I told myself a story that wasn’t true based on my interpretation of what I read and my own personal lens. I deceived myself by believing what I wanted to believe.
The dogs haven’t learned that they will never, ever win in their desire to rid our yard, or our village, of squirrels. In their quest to alter reality, these dogs take after their adopted mother: me.
Rather than expecting everyone to view reality as we do, I’m wondering if we can be open, curious even, to asking questions in a sincere, nonjudgmental way about why someone holds particular opinions or interpretations of reality.
Bringing home a puppy is inviting chaos and a lot of extra work into your home. It’s also saying, “I do” to more love and joy, and that’s what I want, regardless of my age.
I’m working to figure out what I want to do and what I don’t. This means I have to listen to myself, which entails getting still enough to pay attention to what my gut is saying.
He had never been to a wedding. So he had to ask an older woman in a laundromat about the topic. She must have looked like she had experienced life and could be counted on to tell the truth as she saw it.
We think that our high school friends are the same people or that the spouse we married thirty years ago is the same person. But the fact is, we are changing.
These students and I were reworking ourselves, blending in the forgotten eggs and somehow knowing that just one small change at that moment could alter the arc of our lives.
In a society that puts value on a person, a life, based on productivity, it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that accepting help makes us less than worthy.
Sometimes the constraints we’re faced with make it seem like we don’t have a choice, but even then, we can always choose how to face what’s in front of us.
In life, we will experience wins and losses, joys and sorrows, and often, working hard or really trying will have little to do with them. Does that mean we don’t try? Not a chance.
I remember the unease I felt, getting up in the morning to darkened, dystopian skies, having to stay inside because of the smoke, and packing a “go” bag in the event we had to evacuate with minutes’ notice. One could begin to think, “What else is going to happen?”
What I put into the compost seems to be worthless and not worth saving, but I’m waiting to see if it turns into good dirt. Maybe pain can be composted, too.
Sometimes when we’re faced with overwhelming problems, it seems futile to start if we know we can’t completely fix them. Paralysis can set in, and so can procrastination.