Ever get the feeling that we're all flying about in this social media sphere, occasionally bumping into each other? That each of us is trying to say something profound and original, while kinda knowing, deep down, that, if we have thought of it, somebody else, somewhere on this planet of seven billion plus people, must have thought of it, too? That the race then becomes, who can get to put it out there first, in front of the widest audience - and be recognized as the author or creator.
I get that feeling. Sometimes, that's exactly the kind of race in which I find myself. There's so much information at our fingertips, it's one thing to rummage through the sheer pile of it all to find a gem. It's another to be the creator of that gem! This brings to mind a few lines from that piece I "discovered" and studied for my dramatic monologue for the audition for the part I got in the ad the other day (may I buy another "for"?) The piece is from George Bernard Shaw's "Man and Superman" (ACT I, 182) . Tanner is speaking to Tavy (Octavius) about the raging tension, if you will, between the "artist/man" and the "mother/woman": "Our minds are nothing more than this knowledge of ourselves, and he who adds one jot to such knowledge, creates new mind, as surely as any woman creates new men." Who would not want to add to the body of knowledge that now exists? Now. Now. (Get it? Moving target.) It is a challenge with which doctoral and other students grapple. A lot. Heck, it's not just a student/scholarly thing. In the world outside the classroom, that desire to add to the body of knowledge among human beings is most times simply referred to as "making my mark".
And, these days, it is way easier to do that. (For the purpose of this post, never mind the kind of mark.) And, if we can do it - add to knowledge or make our mark in such a way that we receive (almost) instant recognition and, quite possibly, reward, well, it certainly helps to explain the mad rush to do so.
But, oh, how tiring. And, what do we give up in the pursuit of this goal? It has taken me a while to learn - everybody doesn't learn at the same pace - that the joy is not in finishing first and standing out and and and... But, instead, in being courageous enough to create, and being aware that God has blessed each of us with that something already unique to each of us - our unique selves. That, if we simply be ourselves and let Him help us discover our talents and gifts and use them, we can - and will - exceed our own expectations. And, be happy.
You know how sometimes you make an adamantine decision to do something, and, one day into the next, procrastination reigns, the next thing you know it’s like two and a half years after and it’s still not done? Ever get that? Of course, you can hardly help but wonder what happened to that rock hard resolution? What was sharp enough to poke a hole – sometimes not easily detected – into your iron-clad resolve? Whatever it was, it succeeded. And you wake up one day and kinda go, “Hmm. Whatever happened to my dream to do so and so?"
Well, this post isn’t about the lost dreams or the procrastination or the poked hole or the rusty resolution. Nope. This is about acknowledging and saluting you if you have ever had the courage to dream and then do it! This is about admiring your perseverance and your vim, vigour and vitality; your guts and gusto in going against the odds to get to your goal. And, believe me, sometimes it takes a lot of guts. And gusto! I know. I stepped out of my comfort zone again today. It wasn't an awful experience, but it did remind me that creativity requires strength.
We live in a cynical world and people can be brutal in their criticisms. They don’t have to know you (and even those who do, how well do they?) to try to crush every move you make. You would think they get paid to do it (some do, I guess); that they find a warped and twisted joy in doing it (some do, I guess). On top of that, they have a tool to effect that criticism loud and clear and for many to see (read: read). For, with all the social networking and mobile apps and what not, a venomous word is just a click away, most times from behind that previously-spoken-about wall of anonymity.
When one finds the courage to do according to his/her dream, being grounded, and having time-tried-and-tested support, is paramount. You gotta have the people you have known, and who have cared about you from Adam, in your corner. For, once you create something, here come the editors! They never…well, make that, they don’t (it would appear) have the guts to create something, perhaps fearing that there are others out there like themselves who can’t wait to tear ‘em down and rip ‘em to shreds. They opt not to be creators but editors. Not the constructive type, either. So, you create and put it out there and the response (read: backlash) from the small online world (each person is just a touch of a button away which makes it small) comes fast and furious. As you know, no matter what, you will never – as in never – be able to please everyone. I mean, come on, look at how many were displeased with Jesus. Jesus!
It takes guts to create. And, it takes guts to share it with someone as you risk ridicule or rejection. Be wise in your choices regarding with whom you share and make sure to make a paper trail. Be creative with wild abandon but apply common sense and wisdom in your transactions. As a well-meaning creative person with good intentions, you might not even be able to fathom how cruel some will get as they set out to ravish your new ideas, or even just “change it a little”, to call it their own.
Use up your God-given talent; He’s got your back. Be wise. Be fearless.
And, way to go! You dreamer, doer, creator and achiever you!
Apparently, I wasn't always as happy as I am now. I imagine, too, that I am not as happy now as I will be. But, we'll wax philosophical another time ;-) For this time and purpose, I'm sharing one of the poems I wrote just as I had exited my teenage years. Seriously, I'm looking over these poems in this practically dust-covered book and going, "What was I thinking?" Well, I kinda know. For the most part, I was in love. You can't really tell a teenager that what he/she is feeling isn't love. So, most of my poems from that time had to do with love, as I knew it. That, or my quest to discover life as I'd come to know it. I've tried, in sharing a few of these, to resist the urge to edit. The better writer / older woman / inner editor is having a tough time, but, here it is, as it was.
Once in a while I come across gems on the net that I hold on to, in some way shape or form, for posterity. (Granted, my future generations mightn't share the same tastes nor interest in the stuff I'd have left for them. But then again, they might.) I've reproduced a few here before, giving credit as due - of course. Here's another. This one's by comedian Dave Barry.
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Dave Barry's Guide to Guys!
Let's say a guy named Roger is attracted to a woman named Elaine. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time. A few nights later he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves. They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while neither one of them is seeing anybody else.
And then, one evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to Elaine, and, without really thinking, she says it aloud: ''Do you realize that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?''
And then there is silence in the car. To Elaine, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: Geez, I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by our relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he doesn't want, or isn't sure of.
And Roger is thinking: Gosh. Six months.
And Elaine is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of relationship, either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I'd have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily toward . . . I mean, where are we going? Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy? Are we heading toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even know this person?
And Roger is thinking: . . . so that means it was . . . let's see . . ...February when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the dealer's, which means . . . lemme check the odometer . . . Whoa! I am way overdue for an oil change here.
And Elaine is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed -- even before I sensed it -- that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid of being rejected.
And Roger is thinking: And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission again. I don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting right. And they'd better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a goddamn garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves $600.
And Elaine is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too. God, I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure.
And Roger is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90-day warranty. That's exactly what they're gonna say, the scumballs.
And Elaine is thinking: Maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about me. A person who is in pain because of myself-centered, schoolgirl romantic fantasy.
And Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them a goddamn warranty. I'll take their warranty and stick it right up their ...
''Please don't torture yourself like this,'' she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. ''Maybe I should never have . . Oh God, I feel so ...
(She breaks down, sobbing.) ''What?'' says Roger.
''I'm such a fool,'' Elaine sobs. ''I mean, I know there's no knight. I really know that. It's silly. There's no knight, and there's no horse.''
''There's no horse?'' says Roger. ''You think I'm a fool, don't you?'' Elaine says. ''No!'' says Roger, glad to finally know the correct answer. ''It's just that . . . It's that I . . . I need some time,'' Elaine says.
(There is a 15-second pause while Roger, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work.)
"Yes,'' he says. (Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand.) ''Oh, Roger, do you really feel that way?'' she says. ''What way?'' says Roger. ''That way about time,'' says Elaine.
''Oh,'' says Roger. ''Yes.'' (Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse.
(At last she speaks.) ''Thank you, Roger,'' she says. ''Thank you,'' says Roger.
Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn. Whereas, when Roger gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two Czechoslovakians he never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it's better if he doesn't think about it. (This is also Roger's policy regarding world hunger.)
The next day Elaine will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression, and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification. They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite conclusions, but never getting bored with it, either.
Meanwhile, Roger, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual friend of his and Elaine's, will pause just before serving, frown, and say: ''Norm, did Elaine ever own a horse?''
In response to the first short story I posted here, I heard from folks who'd never commented on my blog/ writing before. That was...neat. Thanks, always, for the comments. I welcome them. Really.
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THE SPOT
The day was not too hot; it was not too cold. Like the baby bear’s porridge in the story, it was just right. Jade pulled in to the parking lot, music blaring from her car’s speakers. Her body moved to the beat and rhythm of the heavy bass line and drums. It wasn’t her favourite music to listen to, though it was on the playlist for her workout. But, this wasn’t a morning for listening. This was a morning for dancing - or wiggling – as she moved as best she could, tapping out the beat on the steering wheel. As she got closer to the supermarket, she turned the music down and tried to will her body to keep still. Her head kept the beat, though, as she spotted a space to her left.
As usual, she inched forward so she could reverse into the spot, wrapping to her left. Jade was about three-quarters of the way in, checking her right side mirror and about to straighten up, when she heard the sound of a horn behind her. She knew she had made sure the space was clear. Still, she glanced quickly at her left side mirror in time to see a car pulling into the same spot! How could that be? Jade imagined that...actually, she couldn’t imagine what the driver might have been thinking. All she knew was that she could reverse no farther into the spot and the other driver did not have enough space to pull forward. This was going to be interesting.
Growing up, Jade was never afraid of being confrontational. If it didn’t look right, she felt it her right and business to speak up. Granted, she’d also noticed how she had mellowed a little by the time she got to her late thirties. She had, as someone said, “learned to pick her battles.” So, she sat there and toyed with the idea of just waiting out the other driver. Maybe he – or she – would get the message and find another spot. Why did she have to be the one to move? She was there first! Plus, she was already three-quarters of the way in! What kind of unconscionable creature would creep up on someone and try to take a parking spot when the spot was almost filled? Ooooh! As the thoughts piled up, Jade started moving beyond annoyed to angry. She was clearly not parked properly. She tried fiddling with her phone as if she was preoccupied and didn’t care. That didn’t last long. She noticed a few people glancing at “the situation” as they made their way from the supermarket to their own vehicles. Was it worth it? Wasn’t she going to look weak if she backed down? Why should she back down from this woman? “I bet it’s a woman!” Jade thought.
Then, without even thinking, really, Jade undid her seat belt, got out of her car and approached the driver of the car behind her. Well, it was a woman all right. An old woman. That didn’t phase her. If she could drive, she certainly could answer the only question she had in mind. “Ma’am? What...what are you doing?” Jade asked her.
“I’m trying to park my car! Didn’t you see me pulling into the spot?” The woman shot back.
“Ma’am? I was already almost all the way in, when you started to pull in. Why would you do that?” Jade surprised herself with the gentleness of her questioning. Maybe the sermon about kindness on Sunday had hit a spot.
She glanced at the old woman whose eyes were looking straight ahead, hands firmly on her steering wheel. There was no point. Jade went back to her car.
She sat there for a while. This whole “show love and be considerate to others thing” was not as easy as it sounded coming from the preacher on a Sunday morning. She was a Christian and tried to be a good one. But, as she sat there in the moment, with no music – she had turned it off from the time she heard the honk – she was seething. This might not be the most God-pleasing reaction. For a few seconds, all she could think about was that she was right. She was right. And, this woman in the car behind her... Jade glanced at the figure in her peripheral view. It was the woman! She had got out of her car, which was far from being properly parked, and was walking toward the store! Jade sighed. Just then, the driver of the car to her right – another woman – came along, grocery bags in hand. Jade was pretty sure she spotted an amused look on her face, as she glanced at the two of them and the two awkwardly-parked cars. Jade sighed again, as she knew the move she had to make.
They finally both parked properly – Jade in the new spot and the woman in the space she had wrestled from her. They both alighted from their vehicles about the same time, too. So, it was no surprise that they would be walking in, almost lock step with each other. It was the woman who broke the silence.
“You know, I have a bum leg, and this is how you treat someone with a bum leg?” She started.
“Ma’am?” Jade interrupted, “I wouldn’t have known anything about your bum leg. All I saw was someone driving into the spot when I was almost all the way in.” She noticed that the woman was big in body - about five feet seven inches and somewhat overweight.
“You have no respect for seniors,” the woman continued.
That hurt. By this time, they had reached the sliding doors and, once inside, Jade picked up a basket and they went their separate ways.
As Jade went down the fruits aisle, she spotted her out of the corner of her eye. She was by the veggies section. Although Jade quickly took her eyes off her, a nagging conviction had already set in. She created a bit more distance between them as she turned toward another aisle. Still, she couldn’t shake the heaviness that she should go over and apologize to her. Jade spent about a minute trying to decide whether it was guilt or God. Maybe she would’ve felt guilty, had she done something wrong. But, here she was, in the right, feeling that she had to somehow make it better for the other person. What was that all about? It sure felt like God. And then it hit the spot. “Go and apologize – and offer to pay for her groceries.” Jade raised an eyebrow and tried putting her reaction into thoughts. “Okaaay. Pardon me?” She thought, as if she were expecting an answer. What if the woman rejected the offer? What if her groceries cost a lot? But the directive didn’t leave her. And, she knew there was no fighting it.
She mumbled a little prayer, mustered up her courage and took the very long walk over to the stall with the oranges. It was really no more than about ten metres away. The woman had a few items in her hand; she wasn’t using a basket. Jade approached her, “I want to apologize for what happened in the parking lot. I’d like to pay for your groceries, if that’s OK?”
She didn’t decline the offer; she didn’t reject the offer. Instead, she replied, “Well, you don’t have to.”
“It’s OK. Really,” Jade said.
“Well, I’m just about done. Are you finished?” She asked.
“No, actually, I have a few more items to go,” Jade replied. “Let me hurry and grab them. I can meet you at checkout, OK?”
Jade went to join her in the line at the checkout. The woman turned to her, “It’s very kind of you to offer.” Jade explained that it was no problem; that she was glad to be doing it. The older woman continued, “It’s very difficult for seniors, especially at this age, to keep their drivers licence, you know.”
Jade knitted her brow. “What do you mean?” She asked.
“Well, when you get to eighty, once you get into an accident, that’s it. They take your licence. And, I’m eighty-three.
“Well, you don’t look eighty-three,” Jade blurted out.
“Well, thank you, but, I am.”
“May I ask your name?” Jade said, and she too introduced herself.
Jade let her go through checkout first. She gave her the receipt in case she would need to return something. Jade was a little disappointed that the bill hadn’t even amounted to twenty dollars. Still, they said their goodbyes and she left the supermarket.
As she paid for her own groceries, Jade wondered whether their paths would cross again. Maybe she could look out for her on another Saturday, about noon? Of course, they would be getting together under better circumstances. When Jade got outside and headed to her car, she noticed the woman sitting in her car, hands on the steering wheel, looking in her direction. She had been waiting. As Jade approached her, she rolled her car window down, beckoned to her a little, and said, “Thank you, again.”
Jade smiled as she replied, “You’re welcome, Maria.”
Well, here goes. Having decided to put my story-telling skills on show, for public consumption and criticism, I'm beginning with this one:
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THE CASTLE
(A SHORT STORY)
She was fine. She was sitting at her desk, in her new full-time, permanent Administrative Assistant position. It wasn’t the Executive Assistant one Francine had applied for, but, she was fine.
She reflected on the initial months after leaving Jamaica for Rochester, New York. She’d harboured a kind of apprehension, tempered with worry and embarrassment. Both she and her husband had stayed away from Facebook – for the most part. A few months, dwindling funds, increasing worry and dozens of résumés later, they both landed temporary jobs. Hers was part-time then.
Before long, Susan, her supervisor, took a liking to her efficiency, professionalism and pleasant demeanour. She told Francine about an upcoming position and Francine had applied. The interview had gone well.
It so happened that, just as she had finished the interview that day, the full-time Admin Assistant, at the time, saw her descending the stairs.
“And what was that about?” Meghan called out from her desk.
“Oh, just a meeting with Susan,” Francine tried being evasive.
“Oh? I know she’s leaving. You’ve heard that, right? Was it about her position?”
There was no stopping this woman!
“She just wanted to talk about an opportunity,” Francine glanced outside, trying to appear nonchalant.
“Hmm. You know Francine, if it’s about her position, that kind of move would be pretty quick. It’s not often that someone from another country comes in and moves up that quickly.”
Francine didn’t like the sound of that; not at all.
“I mean, it’s not about you!” Meghan continued. “I’m just wondering why I’m always being overlooked. But, whatever! That kind of position is too demanding, anyway.”
Wow. It really took a certain kind of person to say stuff like that. She’d heard and read about Meghan’s kind. Francine knew she had to be careful – news clearly travelled fast in their small company. “Well, we’ll see how it goes,” she replied.
Several days after that, Susan had called her into another meeting. This time, she explained that she mightn’t have handled the situation well. It was her understanding that “someone” had said “something” and they’d had to revisit the hiring process. She apologized – several times. She explained further that they were prepared to offer her a different full-time, permanent position – Meghan’s position; that she and the Director both hoped she would accept as they were so very happy to have her.
Meghan’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“…new laptop for my new position. Is it here yet?
“Not yet,” Francine replied, without looking up.
“Well, I’m going back up to The Castle. That’s what they call it, right? Ha ha! The Castle. How funny is that?”
Francine looked up and managed a half-smile.
Before she ascended, however, Meghan leaned over Francine’s desk a bit and said in lower tones, “You know Francine, I don’t know who said anything to Susan. All I did was mention to one of the girls that it seemed they were hiring for Sue’s job. The next thing I knew, I was called for an interview and they offered me the Executive Assistant position. I mean, I’d even said to them, “It’s ok, you can give this position to Francine.” But, I guess they stuck to their decision, eh?”
This time, Francine raised one eyebrow, followed by the faintest of smiles. It was hardly detectable, really.
That evening, over dinner, she updated her husband on the latest exchange.
“She chat to much! She neva hear seh ‘cock mout kill cock’”? He asked.
“It nuh look suh!” Francine replied, raising her glass to her lips. “Time longer dan rope, man. Time.”
First post for the year and I gotta admit that I've been giving much thought to how much I'd like to improve the quality of my writing. It's not about a new year's resolution. It's about wanting to get to a higher level. Yes, I've been writing to save my life. And I know that, wherever I go in my writing, I will continue to do that on some level. But, "my life" has begun to yearn for me to go deeper; write better. See, it has to be at my own pace.
In giving thought to writing at a deeper level, I recall reading somewhere that what we dread to write about the most; that which we are ashamed of, usually makes for good writing - and great reading. And, I'm thinking, wouldn't they like to know? I agree to a large extent with this idea, though. Could you imagine if I were brave enough to write about all the stuff that has caused me pain, or embarrassment, or deep anxiety over the years?
Well, in the first place, I imagine I would need to treat them as more than mere "stuff". I'd have to get into the nitty-gritty; get down and dirty; hang out all my linen for all and sundry to see. Of course, I could always write about these experiences using the cloak of fictional characters. Would I be able to pull it off without a trace? Should that be the aim? I don't know. And, I don't know that I'm there yet.
That's the crux of it right there, really. I don't know that I'm there yet. I believe that the kind of writing that makes you... forces you to let it all out, has to be of a certain calibre, and has to come at a certain time in life. Do I doubt my ability to write in that don't-care mode ('cause that's what it calls for, I believe). No, I don't doubt my ability to write with the requisite abandon. What I think I need, really, is the proper motivation.
So, I am not writing with wild abandon and "dunkya" because, well, it isn't "hurting bad enough yet."
It’s time to Arise; shine.
My mother suggested, "Why not create your own...?"
I took a leap!
So, it's about life, love and
laughter - to enlighten,
educate and inspire.
Sometimes you just need
to be inspired in order
to make it Home.
Know that only you can, and ever will, be you. Ever!
Let's use our talents, and all that we are, to the last drop!
As a human being, and a human doing,
do I make Him proud?
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