Tag Archives: beauty

It’s raining, it’s pouring …

the old man is snoring.  I don’t know if he is snoring or not, but I have always been told, since I was but a wee child,  that he was.  Rain.  Something that folks in the East, Northeast and Midwest have had a fair share of this year and, it’s only January.  It’s easy to start hating rain, I suppose.  I know that it has thwarted a few things that I would have liked to do, but in order to appreciate it, one must look past the present situation of inconvenience and saturation to the beauty and bounty that water from the Heavens provides.

Rain is essential to all living things on the earth.  It fills up the creeks, rivers, lakes, wells, streams and it gives lifesaving water to the trees that I so adore.  I can only image the conversation the trees must be having, among themselves, at this very moment; knowing that their roots are full to capacity and there is excess to aid in the dry times that are bound to come.  They must be ecstatic even though there will be some, as in the human element, that will fall under the pressure that the reality of life deals them.  We, as the trees, begin to die the minute we are born.  This is a fact.

It is easy to decide that rain is a bad thing, but I love it.  I love the sound of it, the feel of it on my skin, the taste of it on my tongue.  It is such a beautiful thing, that which pours from the clouds.  It is true that, at times, rain decides to exhibit its power and influence; filling waterways well past their spilling points.  I don’t discount the damage it can do if it decides to go on a full-out tirade and at the same time, I watch, in amazement, at just what it is capable of.   A single raindrop, on its own, has little impact, but when paired with millions of others falling steadily; well, the result is astounding.

While under normal circumstances, without tornadoes, hurricanes or other brutal natural occurrences, rain is just …. well, it’s just rain.  Water that falls from the heavens and makes a sound that nothing else on earth can make.  How many people who will read this blog post will have a CD or some recording of a thunderstorm or rain for relaxation or meditation?  It is food for thought, anyway.

This is where the idealistic photographer steps in.  Yes, it can sometimes flood, but through the lens of my camera, it is astounding.  The wonder of nature as it shows its power is a beautiful thing.  Don’t get me wrong, I wish for no harm to anyone, but if it is going to happen anyway, I want to be a part of it.  It is during these times, when Mother Nature decides she is going to show off, that I am truly sorry I have a day job.  It takes everything I can muster not to pick up my camera, head out to anywhere and everywhere and say “to hell” with my job.

Reality, however, has a way of kicking me in the head and reminding me that it is prevalent in my life.  I, at times, hate reality and feel that it picks on me purposely just to remind me that I don’t have nearly as much control as I think I have.  What reality doesn’t realize, however, is that I’m not the one in control and it is picking on the wrong being.   When my experience and wisdom is cooked proper, don’t doubt for a minute that reality will have little bearing on where I will be or what I can accomplish.

In the meantime, I will listen to music that soothes me while the rain falls with torrential force and know that, when tomorrow dawns, if I am blessed to live, it will be a wonderful day; rainy or not.

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Isaiah 55:10 ~ For as the rain cometh down, and the snow from heaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater:

I am just as at home everywhere …

as I am in only one place.  As I look over the past several years and think of the places I’ve visited, it occurs to me that the short stay I had in those various cities and towns, in the air and on the roads simply wasn’t enough.  I needed more time.  Weeks.  Months.  Not just days.  There were things I didn’t have time to experience, time I wasn’t able to spend wandering around in and absorbing that which, although unfamiliar, was as familiar to me as my own backyard; people I didn’t get to meet and sit down with.  There was food I didn’t get to taste and sheer beauty, of which, I wasn’t able to become a part.

I suppose such words are those that only one with wanderlust can understand.  Everywhere feels like home, at least for a time.  The people are different but so similar, the air smells different, but is, again, essentially the same.  The roads all lead somewhere, the sun rises, the sun sets, the moon shines, the stars twinkle and even though I haven’t actually seen it yet, I know it is will be beautiful.  There really isn’t anywhere on earth that I can think of that I could lay my head and not, at least for a bit of time, feel at home.

Last night, I started driving for no other reason than to be somewhere other than where I was.  I was driving West.  No radio.  No sound at all except my wheels on the road and the thoughts in my head.  It was very cathartic.  After about one hundred miles, though, instead of continuing on until I came to another ocean, I turned around and headed from whence I had come.  It wasn’t my time to go; not yet.  While my family and friends are perplexed by my consuming need to go, I know in my heart that there will come a time that I will leave them.  It won’t be easy, but it will be necessary if I am to fulfill what has been predestined for me.

That sounds so mystical, but it isn’t.  I have dreamed of it my entire life.  There is nothing mystical about hoping to see a life-long dream fulfilled.  I sometimes feel selfish when I think this way, but I have to remind myself that there will be no one else to live the dreams I dream; no one but myself.  I will follow the will of my Father God where His wind takes me and I will do my very best to honor Him no matter where I lay my head.

There are so many places I want to go; some I’ve already been and want to go back again.  I don’t care, really, if I have a place, other my car, to rest when I get weary.  Where I stay is the least of my concerns; what I see, though, well, now, that’s a different story altogether.  It isn’t that I’m not content where I am, it is simply that there is still so much of creation that I want to see.  No, that isn’t right. If I only wanted to see it, then it would just be a passing thing.  I need to see it.  To feel it. To breathe it.  To taste it.  To touch it.  To stand in it; whatever “it” may be.  And need surpasses want on every level.

I consider the people of the world to be my family and friends.  I don’t think of them in colors, religions or nationalities.  They are just people.  We are not, in our hearts and dreams, dissimilar.  I suppose some of my optimism spills over into what I perceive the world to be, but at the end of the day, I need to know, to learn, to experience.  I want to see for myself and not rely on the eyes of another to mold my perceptions; not live vicariously through the stories that have been told.

There will come a time, if God wills it, that the places of my dreams will become places of my reality.  I can wait, for nothing  truly worth waiting for is time wasted.

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Proverbs 3:6 ~   in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.

 

There is something about snow-sledding …

that never gets old.  It takes me back to my childhood and brings great memories to mind and at the same time, lets me know that I’ve still got it.  Last weekend, my nieces, brother and friends were sledding on the best sledding hill in Scott County.  They had been on the hill the day before, so the snow was packed and slick, as it should be for an incredible sledding experience.

My niece, for whatever reason, wanted to ride with me down the hill on one of the runs.  Being that she is small (at seven years old) and I am not, I was a bit apprehensive that she would be  hurt were we to have a wreck.  But nothing else would do her, so away we went.

Nearly three quarters of the way down, we were lucky enough to hit a dip that caused us to go airborne.  While that would usually be a good thing, Sophie’s safety was my primary goal.  I had my legs around her and put my hiker thighs to work to keep her intact.  There was no way that kid was going anywhere.

We did go airborne.  And while airborne, we did a full 360, then bounced and continued on down the hill.  At some point, Sophie said to me “Nini, you are crushing my lungs”.  It didn’t matter.   At the end of the ride, even though we had an awesome wipe-out, she was secure within the confines of the inner tube we were riding on.  No injuries were reported and there was much congratulating and high-fiving between herself and me after the ride was over.

She said to me as we prepared to go again “Nini, I love you, but you almost crushed me with your legs and my mom would be upset if you had killed me”.  LOLOL … this amused me as she is only seven (six at the time of the ride) and had enough sense to know that sometimes, I go overboard in the protection department.  She didn’t however, fall off because she was caught in a vice grip.  How much fun that was.  I only hope we have the chance to sled down the hill again; next time though, I will  try not to hold her so tightly that she feels like she’s being murdered.  Now, all we have to do is wait on more snow.  Some things just never get old.  Sledding is one of them.

sophie

When the words I dearly love mean nothing …

then I know that I am in a fix.  The words are there, the right words, but they are so jumbled and discombobulated that when they come out, they aren’t right.  They are harsh or meek or, worst case scenario,  make no sense at all to anyone but me.  I lash out at the ones I care about for no good reason at all.  I expect them, since they know me, or say they do, to understand, but it doesn’t make it fair.  It doesn’t make it right.

Right now, at this moment, it takes all of my concentration to simply string words together in a coherent sentence.  Knowing this and knowing that I have conversed with people I care about about in my current state of mind brings about something that, while I am adept, they really have no experience with.   I was told recently by a friend that they were sorry they caused me anxiety.  I don’t have anxiety, I have racing thoughts that, at times, coincide with an intense “non-emotional” state.  It isn’t sadness.  It isn’t depression.  It is simply the absence of emotion.  And the absence of emotion is never, ever a good thing.

I called my mom tonight just to hear her voice. She doesn’t try to fix me or offer advice, she just listens as I tell her how nuts I feel.  And I do feel nuts, whether I really am or not.  That still remains to be seen.  She listens to my thoughts and says to me “we’re here if you need us”.  And she means it.

When I told her I had to get out of here for a while, she didn’t question it, but only said to let her know where I was going.  I have no idea where I’m going, but the ocean is calling to me.  The ocean, it is said, has no memory.  That is what I’m looking for.  Something without a memory.  Something that will not recall the harsh words, sobbing tears or indifference that, over the past few days, I have felt.  Maybe I will make it there and maybe, by the end of the week, I will be back to myself.  Either way, I cannot stand to be here for a second more than is necessary.  And dumping on the people in my life is not the answer.  I don’t know what the answer is, but I know that doing so is not it.

After work on Friday, I will start driving.  What direction is, as yet, unknown, but I will drive until I get where I am going.  And once there, I hope I will find what eludes me at the moment.  Sanity.  Pure and true sanity with a calm mind and rational thoughts.  I will let my  mom know where I am because she asked me to; as for everyone else, there seems no real need.  I am an anomaly in their lives.  I don’t hold it against them. I am an anomaly in my own life; how can I possibly expect someone else to know what makes me tick when I’m not certain myself.  A solitary life.  For the most part, it is the perfect solution; except, of course, when I filet the people I care about because I come to a point where control is  nearly impossible.  Yes, for the most part, a solitary life would be the perfect solution.  I rely on music to get me to a point when I can, once again, speak coherent thoughts.  I am grateful for the pianists, who play the notes my mind sings, that keep me, on some level, sane.  May God bless each one of them.

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John 14:27 ~ Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid

As a photographer …

flolicking

days like today are off the charts on the  list of experiences that I don’t want to miss.  It was simply my good fortune that the company I work for decided to open on a delayed schedule, giving me two extra hours.  Two extra hours on a bright, sunny, blue-skied morning that followed on the heels of a big, heavy snow.  As I look out my windows, I see that overnight, the entire world has been turned into a painting and I, being mortal, have it in my mind that I’m going to try to capture it; freeze it as it looks to me.  Hoping to do it justice.

I know when I’ve nailed a shot.  I don’t know a photographer who doesn’t.  Ansel Adams was quoted as saying “Sometimes I get there just at the moment God wants someone to click the shutter”.  He knew. That moment the shutter snaps, I am without doubt that even if nothing else I have shot the entire day satisfies me, this one shot will make every minute worth it.

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There isn’t always “that shot”, though.  Some days, there is a handful of mediocre photographs and nothing that stands out.  There isn’t that one; the image that is full of words and in the words within the image, beauty.  That’s what I strive for, what I aspire to do; at times, it is all I can think about.   If only there was more time.

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This day, the epitome of a winter morning, the kind of day I fantasize about; today, pure and simply, leaves me speechless.  Let the images speak for themselves.

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A snow day …

doesn’t mean any less to me now than when I was kid finding out that school was out for snow, again.  While I could sleep in for a while, I was digging, instead, through my toboggans and gloves, finding a coat and locating my boots.  I knew, without even looking, that my friends were already gathering at the sledding hill.

The hill was very big and very steep and rather rocky in places.  It made for an interesting ride to the bottom on a sled, a plastic bag or an old tire.  Before long, the neighborhood moms and dads would build a bonfire and start the process of making gallons of hot chocolate.  Some with marshmallows, but as far as I’m concerned, there is no better way to ruin a good cup of hot chocolate than putting marshmallows in it.

Afterwards, when we were all frozen to the bone and caked with snow and ice, we’d head home, discard our wet clothes and stand in front of the wood-burning stove to warm up.  The smell of mom’s homemade stew would be thick in the air and life, at that moment, couldn’t possibly be any better.

It was a rarity, in the elementary school years, to go to school the entire month of January.  During January, that was a wonderful thing, as there is nothing quite so wonderful as finding out school is closed due to snow.  The wonderful part came to a halting stop soon enough, though.  In the spring, when the trees were budding and the weekend weather was perfect for riding bikes, skating and just being outdoors, the repercussions came.  School on Saturday.

What better way to torture a kid than to make them go to school on Saturday. I still have flashbacks of being in the classroom before eight am with a teacher who would rather be sticking needles in their eyes than to be there with us.  It was, after all, their Saturday, too.  It was bad, but not bad enough to regret the snow days.  Those are memories that I wouldn’t trade for anything.  I’ve just now come from outside where I held my face Heavenward and let the snowflakes fall on my tongue.  Being a grown up doesn’t change a thing; I still love a snow day.

flolicking

In my mind …

I’ve gone to Carolina.  Yes, it is true that James Taylor may have said it in a song … and yes, it is true that I spend much of my dream time there … and yes, it is true that there is no place on earth I would rather be than on the pristine, protected beaches of the Outer banks.  All true.  All real.  I have been toying with the idea for the past couple of years to take a trip there and maybe, if the chance arose, to spend another night, unnoticed of course, in an alcove in the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse.  That is a story for another day, though.

Tonight, as I was designing custom greeting cards for requests, which I rarely do, but just felt in the mood, I came across some old photos of the Outer Banks.  There are many places I have been in my life and have enjoyed each and every one of them, but none of them have had such a hold on me as the Outer Banks of  North Carolina.  I can’t really pinpoint what it is about that little slice of land that calls to me as a siren … beckoning me to come and stay, to live and frolick in the white sand and play in the lighthouses.  It even makes me want to ride a horse on the beach and I can think of nothing I would like less than to ride a horse.  They terrify me on a level that is second only to spiders, but in that place, at that time, I would do it; and do it willingly.

There is something about the Outer Banks that seems to belong to me.  It’s not mine, not really, but in my heart, I feel that I belong there.  I feel that there is a place reserved just for me.  That sounds a bit conceited, but what, in the life of a dreamer, doesn’t.  When someone dreams about something they want so desperately, are they not at the center of the dream?  I have never been accused of having an ego and would agree with that non-accusation.  But I do have a very vivid imagination and there is nothing that I can’t conjure in my mind.  In my dreams, things always go my way, always end up as I wish they would and there is always a  very handsome, very tall, five-o-clock shadow man just waiting for me to arrive.

While dreams are fine and dandy, plans are another thing altogether.  I’m not much of a planner, but more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of person.  I find great pleasure in getting in my convertible, putting the top down and simply ending up somewhere, wherever it may be.  Plans were made to be broken, deadlines were made to be missed and life was made to be lived.  It I didn’t have to work to put my daughter through college, I would have been gone already.

It always seems to perplex folks that I want to experience New Orleans in the middle of summer with the stench that comes from the heat rising from the Mississippi, but how else can I experience it in the purest sense than then.  Or to sit on a frozen lake in North Dakota in the middle of January.   Who in their right mind, unless they live there would want to do such a thing?  Me.  I want to.  Again, how else can I experience the reality?  I don’t want to be a tourist just passing through these places I dream of.  I want to be part of what makes it what it is even when it is not pleasant.  I want to experience a Minnesota Winter, a San Diego Spring, a Washington State rainy season, the miles of sunflowers in Kansas (and a tornado, if I’m lucky) and to see the whole of Texas.

Then there is Austria, Ireland, Germany, Italy and India just to name a few.  There are so many places I want to see that it is depressing to me to know that I will never be able to see them all before I die.  I care not for the big cities.  Those are a dime a dozen.  I’m for the homely places with grandmothers cooking dinner, vineyards in the moonlight, mountains beneath a veil of fog.  I am about life as it happens.  We are, none of us, all that different.  We live, we love, we dream, we hope, we aspire for something more.  I just want to see it for myself.  God willing, it will happen.  Otherwise, I will remain, for all of my life, a dreamer, with dreams that are so much bigger than my reality.  I can think of worse things than being a dreamer, however, being one with great faith in an awesome God, I look forward to seeing my dreams fulfilled.  I can wait.  I have waited.  And in the end, the reward will far outweigh the waiting.  Of that, I am certain.

BodieLighthouse

A woman cries ….

for a variety of reasons and, inexplicably, at times, for no reason at all.  Tears fall as though they will never end, sobbing with indelible sorrow that may not be sorrow at all.  A woman’s heart is a vast place that has many crevices and corners, turns and twists that often have no meaning, no direction.  Just because I cry doesn’t mean that I am weak.  On the contrary, each tear that falls makes me stronger, whether I understand the reason for the tears or not.  They are, after all, signs of unspeakable grief and unbounding love.  They are part of what makes us who we are.

My life has been riddled with tears for one reason or another.  Loss, sorrow, betrayal, hurt, humiliation, and then, at times, for absolutely no reason at all.  It is bad enough to cry for a good reason, but when the tears fall for no good reason, it leaves me feeling silly and empty with nothing and no one to which to throw the blame.

I have  people in my past who, at one time or another,  have purposely caused my tears.  They, at this point, are irrelevant as I have moved past them.  They no longer have any power over me and certainly don’t have the ability to bring tears to my eyes.  The tears that fall, dripping from my face, have nothing to do with them as they have proven themselves unworthy not only of my sadness, but of a single thought on their behalf.  I have stricken their names from my mind and moved on.

A hard day at work followed by stark loneliness can sometimes bring tears, but not always.  I don’t mind being alone.  As a matter of fact, I often thrive on it, so blaming tears on loneliness isn’t an option either.  I have learned to be alone and have decided that, on many occasions, I prefer my own company to that of those who have no understanding of me.  It is true.  I would rather be by myself than spending time trying to explain myself to someone who not only can’t understand me, but has no desire to.  And being by myself is not the same as being alone.  I am surrounded by my music, by words, by thoughts and dreams that keep me company.

It would be vain of anyone to assume that they caused my tears.  Who knows me better than myself?  Who knows my deepest secrets other than myself?  Well, a couple of people do, but their indifference does not make or break me.  I am who I am because of the trials I have faced to this point.  But who I am now has nothing to do with who I will be on another day.  The hardships I have faced up to this point, along with the joys on the journey, make me who I am, at the moment.  But what about tomorrow?  Or the day after that?  Or the year after that?

I am a woman and feel that therefore, I have the right to cry at will.  Am I not allowed to cry simply to make room for more emotions?  Is it shameful to cry for the things I long for, wish for, dream of, miss and long for?  I think not.  Tears are essential to my well-being.  I am one of those people who wears my heart on my sleeve.  Tears are only a word away.  It doesn’t make me less, it only makes me more in tune to the world around me.  I do cry.  It would be a lie to say otherwise.  I hurt for many reasons, but that is nobody’s business buy my own.  If I choose to share my tears, how can I be certain that those I share them with will have any understanding of their derivation.  Who can say to us that we have no reason to cry about this, that or the other thing.  Tears are personal.  They are internal.  They are telling, but only to those who have the ability to read what they say.

I won’t explain myself.  I find no need.  If one spends enough time in my life, they will understand me, my moods, my needs and the importance of tears.  They will understand that the tears that fall from my eyes can have a myriad of reasons behind them.  I cry when I pray, when I’m hurt, when I’m overwhelmed and sometimes, for no reason in particular.  When someone causes my tears, it is often because they have hurt me on a level that few have reached.  I don’t share the most intimate parts of myself with everyone, so that severely narrows the playing field.

It becomes irrelevant, really, what causes tears to fall.  I play the woman card.  The card that says that any number of things can make me cry.  I don’t even try to explain it as it would be pointless.  I am who I am, which is the same person I have always been.  My tears mean something to me, but are often lost on the ones who are are partly responsible for causing them.  In the end, if they fall from my eyes, I am responsible.  I choose who I allow into my life, into my heart, into my dreams; therefore, the tears are of my own making.  I have no one, but myself, to blame.  It would be easy to cast blame, but what purpose would that serve.  Often, people who have no intention to do so, hurt me deeply.  Other times, I bring the hurt upon myself.  Who is to say, when all is said and done, what causes a woman’s tears?  Do we really need a valid reason to cry?  I don’t.  Sometimes I cry simply because I am so happy that tears are the closest thing to joy that I can achieve.

Tears do not have to stand for sadness … and nowhere is it written that only women cry … Men, too, have the burden 0f tears and, like my own, they can represent joy, relief, praise, worship and happiness.  Not all tears are ones of sorrow or regret.  But unless you know me, personally and on an intimate basis, my tears will mean nothing to you.  That is the way of life.  Our family and friends learn as they go; we learn as we go and life unfolds as it is meant and tears fall when they feel like it.  It is, in the grand scheme of things, a very simple equation.  The tears I cry tonight?  Well, they are born of many things and will hopefully, end with the sunrise.  At the end of the day, sometimes it is the tears which set me free.

fierysunset

I thought I was prepared …

for the sheer depth of joy that would come with the total immersion of mind, body and spirit into the wilderness.  I wasn’t even close.  In three short months, I had forgotten the thrill of knowing the exhilaration of finding that there is nothing between me and nature except the air I breathe and my Pentax.   I had forgotten how awe-inspiring creation is when I can see it up close and personal.  I had forgotten just how alluring the smells of the earth in winter could be.

Today, however, I was reminded.   The sights, sounds and smells took me from my present self and put me in an altered state of mind.  One that thrives on finding out where the trail leads, then, when the trail has run its course, the adrenaline punching adventure of veering off to become one with the hills and valleys, the streams and creeks of my mountain; for today, it was on my mountain that I wandered.  My mind was peaceful, my thoughts were clear and my body strong as it responded to the challenges and physical demands of making my way through thickets and briar-laden brambles on steep, rocky hillsides.

The mind-numbing exhaustion of the past few weeks dissipated like fog under a summer sunrise.  With every step, I felt my energy level rise and my stress level fade into oblivion and it didn’t escape me that I can find myself in this same state of mind over and over; that nothing can happen to me in a week’s time that I can’t undo with a hike into places both known and unknown.  My mind is already full with thoughts of where I will go next week. I am blessed beyond measure by the simple things in life that God knows I have a need of.

Even now, I feel as though the energy inside me will simply burst forth, creating a display of light and shadow all around me.  I suppose, since there happens to be no other, more enjoyable outlet, I will expend that energy on laundry.  Pity.

underwater

Psalms 96: 11-12 ~ Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad; let the sea roar, and the fulness thereof. Let the field be joyful, and all that is therein: then shall all the trees of the wood rejoice.

Friends come and go …

such is one of the intricacies of life.  Sometimes, the best of friends can become separated for one reason or another.   It is difficult to come to terms with such things, but there is no avoiding it.  Not everyone you expect to be there for you will be there for you.  It is best to learn this early in life so that later on, it doesn’t come as a shock when you realize that people fade from your life.

If you give everything you have to a friendship, you should be aware that the possibility of disappointment, betrayal, hurt and denial are viable options.  It happens.  It doesn’t mean that you, or they, have done anything wrong, but have simply drifted apart to the point that there is nothing left in common.  Having a conversation with someone you have nothing in common with is like being skewered by a porcupine.  It hurts everywhere, all at the same time, and the reason often goes unknown.   I would like to say it is not a reflection on ourselves, but sometimes it is.  Sometimes our selfishness and desire to know that our friends understand us gets in the way of understanding that they, too, need validation and understanding.

There are people from my past that I loved dearly, but haven’t spoken to them in years.  It isn’t because I didn’t want to talk to them, but that our lives took different paths and there came a time when there was nothing left to say.  I find that many people distance themselves from me because I am completely different from what they have become accustomed to.  I am about plain speech, brutal honesty and speaking my mind.  I am both weak and strong, both intelligent and ignorant and at times, a seemingly unworkable puzzle.  Often, the filter between my brain and mouth fails.  When someone asks me for an opinion, I give it.  Truthfully.  There are those who don’t want the truth, but an illusion.  I don’t do illusions.

It is enough, for me, to know that there are people who understand that I am not like them, not like their other friends, not like anyone they know.  That doesn’t stop them, though, from being there when I need them.  It doesn’t stop them from loving me when I yell, cry and meltdown right in front of their eyes.  It doesn’t stop them from asking questions that may possibly have an answer they didn’t expect to hear.  It doesn’t change who they are or how they interact.   They take it in stride and see it as no more than what it is.  Me being me.  Those are the people I cling to.  The ones I message in the middle of the night with random thoughts that, quite possibly cross a multitude of boundaries … at times, I get an answer, but, some days feel as though I am no more than a vapor in the wind; conversations deferred until they have the mindset to go one on one with me … They are the ones who hear what I say and accept it, although it may perplex them but they do it without judgement, advise or trying to fix me.  I’m not a broken doll who needs her arms glued back on, but, just someone whose mind sometimes goes faster than what the rest of me can keep up with.  It is a fallacy and unthinkable injustice to think that they, who give of themselves, do  not need the same.

It is an implausible thought to believe that our friends think of us all the time.  Maybe some of them do and just forget to say so.  Maybe they outgrow us and find that there isn’t any common ground left … sometimes, yes, but not always.  Our minds have a way of distorting things and making judgements that are unjust and just plain false and when we do that, we ostracize ourselves because of our imagined ignorance.

While it is true that there are times when I ask more of my friends than they are able to give; the ones who truly want to be in my life say so.  They tell me that I’ve pushed the envelope over the boundaries and need to take a step back.  I need, as much as I give, honesty when it comes to my dearest friends.  I don’t ask for unconditional devotion.  That is an unrealistic expectation and should be met with opposition, but I do expect honesty.

Our friends are not merely there to stroke our ego or soothe ruffled feathers.  If that is all they do, eventually, they will become disillusioned and separate themselves for our lives.  I have caused that a few times.  Been too much work and not, in the grand scheme of things,  important enough to understand on a level that may never be achieved.

I am thankful for my friends.  My dearest friends know who I am and if they don’t, then it is as much my failure as theirs.  It is, indeed, a bitter pill to swallow when you realize that someone has distanced themselves from me simply because I don’t fit the mold they have cast for a friend.  It took me years to find myself, and even now, I am still learning and as long as I live,  if I have my mind, I will continue to learn.

Yes, friends in our lives will continue to come and go, but the ones who are true will be there when you need them.  That is not a supposition, it is a fact.  So for the handful of friends that I have who are not daunted by my mood swings, months of dis-communication,  missed birthdays, forgotten anniversaries and, at times, bombardment of questions, accusations and needs, know this;  I am thankful for you.  And, when the time comes that I can be there when you need me, know without a doubt, that I am on my way.

Thankful for my real friends and, surprisingly to some, my family, and even more thankful that they know not only who they are and what moves them, but find that they, even if they didn’t realize it earlier, know who I am.  Being understood is one of life’s most cherished blessing and while many of us go our entire life without finding that bond, the rest of us realize that the blessing is astronomical.  I am grateful for my friends.  I am thankful that, though I am different, they accept me.  I find it hard, though I may want more, to ask for more.  I am curios in a way that only a Sagittarian can be.  I have wants and desires, but won’t bash my head against a brick wall to get fulfillment.  There will come a time when I will, because it is in my nature, move on.

I think it is safe to say that the “I want it yesterday” world we live in is a hindrance.  Not everyone follows those same rules, the code of immediacy is not their own. It doesn’t make them a bad friend.  It makes them dependable and loyal.  It is hard to wish for more than loyalty, dependability and honesty in our friends.   Asking more is selfish and self-centered and will, in time, result in the disintegration of the friendship.   When you ask for more than someone can give and then hold it against them, the burden is of our own design.  At times, just knowing, whether they say so or not, that my friends think of me on occasion is enough; sometimes it isn’t.  We all need validation on some level, need to know that what we have isn’t one-sided and wasted on those who don’t really understand us and have no desire to.  But there will be ones like that, in those times, who become water under the bridge.  We learn lessons that will help us be better people in the future.  I have friends that I talk to on occasion, but the connection is one that, irregardless of excuses, stand the test of time.  They know more about me than anyone and they are the ones, being honest here, who hurt me most.  It isn’t their fault, but my own unattainable expectations that play tricks on my mind and make me doubt when there is no valid reason to do so.

I am thankful for my  real, honest to goodness friends.  As long as they are in my life, in some capacity, I can deal with nearly anything.  I know their weaknesses and disappointments even as they know mine.  Such intimacy in a friendship is hard to find and should not be taken for granted.  Be a friend, a loyal, trustworthy friend, and inevitably, you will reciprocate the same.  It is the way the world works.

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Proverbs 27:17 ~  Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.