious energy shift (as you can see, I was still feeling a bit defiant while writing this. It was written the same day as my previous post over on SS). What I chose to do was to split the posts into two, because they are so obviously written from two different frequencies!
In my last post, I spoke of your priceless gift to me. This post is also about gifts, but it’s about my gift to you.
My gift to you is my honesty. I won’t pretend to be something I’m not in order to get likes, comments, or follows from you. I won’t try to make money from your visit to my attic. I won’t pepper you with Adwords or Affiliate links, and if I recommend something to you, there will be a real-world, non-financially based motive for it. I don’t see any of you as cash cows, future paychecks, or anything other than my silent tribe of support and acceptance.
Now, I make no promises about SS, but this blog is ad free, incentive free, affiliate free… and it will remain so.
Namaste & Blessed be!
The things I write about here are personal. Some of them, I can’t accept myself for sometimes, and the way this series began… let’s just say that I’m not highlighting my good side. Maybe I was testing you. Maybe I was testing me.
I basically just reached inside and pulled up the worst feeling thing I had done, and exposed it. I don’t know why yet. I didn’t know why then.
I simply followed my impulses where they led me. No preconceived notions, no expectations of where this would lead.
One thing I never expected, though (you guys surprised me, for sure) was the silence. The experience of exposing my deepest, darkest, ugliest moments… and there was silence.
Then it happened.
Someone followed me, but silently.
One by one, you have come, read, and followed, in silence. Neither encouraging nor discouraging me with your words, just allowing me to express what I need to in mine… and in doing so, you have expressed an acceptance of who I am more deeply than words from any comments on any blog I’ve ever written.
For that reason, I have now disabled the comments on this blog. Not because I don’t value your responses (had there been any), but because your silent acceptance has been a priceless gift for me, one which I almost missed out on completely, because I was beginning to get discouraged by the silence…
Thank you for your gift to me.
My last post may leave some of you wondering why I even have this blog public. Where is your value here? Why have I let you in to this space of mine?
Allow me to explain…
The reason I have made this personal space of mine public, the immeasurable value which you, my silent readers, offer to me can be summed up in one word;
Life got busy on me for a bit. I hope everyone had a safe, fun-filled holiday (those who enjoyed a holiday this past weekend).
One of the problems with having two blogs where you write about your own life often is that, sometimes you’re not quite sure where to post something. Where it will have the most… impact. I think the topic on my heart today belongs over on SS, so I’m slightly flummoxed (I love that word… gobsmacked is another favorite) as to what to write about here.
Though it appears that I have chosen to write about having nothing to write about… and I’m going to be okay with that. People have started to follow this blog, so I can feel some pressure to please you (the reader), even though, up to this point, each of you followed me for your own reasons, because I haven’t been writing for you, I’ve been writing here for me. It’s been raw, it’s been honest, it’s been frequent… but it’s been for me… but somehow, it’s called to some of you… and if I allow myself to give in to that pressure, to start writing for those who read, versus she who writes, this blog will just become another SS. The Lunatic Twin will get shut back into the attic, and that simply will not do.
I love each one of you… and I am thrilled to pieces you find value in my words, but the greatest value this blog has for me in this moment is the space it holds for me to be me.
Ugly. Wounded. Raw. Wild. Broken. Healing. Masterful. Foolish. Confused. Whole. Shattered.