In response to "Beautiful".

So my sis thought I was being too down on myself in that last post. But in reality, I wasn't depressed or self-dissing at all. I just was stating random, deep thoughts that I had had in a waiting room the other day. I actually wrote most of that last blog on scratch paper while looking out the window in an office. My thought process began to go in that direction because I was thinking how the office was so blah and bland but just outside the window was...beauty! I apologize if it sounds like I have an incredibly low self-esteem right now.....it's not that. It's just contemplation put down in type.

Beautiful???

Who defines beauty? I demand answers! What is the definition of beauty?! In what culture should I move to where 'I' would be the definition of "beautiful"???
If a definition could or should be settled upon, whose to say some hyper, self-proclaimed intelligent won't scuttle up and stomp that particular definition into an oblivion?!
Where can beauty be found? I myself am ever searching. Ever longing.
All who you'd ask, would agree that it's location is ever changing moment by moment, breath by breath, touch by touch. We, as a race, are continually searching for beauty. Striving to attain beauty. Oh to arrive but only for a moment....but the moment is always fleeting.
For a woman, beauty is an unforgiving master; a slave driver that rides you, always in back of your thoughts. Pushing. Nudging. "Do more! You're so close. Just a bit farther. THEN you will be beautiful. More beautiful than....."
Go ahead! Fill in the ..... with whomever you choose. Women are notorious for being able to glance around a room and unconsciously see who might be more/less attractive than they are. Why do we do that? A waste of time, it is. For the open-and-shut truth is, there is NO arriving at "beautiful". There will always be a falling short, an 'almost made it', a 'you're so close but look at her'. There will always be someone prettier, more intelligent, more chiseled abs, smaller feet, bigger melons, longer hair, shorter hair, wittier, better in the kitchen, better in the bedroom! OH MY GOSH! Seriously?! When does it end?
How about this? I, for example, am not beautiful by this world's standards by any means. To be blunt, for starters, I just don't have enough chest to fill that position. When asked in a pole, "Name a beautiful woman.", I guarantee that 99.99% of people would NOT say my name. I'm not down on myself, just realistic.
So why am I not beautiful enough? Why, in a line up of suitable women, would most men pass me over? Oh! May I present the list to answer that?:
I'm chubby, gray haired, wrinkled, dry skinned, dry scalped, dry knee-ed (is that even a word?), stretch marked, thin haired, bad breathed, ogre-like resemblance in the morning, etc., etc, etc.
There it is!
The cold-hard facts.
A nice sterile list.
Impersonal, but true.
Insulting, but true.
Cruel and unfeeling, but true.
Not in any way does this list define 'beautiful'.
Nor does it 'define me'.
These physical flaws do...not...define me.
They also don't disqualify me for the 'beautiful' award!
However, some may disagree and I pity them.
I truly pity them simply because they are still in need of a bit of growing-up, another handful of life experiences to be thrown ever-so-abruptly into their faces. Life is notoriously efficient at changing your definition of 'beautiful' at every turn! This world's definition of beauty? It is fleeting. Temporary. Ephemeral.
Case in point. Is a woman no longer beautiful after her stomach has been stretched during her pregnancy? Has her beauty, or dare I say her exciting appeal, been left behind once she loses a leg suddenly? Gray hairs and saggy wrinkles, for sure, disqualify her for a pin-up photo shoot? But....is she....can she....still be beautiful, desired, enticing, magnetic, alluring, magnifique?
Beauty is temporary.
It is ever changing. Can be found in every moment in which you turn your neck and choose to notice the divine.
Beauty is in a young couple's wedding night. Beauty is in a book on a coffee table. Beauty is a flower petal on a lake. Dirty little finger prints on the wall. A baby's first smile. A wheel chair on a basketball court. In a Children's Hospital Cancer Ward's play room. An 83 year-old woman kneeling over the grave of her husband of 60 and 3/4 years. A kind word spoken to a wounded heart.
Beautiful is undefinable. Beautiful is never constant.
Beautiful is there, if you but look for it.

Papa you are missed

I wish to honor my Papa.
I would love to write with such eloquence and brilliant word pictures, that it would cause your mind's eye to truly understand what this man meant to me. But the reality is, that there aren't words sufficient enough to express my Papa's true value to you. To elaborate on a feeling of the heart using mere words, no matter how strong said feeling might be, is like trying to explain the taste of ice cream to someone who can't taste....It simply is inadequate.
So I will quietly say this.
My Papa was a rock.
An amazing rock.
A rock that had many layers; faithfulness, strength, courage, humility, patience, respect, honor, compassion, dignity, diligence, honesty.
And just like when a rock is hurled onto the smooth surface of a lake, and that tiny, seemingly insignificant object immediately transforms the entire texture of an immense surface area?
Well,
THAT is the persuasion of legacy that my Papa has left.
The ripples that are still radiating, caused by my Papa's life will be seen and felt for decades to come.
I will love you forever my dear Papa.
You ran your race well....

Strive to not forget

Must not forget the crippled old man, hobling along my neighborhood street.
Must not forget the widow who's gray, gray in heart and head.
Must not forget the armless , her heart seems strong but not by far.
Must not forget those on the ground when I am in my bed.

Must not forget the mom worn out, no help from husband when needed most.
Must not forget the broken man, can't seem to get it right.
Must not forget the boy, grown-up too fast when daddy never came back.
Must not forget that I've been blessed much to my heart's delight.

~me~

The Little Boy and the Old Man

Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
"I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
"But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
"I know what you mean," said the little old man.

~Shel Silverstein~

To be a friend

Oh to be a friend.....
"Best friend, my well-spring in the wilderness." [G. Eliot]
A friend, by definition, is: a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard; a person who gives assistance; a patron; supporter; a person who is on good terms with another; a person who is not hostile.
My heart longs to be a friend.
Is that my calling in life? I wonder. The next opportunity that presents itself in which I am able to say what I would like to be when I grow up, I think I gladly will answer..."A friend".
Why does my heart ache to be a friend?
To save a life, hold a heart, heal a wound? Be a friend.
A friend can scoop you up out of the dung heap of life, scrape off the turds that are clinging onto you with all their might, hose you off, and sit you down at an elegant table of "grandeur".
A friend can hand you back your nobility after some villain has stripped you of it, leaving you standing unclothed and shivering imagining that you would never fully recover from that near blow.

There truly is not one thing as wondrous as basking in the calm space of an old friendship.

It wraps you in it's warm embrace. Snuggling in the familiarity of the moment, your heart opens up within the safety of unconditional love. Moments such as these are remarkable! They can't be forced nor recreated, but when they pop up within the monotony of a typical day or week, they shimmer like a sparkling ruby in a bowl of sand.
And so we must scoop up those treasures, hold them, caress them, enjoy them for however long they last. A minute? An hour? It matters not! It's quite simply the connection of two hearts that is the purpose not the time length of connection.
During these wee specks on the time line of your life: a closet can be transformed into a magnificent dining room; a maid can be brought up a notch on the hierarchy of society; a cookie with milk evolves into a feast.
How?
The eyes between your ears close and the lids on your heart's baby blues flicker open.
The second that happens, when the eyes of your heart open, you see through the eyes of God. No longer do outfits and make-up matter. Gone are the surroundings of the room in which you sit. So long job titles. Spirit to spirit friendship transcends this temporal world and it's inside of that type of exchange where a real friend has the power to change a life....forever.
That is why when I grow-up, I want to be a friend.
Oh how I wish all of my friendships could last forever! I truly do long and ache at times to stay in fellowship with each and every individual that my heart has fallen in love with. I despise feeling disconnected for too long from my familia and bosom buddies. In all honesty it just makes me feel....sort of....yucky....
However, the sheer impossibility of keeping in constant contact with all whom my heart has adopted is a dilemma that has no solution. Time cannot be reproduced and distance cannot be shortened.
So my plan? I shall hold to the delightful, pulchritudinous fact that eternity is an extremely long time, rumor has it that heaven is quite immense and I fully intend on having some wonderfully lengthy conversations with each and every person that I hold dearly in my heart once I get there.
Till that day is upon me I shall continue on with my heart's true ambition.
I will be a friend.

The Fear of Not Pleasing People

Yes, o.k., I admit it! I had this problem....well maybe....truthfully.... still might currently have an eensie, tiny version of this problem. It might not be entirely in the past tense. Although, at the time of writing this, it no longer has the strangulation hold on me that it used to.
This problem...Nay, this sickness really! This sickness had been my constant companion for an upwards of 20 years I suspect. A leech that had attached itself to me, sucking the life out of me and feeding off my very soul. An unwanted and mostly invisible associate.
When did it first latch onto me? Well, I cannot say....
It's not that I don't wish to say or that it would be too embarrassing of a memory to share. The fact is I literally cannot remember. For the life of me. It has just, always, been.
The need to people please. Not wanting anyone to be angry with me. Wanting everyone...everyone... to like me!
For them to be pleased with my choices.
Pleased with my style, personality, weight, beliefs, etc.
In the past, one of my worst fears would have been to have someone angry at me and not be able to do anything, anything whatsoever, to change their mind. What a wake-up in the middle of the night, white knuckled, drenched in sweat nightmare! I would've desperately NEEDED them to like me! To avoid that rejection, I would've been willing to change myself to attain that favor that I so desperately wanted, craved and feared losing.
So did you catch that? Did you hear me?!
To change myself!!!
I am not meaning to just change my behavior in a certain way. Nor do I mean changing the way I reacted to something.
No. My meaning is that I allowed myself to buy into the lie (because that is what it was) that it was actually possible to change who I was, deep down in my soul.
The person that God Himself created me to be.

The person that He meant.....when He meant "Me".
Tami.

To attempt to change oneself, in many ways, can be immensely beneficial! Wouldn't you agree? To improve on what was originally good, is....well....good! To strive to exercise more, eat healthier, expand your knowledge in a certain area? These are all 'improvements'; A bettering of the original, if you will. But just because there may be a need for a few minor improvements doesn't mean that the "original" wasn't good! Do you follow?
To think that any of us would need to become a different person, just to fit into someone else's definition of "Me" is a end road; A trail that will always lead to a broken heart.
I suppose that statement seems a bit overly dramatic. "A broken heart." Tami, really? Isn't that over doing it? Oh, but don't you see? If a person truly believes that their "original" wasn't good enough, then their heart has already BEEN broken! Somewhere....someone convinced them that they, at the very core of their soul, wasn't good enough. That they originally were defective in some way.
And at that very moment.....The moment when that wound was inflicted....That is when their heart broke.
And that particular sort of wound can only be healed by one source.
Your designer. Your inventor. Or should I say "The Maker"
When will we get it?!! There are no defective originals out there! If you love a particular type of food, but everyone in your family and possibly everyone on your entire block despises it? Chow down!
What about that crazy, funky pair of reading glasses that people have jabbed at you about? Sport them proudly in public!
Make people stare by occasionally acting a bit too silly at work!
I speak the truth, the world needs more of "You"!
So give it to them. Force it down their throats if need be.
If we were all cookie cutter clones, the imbalance of the world would have been it's own destruction ages and ages ago. There is a desperate need for the "You's" and the "Me's" out there! We cannot give in! Do you hear me?! We must not be assimilated.
Be true to yourself.
Embrace those nuances that make you unique.
Rage against the machine.
Fight against that mocker of originality!
The fear of not pleasing people.
( And if, by chance, you get a few frowns from passers by, then smile....they probably needed a good, healthy dose of originality. )