Validation. Most all of us seek it in one form or another, whether it be from our spouse, our parents, our relatives, our family, our friends, the opposite sex, the same sex, our superiors at work, our peers, people we want to impress, people we deem more sophisticated than us, and so on and so forth. We run after approval, like a dog chasing after a ball, frenetically at times. Though our tongue isn’t flopping to and fro outside half of our mouth and drool being splattered across our face like it might that golden retriever fetching after the green tennie that his master has just thrown, we often portray similar responses when eyeing the object of acquisition, which could be anything from that nod of the head, that pat on the back, that sympathizing look and gesture or those reassuring words.
And we do all this for what end? What is really at the core of all this fumbling, frantic, insatiable quest for others to validate who we are or what we are or even where we are? Why such desire and need to be validated by others and dare I say, even ourselves? Continue reading
Eyes blinking, lights twinkling, wicks burning. In the background, instrumental Christmas music plays softly, lending to the air of nostalgia in the steamy room. I soak and sink deeper into the steaming tub, sink deeper into my decade hopping reverie as I revert back to the mind of a little girl. Of a little girl who was caught up in the magic of Christmas as she lay beneath the tree gazing up into the million tiny lights and glimmering ornaments, wedged between presents, and surrounded by the train set circling round and round, entrancing me all the more into my sugarplum visions.
In this candlelit room I am almost back there, almost back to that time when only the best was possible. Where the future seemed as bright as the neighborhood collection of lights and holiday display. Almost transported back to a season where magic and dreams were more of my reality than bills and debt and failure and sickness. Back to a time where I would never have dreamt the future would turn out any differently than what that Christmas hope eluded to. Continue reading
How can one heart, sanctified by purity, oscillate between two such opposing extremes; on the one end bitterness, and the other, gratitude. How can the same soul, which awakes with thanksgiving at the sound of seagulls calling to one another in the misty morning hours, also lie down with enmity toward those who soar through life without second thought to limitations or constraints. Without second thought to the little things throughout the day that are so easily taken for granted. The things which those of us bound by the chains of our own bodies long to have the freedom to do once again. The things our sickness so unforgivingly snatched away. Of how deeply we pine for the simple things of life. To plan a lunch date without fear of whether we will be stricken by pain. To make a commitment without considering how it may interrupt or affect our tedious and time-consuming treatment. To jump with joy in response to a victory, an exciting report, or even just because we feel like showing our delight. And on to the bigger little things, such as the ability to throw on a pair of sneakers and run with no goal or end in mind, or to hike up a mountain or even a sizeable hill, to swim in the sea, to dance at a wedding, to attend an exercise class, or any number of physical things that should characterize the years of youth and remain throughout decades to come.