On Hamilton, Certain Blessings, and Finding the Time to Write

Truth.

 

via On Hamilton, Certain Blessings, and Finding the Time to Write

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Finding good in social media?

Read this blogger! My sentiments, too, and I’m so glad to now know about #1000Speak for Compassion.

“… the ability to easily expose ourselves to multiple points of view – if not to change our minds, to at least understand the views of others. And that understanding allows for empathy. And the more we empathize, the less we hate.”

Yes!

Time for my thoughts...

As many of you know, this past week marked the 3rd anniversary of 1000 Voices Speak for Compassion (#1000Speak). Although I’ve already written, and shared, an anniversary post, I wanted to see if I could manage one that was closer to this month’s theme. The question posed was essentially (I think): How we can use the social media we live with, which is often used as a mechanism for harm, to possibly help people, or prevent tragedies?  Particularly given that concerns about the Parkland shooter were expressed to the appropriate agencies, but were not acted upon?

Those that know me, and/or regularly read this blog, know that I am concerned about the instant information, sound bite driven, world that we inhabit. There are significant drawbacks – the light-spreed movement of information allows for wide dissemination of misinformation, which in turn feeds conspiracy theories; the sense of anonymity has made bullying, and…

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“Joining the Conversation”

What fun to totally let your mind roll first thing in the morning to a random prompt!

bridge girls in waterlogue for blogPrompt: 10 min. “Joining the Conversation”

Joining the conversation is always a bit tricky. You leave to go to the bathroom, weaving your way among the tables, eyes searching for the ladies’ room sign, having chosen a spot in the conversation where you knew a little of what was being said. You’d heard that part before. Didn’t want to miss anything but, damn, you had to pee!

Time to pull out a toothpick? Get the salad out of your teeth? Apply some lipstick. Find a mint. Fluff the hair.

Returning to your seat, smiling as you go, you perk up your ears to see where the conversation is now, not wanting to interrupt, but longing to jump back in, as you replace your purse on the chair back, pick up your white linen napkin, scootch your chair back under the table and take a sip of water.

Randomly, the subject has changed from that of Cynthia’s husband’s mom’s foot that wasn’t healing well to an update on one of Lee Anne’s kids who’d gotten married last year in a grand affair in California you’d also unfortunately missed.

“Wait, sorry. What did I miss? Are Meredith and Jim pregnant? Moving back to North Carolina?! Did he get that new job??”

Rachel takes her fork and scrapes it across the empty plate, gathering remnants of the decadent flourless chocolate torte they’d all shared after their monthly meal, while Jaime fills me in on Lee Anne’s news. Abbreviated synopses allowed among these friendships, decades in the making.

“Stand Alone”

Prompt: 5 minutes “Stand Alone”

“Stand Alone”

Stand alone. On your own two feet. See what you can do without any others to stop you, to help you, to harm you, to interfere, to suggest other ways. What does your heart say? What is your heart saying to you? IMG_6132

Stand alone. You already do stand alone. But alone with a living God burning brightly inside your very heart chakra, comforting you, guiding you, suggesting ideas that will catapult you to the Highest Version of Yourself that you can imagine. We just don’t often take the time to listen to that part of ourselves. Yes, I believe the Holy Spirit is a part of each of us, so intertwined with every fiber of our being that we can never not be holy. If we listen.

Stand alone. I used to stand alone and mope inside about being alone. Why doesn’t anyone really understand me? I need them to understand me! I cried tears and sobbed guttural wails as I wrestled with the challenges of growing up, maturing, moving from an insecure teenager to an insecure adult, an insecure wife, mother, neighbor, church member, volunteer, over-achiever. Until it all came crashing down on me in the form of what would morph from one day of a swollen throat, fever, body aches worse than the flu, fatigue that slammed me flat to the surface of my water bed and wouldn’t let me go, into the woman I am now. Twenty-five years I’ve lived inside my body alone, alone in houses full of people who cannot understand this bizarre chronic illness. But now I stand alone – secure in Who I Am.

Sat nam.

Buttercream Cake

What a poignant essay. I love the straightforward approach, so matter of fact, so true, so full. Lovely. 

The Citron Review

by Ani Tascian

My dad had just finished what would be the first of three full rounds of treatments for Stage IV lung cancer. It was July 9, 2009 and this was his surprise birthday party. I pinned the rose boutonniere, carefully ordered two nights before, on his lapel. The multi-zippered jacket he was wearing was more Euro-looking than I was used to on him, most likely my mom’s purchase. “I’ve lost weight,” he said, rubbing his ribs with both hands and smiling, trying to make a joke but falling short. I smiled back and kissed him on both cheeks, “Happy Birthday, Baba.”

My younger sister Stephanie wasn’t speaking to me. “What is wrong with you? Why aren’t you helping? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Your father has cancer and you can’t help throw him a party? I don’t care if you have three-year old. We’re all busy.” My sister…

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