Journaling has long been an outlet for me in processing the quandaries of life. I have “shared” in spiral notebooks, journals, letters, poems, stories, scrap paper  and most recently social media. I have shared my most private self, my authentic self.  Once my mind arranges my feelings and thoughts into coherent expressions, I consider myself shared even if it is in an old, dusty journal at the back of my closet!

In the era of the Internet, it seems the pen and paper of my youth is becoming old school. For me, it seems a natural progression to start a blog.  I typically experience a moment, a day or an occasion and then express it through writing.

The big question that I consider this morning is, “Why have I shared? Why do I serve my life on a platter, my innermost thoughts and feelings, for other’s to judge?” I could just be a normal person and share just a glance into my life; a picture of myself radiating happiness or simply what I ate for dinner. Even better, not share at all. There are moments that I wish that for myself. I doubt myself and I feel incredibly vulnerable. I question whether even just one individual values my sharing or my writing.

As I recently shared in a Facebook post, “It is only in becoming absolutely vulnerable in love that you discover how infinitely strong you truly are.” I realize that in embracing and loving my most instinctive and creative self, I may at times feel vulnerable, but mostly I am proud of the strength it requires to share. Each time I share, I have overcome my fear of judgement and of self-doubt. I am stronger for it. I remain faithful to myself, not to the opinions of others.

The most persuasive motivation for sharing truly lies in connecting with others authentically.  The fulfillment that arises when your sentiments safely land on another’s heart ~ there is not much else that compares in the sharing realm. If by sharing, I  am enabled to encourage, to  inspire or to advocate for another, even one, I am lifted beyond any negativity or judgement~ to a reality I have only experienced through sharing.

I have read that in today’s world, the motto is, “I share therefore I am.” I was not encouraged when I first discovered this, it was not a positive expression. The message seemed to imply that by constantly sharing snapshots into your life, you gained validation for it. This, of course, is not healthy. I constantly consider this.

I can only hope that in honoring my instinct to share my most honest and genuine self, that love itself will be validated. I hope to share for all of life, not just my own.

 

 

Over the rainbow, is it there?     I cannot see it anywhere.

Over the rainbow, can I come?

     Or, is it all in truth just for fun?

Over the rainbow, what have we done?

     We have taken it all, and left none for some. 

Over the rainbow, now I can see.

     It may be impossible for each of us to be.
~Where love, peace & joy collide, and anyone is free to walk by your side. 

~Where any one color will provide plenty for heart, body & mind; for you, for him & for anyone that may be left behind.
Over the rainbow, can it be?

     I can forever trust you here with me; no need to seek you anywhere to truly feel the love you share.  

Over the rainbow, come with me…for that is how it was always meant to be. 

    *With any typical experience, you could, if you were in the mood, peel back the layers; cue an onion. Finding the deeper meaning in the mundane, has become habit for me. That saying, along the lines of the compilation of life’s little moments becomes your life, applies here. I may have lost you, but let me explain. 

     Seated in the Breast Center waiting room just yesterday, I was surrounded by a core group of 5 or 6 women. We were probably as diverse as our ages. We initially clung to the half shirt johnnies that opened in the front over our bare chest, the ties entirely useless. Boring TV voices (why is it always talk shows?) drone from the hanging TV. Not one of us paid any attention to it. Soon, we barely tried to keep ourselves covered, so futile was that effort. Our minds were elsewhere and we were all women. 

     What we did pay attention to, was each other. Each of us kindly eyeing each other with an empathetic smile. We did speak and those that didn’t, occasionally nodded their heads. One women wore a wig, one held an ice pack to her chest, another could care less who she may have flashed, hands still visibly shaking from the biopsy she had just had. My absolute favorite of my company, among the boring TV, useless johnnies, iced breast & bandages, was a beautiful lady most likely in her eighties. 

     She walked with a cane, but she still stood tall and graceful. Her kind, clear blue eyes were as vibrant as any of ours. She had a cozy, light pink sweater that her daughter kept adjusting for her. She really was beautiful; the pink mirroring the soft blush of her cheeks. She too had on that awful johnnie thing. 

     We barely unchanged words, but we became quick friends. She was called for her mammogram by a brunette, middle-aged tec that appeared to be a bit flustered, hey…it happens. Her lips tensed and she made a slight groan. She was hesitant. I don’t blame her. She sat directly across from me, our eyes met. I encouraged her, whispering and smiling, “It’s Ok, you can do it.” She smiled kindly back at me and pushed forward in her chair, her daughter helping her to her feet. 

     I sat in that waiting room and waited, of course. A few patients came and went. The staff scurried by, occasionally stopping to ask if I was being helped or to offer a smile. I thought, “these people care”, and I recognized my profession in them. 

      My friend returned from her testing, she changed out of that horrible johnnie thing and prepared to leave. Before she left, she turned back to me and paused. Those beautiful eyes and that kind smile again met mine. She spoke softly to me, “I hope everything turns out alright for you.” She held her gaze on me for a few moments and nodded to leave. 

     That was one of the best, breast moments of my day. It may not seem like much, I know. But, her presence, her energy soothed me so. 

     If there is a moral to my waiting room experience, it’s one we have all certainly heard before. When another offers to you genuine kindness or you offer sincere kindness to another, you become intertwined if only for that moment. Practicing random acts of kindness, sometimes is actually not at all random, but just may make someone’s day…just like my new friend made mine. 

     I was not going to do it; I was not going to rehash the day. Truly show those who stumble across me on the feed, how sentimental I can really be.  But, he asked me…of all people. 
     The gentleman, almost a full head of soft, white hair & dressed in a collared shirt, khakis & Sperry like shoes, sat quietly beside me. He was clean, groomed & well cared for by someone. He was a new addition to the activities center for the elderly I visit. 
     It became obvious to me his memory had all about faded by the few questions he asked me politely. 

At one point, his gentle expression changed & he seemed to become concerned. I could sense his posture stiffening. 

He struggled to find even the most ordinary of words, but managed to mutter, 

“I don’t know what happened to the girl.”

My mind wondered what did happen to “the girl”~ was there a tragedy that haunted him even now? 

I tried to soothe him knowing how such things could escalate,

    “It’s Okay. She’s okay, don’t worry.” I gently touched his forearm & sought to make eye contact. 

     Many minutes passed, he sat quiet as the activities went on unknowingly around him. I sat at his side. 

     Then, he added, 

          “She is my twin.”

“Oh!” I jumped in (as I always do with twin talk). “I have a twin, a brother too.” He seemed pleased with my response. We were instantly bonded by knowing what that really means. 

  

     Again, he sat quiet as minutes passed on. Then, there it was, what had urged him to bring forth coherent words & thoughts,  

“I don’t know if she is dead or alive.” 
Thump…gulp…
    Weakened by this revelation, I tried to casually seek out someone who may know. I hoped I could come back to him & reassure him once again. I learned he had lived on a farm. Visions & sounds of children running & playing jumped across my vision. But, I discovered he was the last alive of his many siblings & his wife had just very recently passed. He softly eyed me as I returned to the area for which he sat. 
     I paid particular attention to him the rest of my stay. I hoped my presence soothed his worry for a bit. 
     The first person I called on my ride home to share this story is the same one who encouraged me to start a blog, the same one who has been part of my life from the very beginnings. 
      Even though our bodies & minds someday may fail us, love never will. 

Those we love today, will come to us all our tomorrow’s.