When I was young and got chastised for accidentally hurting my siblings (whether physically or emotionally), breaking or dropping something, or making a mess or any other sort of careless mistake, my instant complaint was as follows:
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"
And to this whiny defense, my mother's response was almost always, "Yes, but you didn't mean not to."
First, I'll say as a side-note that "You didn't mean not to" is second only to "That's not the issue" as my least favorite of mother's disciplinary catch-phrases. But what is the issue in this post is that, to my recollection, this famous rebuttal never failed to put an end to my protesting.
My immediate willingness to throw up the white flag can not be attributed as much to my begrudging acknowledgement of the correctness of her point as much as to my frustration at not actually even understanding what she meant by it. I seriously had no idea what she was saying. Not even a little bit. I even remember thinking one time that I should tell her that what she had said just didn't make any sense. The words "didn't mean not to" registered in my mind as some sort of disjointed, ungrammatical phrase--perhaps not too much unlike what I imagine baby Yoda to have sounded like before he developed his superlative command of syntax.
Recently, however, something a friend said reminded me of this exchange, and since then, I've been contemplating the meaning of mama's implied charge: to mean not to. As oddly phrased as it is, it has changed the way I view my daily interactions with my co-workers, friends, family, and strangers. I've come to the conclusion that to mean not to is about considering how my actions will affect others, then choosing to avoid those actions that will yield negative results.
It's about rejecting my selfish impulses.
It's about being careful, diligent, and wise with my words and deeds.
It's about reducing the pain and heartache that could be inflicted on others, just by putting some extra effort into suppressing any unkind words I'm tempted to speak.
It's about letting go of all the grudges, petty disagreements, and envy that create rifts between my loved ones and me.
It's about choosing patience when impatience is my visceral reaction.
It's about giving up my vanity-inspired pursuit for constant approval and instead offering praise to the unassuming souls who may feel they are not worthy of it.
It's about listening instead of interrupting and forgoing pride in favor of humility--allowing peace and harmony the victory over my need to be proven right.
Really, what it boils down to is that it's about charity. I've spent a lot of my life pondering on what charity truly means and making efforts to embody it, to nurture any instincts I have in the way of loving people. I try to love with action. I try to love with encouraging words, meaningful service, thoughtful gifts, valuable time, and long-lasting, soul-healing hugs. I truly believe that most people in this world try to love on purpose--it comes quite naturally to mean to love. But what could happen if we would also mean not to hurt?
Friday, March 20, 2015
Sunday, October 19, 2014
Anything But Nothing
"If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." That's great advice, right? But think of what a different and infinitely more marvelous world it would be if we would equally emphasize the teaching that if you can say something nice, you should say it. All of it. Regardless of the potential for awkwardness. Regardless of the possibility of coming on too strong. Regardless of whether or not the recipient of your affections echoes and returns your sentiments.
It's a sad time when giving, passionate people start to feel that their love for someone is only worth cultivating and expressing if they already have at least a 90% assurance that it is equally reciprocated.
It's a sad time when past rejections cause brave people to fear being bold and honest with someone who means the world to them.
It's a sad time when people are more comfortable using the anonymity of the internet to waste their energy, their power of words, in fawning over a watered-down, 1-dimensional view of someone they don't even know than they are in sharing their admiration and respect for those they are intimately connected with daily.
It's a sad time when generous, beautiful, flawed-but-faithful people start to doubt themselves and their goodness (not just their inherent gifts and fortunes, but especially the goodness they have learned and earned) simply because they don't receive the validation from those they are closest to.
None of this is intended to imply that there is no place for anonymous acts of kindness, that our goodness is only worthwhile when adequately praised by others, or that self-esteem is forged from anything other than one's own inner strength. But when hard times come and that confidence wanes, and the most beautiful, complex, incredible people start fearing they may have been way off base in appreciating themselves, the kind words a sincere friend has to offer may just be what reminds them how irrevocably worthwhile they are.
Express your love, no matter how small. Shout it from the rooftops, write it in a note, share it in an embrace, or anything else.
Anything but nothing.
It's a sad time when giving, passionate people start to feel that their love for someone is only worth cultivating and expressing if they already have at least a 90% assurance that it is equally reciprocated.
It's a sad time when past rejections cause brave people to fear being bold and honest with someone who means the world to them.
It's a sad time when people are more comfortable using the anonymity of the internet to waste their energy, their power of words, in fawning over a watered-down, 1-dimensional view of someone they don't even know than they are in sharing their admiration and respect for those they are intimately connected with daily.
It's a sad time when generous, beautiful, flawed-but-faithful people start to doubt themselves and their goodness (not just their inherent gifts and fortunes, but especially the goodness they have learned and earned) simply because they don't receive the validation from those they are closest to.
None of this is intended to imply that there is no place for anonymous acts of kindness, that our goodness is only worthwhile when adequately praised by others, or that self-esteem is forged from anything other than one's own inner strength. But when hard times come and that confidence wanes, and the most beautiful, complex, incredible people start fearing they may have been way off base in appreciating themselves, the kind words a sincere friend has to offer may just be what reminds them how irrevocably worthwhile they are.
Express your love, no matter how small. Shout it from the rooftops, write it in a note, share it in an embrace, or anything else.
Anything but nothing.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
This weekend, I came down to Raleigh to visit with Brad, Natalie, and Emmett. Greg and Jayne came with Penny and Wilco as well, so we have been making a big ol' party of things. It has been a fantastic time, despite the exhaustion that inevitably ensues when we stay up until 3 AM visiting with each other, and it has been wonderful to spend time with my brothers, their awesome wives, and my sweet niece and nephews.
But sometimes when I look into these precious children's eyes, I wonder if I'll ever have my own. I know this may be the most obvious statement ever made on this blog, but I want a family so badly. I want to be a wife and a mother. Most of the time I feel like those things are all in store for me someday, but sometimes it feels like a dream for some distant future, perhaps not even in this life. And that's ok if that's what Heavenly Father's plan for me entails, but I'd be lying if I said it felt ok right at this moment. Tonight when I was snuggling those babies, my heart hurt, my throat got tight, and my eyes kept getting soggy. I didn't want to have a breakdown in front of my family, so I drove to the temple. I'm sitting here now, and even though the grounds are closed and therefore the gates are locked, even just sitting and looking at it fills me with this intense peace and comfort about everything.
I have now started five or six prayers trying to express my despair with my current situation and pleading with Heavenly Father for some answers regarding whether I should stay where I am or go somewhere else to seek these things. But each time I have tried that prayer, His Spirit has quieted my fears, spoken peace to my soul, and removed all those frustrated words from my vocabulary. I still don't have any specific answers, but I have what I need: the quiet, calm assurance that He knows me, He hears me, He is looking out for me, and He intends to bless me with joy, beauty, and love so far beyond anything I could even try and conjure up in my daydreams. And that's enough for now.
But sometimes when I look into these precious children's eyes, I wonder if I'll ever have my own. I know this may be the most obvious statement ever made on this blog, but I want a family so badly. I want to be a wife and a mother. Most of the time I feel like those things are all in store for me someday, but sometimes it feels like a dream for some distant future, perhaps not even in this life. And that's ok if that's what Heavenly Father's plan for me entails, but I'd be lying if I said it felt ok right at this moment. Tonight when I was snuggling those babies, my heart hurt, my throat got tight, and my eyes kept getting soggy. I didn't want to have a breakdown in front of my family, so I drove to the temple. I'm sitting here now, and even though the grounds are closed and therefore the gates are locked, even just sitting and looking at it fills me with this intense peace and comfort about everything.
I have now started five or six prayers trying to express my despair with my current situation and pleading with Heavenly Father for some answers regarding whether I should stay where I am or go somewhere else to seek these things. But each time I have tried that prayer, His Spirit has quieted my fears, spoken peace to my soul, and removed all those frustrated words from my vocabulary. I still don't have any specific answers, but I have what I need: the quiet, calm assurance that He knows me, He hears me, He is looking out for me, and He intends to bless me with joy, beauty, and love so far beyond anything I could even try and conjure up in my daydreams. And that's enough for now.
Monday, May 12, 2014
Death Bed
Lest anyone become concerned, this isn't some vague announcement of my impending fatality, but rather an amateurly-poetic, generalized bucket list of how I want to live my life, no matter how much of it I have left. Because sometimes I wonder about the possibility that I might die young, and I don't want to miss out on any of this stuff if I do. Because the love and hope I have for all these things are kind of what makes my world go 'round.
If I must have a death bed
Let it be a grassy knoll under the stars
With cool, dewy blades tickling my skin
And that of my Love beside me, the deepest of our affections
Wrapped up tidily in the simple, intimate gesture of our
Hand-holding.
If I must have a death bed
Let it be a floor—hardwood, stone, carpet, or kitchen—
With disco, strobe, black, or incandescent
(Just not fluorescent) lights
Illuminating my soul-expressive
Dancing.
If I must have a death bed
Let it be the cinema
My loud-mouthed friends and I making messes
Of buttery kernels and bubbly beverages
Thanks to our uncontrollable boisterous, body-shaking
Laughing.
If I must have a death bed
Let it be a freshly-muddy baseball diamond
Where I dirty my clothes beyond salvation
As gunk puddles splash, weaving glorious filth into every fiber
And I revert to childhood, inhaling joy and life as I'm
Playing.
If I must have a death bed
Let it be a giant hunk of metal
A wing on each side, moved for my pleasure—
Or perhaps by my command—
So I might as well be a superhero
Flying.
If I must have a death bed
Let it be a rooftop garden
Diverse with fruit trees, Venus fly-traps, and lilies
Each seed planted and nurtured
By my hands, new life born and
Ever-growing.
If I must have a death bed
Let it be a two-wheeled, leg-powered steel frame
Pedaling eternally toward who-even-cares-what
Curves in the road meant just for me
Metaphors for life's patterns discovered and contemplated in the
Cycling.
If I must have a death bed
Let it be a search for the good, the virtuous, the beautiful
Breaking way to despair only momentarily
For my heart hasn't the time for such a thing
When it gets caught up in all this
Living.
If I must have a death bed
Let it be a grassy knoll under the stars
With cool, dewy blades tickling my skin
And that of my Love beside me, the deepest of our affections
Wrapped up tidily in the simple, intimate gesture of our
Hand-holding.
If I must have a death bed
Let it be a floor—hardwood, stone, carpet, or kitchen—
With disco, strobe, black, or incandescent
(Just not fluorescent) lights
Illuminating my soul-expressive
Dancing.
If I must have a death bed
Let it be the cinema
My loud-mouthed friends and I making messes
Of buttery kernels and bubbly beverages
Thanks to our uncontrollable boisterous, body-shaking
Laughing.
If I must have a death bed
Let it be a freshly-muddy baseball diamond
Where I dirty my clothes beyond salvation
As gunk puddles splash, weaving glorious filth into every fiber
And I revert to childhood, inhaling joy and life as I'm
Playing.
If I must have a death bed
Let it be a giant hunk of metal
A wing on each side, moved for my pleasure—
Or perhaps by my command—
So I might as well be a superhero
Flying.
If I must have a death bed
Let it be a rooftop garden
Diverse with fruit trees, Venus fly-traps, and lilies
Each seed planted and nurtured
By my hands, new life born and
Ever-growing.
If I must have a death bed
Let it be a two-wheeled, leg-powered steel frame
Pedaling eternally toward who-even-cares-what
Curves in the road meant just for me
Metaphors for life's patterns discovered and contemplated in the
Cycling.
If I must have a death bed
Let it be a search for the good, the virtuous, the beautiful
Breaking way to despair only momentarily
For my heart hasn't the time for such a thing
When it gets caught up in all this
Living.
Friday, February 14, 2014
Rejection: A Broken Heart's Education
It's Valentine's Day, so I want to write about love, specifically when it isn't mutual. Don't worry though, this isn't a bitter anti-Valentine's Day post. This is about about when unrequited love teaches you something, which—spoiler alert—can be every single time. (Get it? Single time? Haha.)
I've been, for lack of a better term, "boy-crazy" pretty much my entire life. I distinctly remember my first kindergarten crush (who is also the main character in the only recurring dream I've ever had) and almost all of my puppy love episodes since then. Off the top of my head, I can count about 30 crushes from just my first 9 years of formal education. That's more than 3 boys per year!
In high school and college, similar patterns were evident, though I started becoming slightly more selective in my crushing. Much of that growth can be credited to the time my high school boyfriend and I were together. Our relationship taught me how to distinguish attraction/fascination from actual compatibility. It also taught me that although giddy butterflies and twitterpation are really fun, mere infatuation is nowhere near as great as real, tried-and-true, well-worked-for yet comfortable and natural love.
*Side note: I kind of wish it were possible to experience First Love again, because it's amazing. But I'm also grateful to have already had that opportunity, and for pretty much every detail about it.
Anyhow, to this day, I still find it easy to become extremely fond of people after very little time, which, as I've written before, is both a blessing and a curse. It's really amazing to be able to recognize and appreciate the good in people so easily . . . but repeatedly letting myself "fall in love," so to speak, can be exhausting.
As you might expect based on the ridiculous number of crushes I've had, the majority of my great loves over the years have been unreturned, so I've learned a thing or two about rejection. Sometimes I was "rejected" because I didn't even make an effort toward expressing interest, whether that was for lack of self-confidence or a bummed-out understanding that the chemistry just wasn't there. Other times, the rejection was more forthright, as it came in kind response to my more valiant efforts (e.g., the famous four-page long "You're the noodles in my spaghetti, you're the syrup on my waffles, you're the sugar on my frosted flakes" note that I wrote in seventh grade. . . . Those metaphors are direct quotations from the letter, FYI. I still don't know where I got the nerve to actually deliver that thing.)
The point is, to my knowledge, I've been the crusher a heck of a lot more than I've been the crushee. That used to be a major slam to my self esteem, until I realized that my worth is not measured in the amount of affection I get from others. Plus, it's not that I wasn't good enough for these guys, but that I wasn't good (meaning "right") for them. Or that they weren't good for me. And when it all boils down, I'm only going to end up with one, so why get heartbroken or angry when another possibility that wasn't meant to work out anyway gets crossed off the list?
In my extensive experience as a lovesick girl, I've learned that sometimes love feels exciting. Other times it feels difficult, confusing, agonizing, awkward, or just plain sucky. But opening your heart and loving people is always a good thing—even in the face of rejection. I'm sure one day I'll find the perfect kind, witty, musical, knowledge-thirsty, hand-holding, Nacho-quoting, dog-loving, uninhibited-dancing man for me. But in the meantime, I don't mind letting my heart ride roller-coasters with a few of the others I encounter.
So to all my adorable, fun, smart, talented, goofy, kind, charming friends who never liked me "like that," thank you for earning the title of Crush by doing just that with my heart. Whether I confessed my affections in person, stuck a sappy love note written with neon gel pens in your locker, declared it in one quick sentence before blushingly logging off of AIM or Yahoo! Messenger, or just hid my feelings entirely, you have been part of my love education, getting me one tiny step closer to Real Love each time.
Happy Valentine's Day!
I've been, for lack of a better term, "boy-crazy" pretty much my entire life. I distinctly remember my first kindergarten crush (who is also the main character in the only recurring dream I've ever had) and almost all of my puppy love episodes since then. Off the top of my head, I can count about 30 crushes from just my first 9 years of formal education. That's more than 3 boys per year!
 |
| My third grade portrait |
*Side note: I kind of wish it were possible to experience First Love again, because it's amazing. But I'm also grateful to have already had that opportunity, and for pretty much every detail about it.
Anyhow, to this day, I still find it easy to become extremely fond of people after very little time, which, as I've written before, is both a blessing and a curse. It's really amazing to be able to recognize and appreciate the good in people so easily . . . but repeatedly letting myself "fall in love," so to speak, can be exhausting.
As you might expect based on the ridiculous number of crushes I've had, the majority of my great loves over the years have been unreturned, so I've learned a thing or two about rejection. Sometimes I was "rejected" because I didn't even make an effort toward expressing interest, whether that was for lack of self-confidence or a bummed-out understanding that the chemistry just wasn't there. Other times, the rejection was more forthright, as it came in kind response to my more valiant efforts (e.g., the famous four-page long "You're the noodles in my spaghetti, you're the syrup on my waffles, you're the sugar on my frosted flakes" note that I wrote in seventh grade. . . . Those metaphors are direct quotations from the letter, FYI. I still don't know where I got the nerve to actually deliver that thing.)
The point is, to my knowledge, I've been the crusher a heck of a lot more than I've been the crushee. That used to be a major slam to my self esteem, until I realized that my worth is not measured in the amount of affection I get from others. Plus, it's not that I wasn't good enough for these guys, but that I wasn't good (meaning "right") for them. Or that they weren't good for me. And when it all boils down, I'm only going to end up with one, so why get heartbroken or angry when another possibility that wasn't meant to work out anyway gets crossed off the list?
 |
| The pain of being rejected by a crush is only skin-deep. |
So to all my adorable, fun, smart, talented, goofy, kind, charming friends who never liked me "like that," thank you for earning the title of Crush by doing just that with my heart. Whether I confessed my affections in person, stuck a sappy love note written with neon gel pens in your locker, declared it in one quick sentence before blushingly logging off of AIM or Yahoo! Messenger, or just hid my feelings entirely, you have been part of my love education, getting me one tiny step closer to Real Love each time.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)