Tag: simple

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May 9

A seemingly random ordinary day, however this solitary day holds a whirlwind of symbolism for me, my MayDay.

I will hold this day sacred, thus the details are held sacred as well. Even without sharing this sacredness, I can share the sentiments.

At 52, there are miles and miles of memories; some good, some quite honestly, fucking suck. MayDay holds them both.

Many of my childhood memories are fragmented and splintered. Childhood trauma that swims into adult trauma with a paddle board of PTSD, and the Soul learns to protect itself by shutting down certain memories. While frustrating, I consider it a gift.

There are amazing gifts that the soul provides, even if the logical mind retailiates against them.

While on a work trip to NY, I was told, in an delightfully yet incredibly crude delivery, that I was an “emotional tampon”. Any energy that flows past me, I absorb. My friend and colleague, tossed their head back and cackled, exclaiming “I have never heard a more accurate description of her”. WTF Dude, seriously!? As put-off as I was in that moment, I whole-heartedly agree.

Decades after that NY Revelation, I have made the investment to the explore the depth of this truth. I AM an emotional tampon, aka an Empath. I can feel the anguish of another soul, merely by sharing space with them. Good or bad. It goes beyond a sixth sense, it takes up residency in me. I am still a work in progress as to the shaking off or shedding of their energy, but it is a gift I don’t want to be wholly rid of.

I hurt with you. I rejoice with you. I feel that shady-ass-sideways-glance of the super creep, deep within me. Like physically, bone weary depth. I trust that. Now. A childhood of trust and broken boundaries still haunts me, but I now lean in to that vibration in my gut. Trust it.

Circling back to The MayDay, the cacophony of vibrations that fill a single day.

On any single day…

You might be in a desert place of emotion, please trust there will always be a refuge on the horizon.

Conversely, while on the mountaintop, you can assuredly see the valley that awaits your descent.

While in a circle of people, you can almost count on a Judas in your midst. Take heart, the greatest story in Christianity hinges on Judas.

While betrayal cuts deep, it is necessary to bring about new birth.

I’ve been the Judas, I’ve also been the BirthMother.

My MayDay honors all the facets of my Soul. It’s where my story sings the loudest, it’s where my heart hurts the deepest.

It’s the MayDay of my childhood with a handmade newspaper cone of handpicked violets on my doorstep – it’s the adult MayDay distress call made to anyone listening.

MayDay. MayDay.

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One Word

2017 was the first year I purposefully set a “one word” into being, rather than offering up a well meaning, but never fulfilled “resolution”.

My word for 2017 was Boundaries. I totally lost sight of my word, allowed myself beyond boundaries that were healthy or helpful. My word rediscovered me, revealed itself where I had least expected, and showed me lessons learned while I wasn’t looking.

My word for 2018 can be found in the waiting; for my 3rd grandchild to be born, for a BIG birthday year, and the vision of a 2nd book (yet to be written).

My word can be found in the hoping, believing in better health solutions and for relationships restored.

Yes, I can safely say, 2018 is to be filled with Expectation!

Cheers to 2018! And all that you are expecting!!

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That’s Not News

I miss the days of the 6 o’clock news. The days before CNN and other ’round the clock news channels. When the news was a matter of reporting facts. The stuff that happened, the weather and sports. Simple. 

In my little community, our newscasters were rockstars. The female weather caster with instantly recognizable hair, became the go-to hairstyle for many a local lady. 

We would see the lead newscaster out and about in the grocery store and lose our mind. We’d begin conversation like we were talking with a movie star, I wonder how many autographs were signed in the produce aisle. 

Today we report on the celebrities and the stupid crap we are supposed to be impressed by. We’ve made people famous for being absolutely shameless attention whores with zero talent. I just don’t get it. 

Athletes making more money than any human aught-to for playing a game.  Their political opinions and shenanigans shame their team. If any one of us were to behave so audaciously on our jobs, we’d be canned immediately.  

Take back your/their opinions and agendas. Take back your reality tv. (Or the perception of reality.) Take back the tv that does nothing to feed your soul or fill our life. 

Give me back my 6 o’clock  news. Give me back the way meals were shared around a table, as family. Give me back the ability to see facts and truth played out on the news. 

Give me back my Saturday mornings. Start the day with Davey & Goliath and a little bit of principles and values. Give me back, Mr Mustache and the simplicity and silliness of my childhood. The absolute awe and wonder of puppets and turning a letter of the alphabet into a cartoon. 


I don’t want to be a child again, just have a childlike joy and faith. Simple. Before the world spun out of control. Life. Simple. 
Photo credits:WIFR