The Penguin Theory

LCpod
Emancipation by Helios


When I moved recently, I was downsizing from a house to a one bedroom apartment. Quite obviously, I had to downsize my belongings, of which I had alot. I gradually purged, starting with my wardrobe. I did it in three rounds because I have a tendency to attach emotion to garments and it can take some convincing to get me to let go of it. By the third round, I was ruthless and had given away four garbage bags of clothes to charity. I truly recognize this as a moment of pride because it took some work.

I began my downsizing with my wardrobe and I ended it with the greatest task of all: going through my large bin of memories and hundreds, if not thousands, of photos. I plopped myself on the floor right next to the bin in my basement and spent two straight days sifting through it all. I laughed. I cried. I reminisced. At times, I sat there for minutes on end, motionless, just staring at the wall and letting the emotions take over. Each was a flash back of my life, good and bad, and I could not have been more happy of my former minor hoarding tendencies because I would have never come across these:

My friend Nina took apart my locker one lunch period and made me a necklace out of the nuts and bolts. I still had that.

The same friend cut a lock of her own hair, put it in an envelope and slipped it to me in class with a silly note. I still had that.

She also gave me a drawing of a blind goat saying “Baey Baey Lynda, come closer, I cannot see you”. I still had that.

Pictures of math class with Mr. P – a genius, a gentleman and a scholar. I still had those.

My friend Terry left a note on my desk in our highschool English class that I found when I came back from the washroom. It read: “I wish I was Terry. Maybe I'll get with him tonight at Angel's party. He is such a stud. Oh My God !” I still had that.

A newspaper clipping of the boys highschool volleyball team after winning a tournament, each member a good friend of mine. I still had that.

A video tape of my friend Joey and I sitting on the stage in the gym talking about nothing and everything and expressing that we'll miss each other when we graduate. I still had that. And I do miss him terribly.

A wall clock on which my best friend and her husband (boyfriend at the time) signed with a white marker words of encouragement as I ventured to Ottawa for law school. I still had that. And some friends will remember that I came out of the house one afternoon with that clock around my neck pretending that I was Flavor Flave. Both equally great memories.

A loonie stuck in a beer cap from a night partying behind the community centre. Small town antics of highschoolers, what more can I say.

The card my grandmother gave me on my confirmation day expressing her pride and love for me - her penmanship as graceful as she was. Rest in peace grandma.

A flower pot my friend Julie gave to me for my 18^th birthday with the names of my close friends painted all around it. I still had that. This was particularly difficult to reminisce on because it bared the name of our friend Lowell who passed away tragically years ago. You sometimes forget that people have perished and when you see their name directly in front of you on a memory dating back to the time when they were still breathing, it is an awesome feeling and a heart wrenching one all at once.

Not a single thing in that bin didn't affect me. But like the card and the flower pot, some did more than others. Hidden away inside my university degree were two folded pieces of paper. One was a story I had written with friends one afternoon in my backyard here in Toronto. It was a joint effort. One person started the story and the paper circulated for each to write a couple of lines. It is a hilarious story of a horse named Jimmy on a hot pursuit for Sea Biscuit. It somehow ended with Lynda the Leopard dating Star Trek Guy.

The other paper was authored by a friend and my sister's boyfriend at the time. It was a letter written during a time when I was heartbroken and it was left for me to find in my room. Double sided on a sheet of Hilroy lined paper is a story that I will carry with me forever and it is worthy of sharing:

Lynda,

Have you ever heard of the penguin theory? This is basically it in a nut shell. When a penguin is born they instinctively know who “the one” is. What I mean by one is that they know who they are supposed to spend the rest of their chilly life with the second they are born. With this out of the way, penguins live simple playful lives just doing their thing and not spending an iota of time thinking or stressing about finding “the one” because it's already pre-determined.

I hate to break it to you Lynda, but your “one” is already pre-determined. Time has known this for ever + ever + ever + ever + ever + ever + ever + ever + ever. So, I say to you my lovely friend, stop searching, stop stressing, stop drunk dialing (loving low blow) and start playing in the snow, sliding around, eating raw fish. Because when “time” does decide to introduce you and your pre-determined “one”, nothing you can do will be able to prepare you for the feeling of helplessness you'll have. So, sit back, relax, live in the now, and enjoy this exciting time of not knowing what's next. Because once the one reveals himself, Lynda as we know her will cease to exist as she will now be 1/2 of 1.

Keep that well tanned chin up.

Much love,

Anthony

My entire being is bewitched by this two paragraph letter. It gives me shivers because of its poignancy. It brings a renewal of hope and faith in what I truly believe: a pre-determined one. It brings a smile to my face in remembering the big brother care that was extended to me by my sister's then boyfriend. Lucky for me, I never had to wonder what it would be like to have a big brother because since the early days, I have had gentlemen take care of my sisters and, by default, take care of me. And it also brings tears to my eyes because of its message, an important one that we need not worry of what has taken place. We need not worry of what has yet to take place. We need to care about what should take place in this very day.

I lugged that big bin of photos and memories with me from my birth home to Ottawa to then Toronto without question. I knew it had to come with me wherever I went. Its contents were a big part of me, a major life investment. But my life was at a crossroad and it was time for me to face what was in that bin, go through it, and figure out what should continue on with me.

There is remembering your past and then there's living in it. I think this is where I have faulted and where it has gotten blurry for some of us at some point in time. All our futures are unknown and when you're uneasy with the notion of a blank in your life that you can only estimate on how it will be filled but never fully dictate what is inserted in it, you reach for familiarity to ease the anxiety. Where that can be found is in your past because your past is a matter of fact. It has taken place.

When you do this, you do not think of how your decisions will affect your future because you're looking behind rather than forward. Your actions then tend to not reflect what you want for yourself in later years. They will most likely match your past, which in that case, a lesson can never be learned.

Remaining in your past is a state of inaction. It makes you forget to enjoy the present, which as we all know, can hold great beauty. Just like a day comes and goes, just like the sun rises and sets, all your moments at every point in your life need to be cherished and then let go. Life is like driving. Sometimes you need to go backwards, but not very often and usually just for short stints. Other times, you have to wait at a red light; this is where people would tell you to stop and smell the roses. But for the most part, you're inching forward.

I threw away a lot of what was in the bin; one full garbage bag of pictures was laid to rest. Every single photograph, every single memory, piece of paper and memento were music to my ears and heart. They each struck a different chord and the melody that played in me in those two days will forever be humming deep within me.

The roller coaster of emotions felt during the one weekend it took me to go through what had taken me years to gather was thrilling. I was able to relive parts of my childhood, recount my years in high school, visualize my university experiences, re-cherish numerous family events, and experience the butterflies of past boy crushes. I was brought back to small moments between friends, moments that have all slipped our minds because we are busy creating more small moments - such is life. I was plagued with certain what ifs but because it's all in hindsight now, I know how things turned out and I see that everything worked out for the best.

Like the penguin theory and its lesson of “time”, I firmly believe that I needed this refresher course on my life at that particular time. It was a complete rejuvenation. It reminded me to soak up the small moments. It reminded me to live in the now and let all my senses take part in the experience. It reminded me of the characters that have played lasting parts in my story and of those that didn't last but will always be remembered of fondly.

If you look back too often, you chance damaging your present and the people meant to be part of your future. On the flip side, if you look too far ahead, you chance missing out on the present. The fine balance, then, is to remain in the now. The key is moderation.

Your past, present, and future, together thread a golden line from your beginning to your end. At one point your past was your present, and in due time, what was once your future will become your present and then follow suit to your past. You can't have one without the other. What is nice about this trinity is you can stray and walk in the wrong direction but like a compass, your past should always point you to your true north.

LC xo

This Year I Will....

LCpod

Intermission by Coeur de Pirate

This year, I will forget last year's hurt, its tears, and its blunders.

I will, however, not forget the great times that made me forge ahead.

This year I will remember that I have 365 days ahead of me to make this ongoing life better than its preceding attempts.

This year, I will refine my wine palette.

I will dabble in the art of cuisine.

I will better my French speaking tongue.

I will eat new foods.

I will penny pinch.

I will reduce my material acquisitions.

I will make more time for dancing.

This year, I will spend more time with loved ones.

I will reach out to old friends.

I will find out more about them and what makes them so.

I will work out less, but harder.

I will wake up on the right side of the bed every day.

I will let the tides turn and ride the wave.

I will not live the same day twice.

This year, I will finally indulge in my craving for a creative life.

I will work towards my goals every day.

I will create with purpose.

I will expose my talent.

This year, I will stand firmly beside my aspirations.

I will make great attempts.

I will be brave.

I will not quit.

I will trust the process.

This year, I will give people the benefit of the doubt.

I will re-evaluate my expectations from others.

I will realize that no one person is perfect.

I will see everything through perfectly imperfect lenses.

I will exercise humility.

I will laugh at myself.

I will be happy all the time.

This year, I will remember what makes me.

I will feed my soul exactly what it needs, not what I think it needs.

I will not get caught up in the useless.

I will nurture my inquisitive mind.

I will expand my horizons.

This year, I will put myself at the top of my priority list.

I will not take anything lying down.

I will be stronger than I have ever been

I will not be mistreated.

I will not be fooled.

This year, I will not let another individual put into question my worth.

I will not be on the receiving end of insolent behaviour.

I will shut out any person undeserving of my time.

I will be chased, not the other way around.

This year, I will be open to love and its splendour.

I will not fall unconditionally, but will let myself fall nevertheless.

I will not be forgotten.

I will remember that I am worth being remembered.

"For last year's words belong to last year's language.  And next year's words await another voice.  And to make an end is to make a beginning" - T.S. Eliot

LCxo

TEARS DON'T MEAN YOU'RE LOSING

LCpod

Over It by Joe Purdy
Falling Slowly by The Vitamin String Quartet

Not much has changed since moving to Toronto four years ago.  I live at the same house (with one change of roommate).  I have the same morning routine.  I still watch and laugh at the squirrels outside my kitchen window.  I attend the same church.  I attend the same gym.  I buy from the same fruit market.  I have the same dentist, the same grocer, and the same hair stylist.  It all sounds very monotonous but it is because of this predictability that I was able to feel the ripple of a change, a change so small that I almost missed its clue.

Never before did the ear drum damaging screeching of the subway train pulling into the station affect me.  Never before did I almost drop all of my belongings to block the sound from penetrating my ears like a child refusing to hear the commands of a parent.  Up until now that is.

From tolerable to intolerable, I couldn't help but wonder:  why the change?

Thoughtful analysis brought me to this:

A few months ago, a family crisis took place and the very foundation on which I stood cracked and crumbled beneath me.  Instantaneously, I sank to my knees.  I was robbed of my identity because I only ever saw myself through my family.  That fixed part of my equation was replaced with an unknown and as a result, so became my entire life and I lost all sense of belonging.

My family was my barrier.  They were my filter, the mechanism between me and the troubles life can bring if you make the wrong choices.  What was I to do now that I didn't have that concrete strong reinforcement?

Like a computer stricken with a virus, I became highly susceptible to attacks.  I felt pain on a minute to minute basis.  I was assaulted with daily sobs, emotional outbursts, loss of activity, increased hyperactivity, decreased stamina, frustrating insomnia, severe loss of appetite, excessive spending, and excessive drinking.  My bubbly attitude fizzled.  A once charismatic personality was now lackluster and introverted.

Friends and family came forward with careful pressure, sensitive hands, understanding ears, and capable shoulders.  Without asking, they stood, waiting to carry the load of my sorrow.  Their grave concern is what jolted me from my coma and their dedication is the reason for my resurrection. 

I said to a friend that this was all bigger than me and that I accepted defeat.  She quickly slammed my comment and said that I was not defeated.  I was simply not yet equipped with the proper tools to deal with what was before me.  I was drowning in this problem and all I needed was a noodle, and in due time, I would rescue myself.  

So, I started unloading the stories, one after the other, and as they were uttered, they came out like sharp knives.  My heart sank and my future further blurred with every spoken word.  But while the pain I felt was excruciating, strangely enough, the release was intoxicating.  Soon, my emotional burden lightened and the insurmountable hurdles became surmountable; their intimidation lessened and my confidence strengthened.

There, in the eye of the storm - a place of great vulnerability - I was able to breathe a sigh of complicated relief.  The exact crisis that stole my voice and rendered me speechless somehow also gave me the fortitude and the strength to word my deepest, most serious thoughts and feelings.  

The introverted now became the extroverted.  My insides became my outsides.  I wore my heart, and plenty of tears, on my sleeve.  Entire nights were spent crying, sometimes never knowing when the outpour would cease  Constantly feeling the crisis clamping down on my lungs, I couldn't take those deep soothing breaths to relax.  But those flood gates needed to remain open and so opened they remained.

It took months to perform this emotional reconstructive heart surgery, from which I am still healing.  I continue to be fragile in many ways, but in others, very strong.  Tearing my heart wide open generated such tremendous pain but it released so much more. I started to expend the same energy on sculpting my inner self as I did my physical self.  They work in tandem you see, the physical and the emotional, and one can only go unattended for so long before the partnership comes under tension.  To become stronger, I had to let myself be weak and in that exhausting process, I started to feel, see, and hear change.  I was able to see that what I had been doing for the past three months did nothing but tire me out, deplete my funds, and misrepresent who I am.  I was now aware of my heart's desires.

I realized that this emotional purging was the reason for my sudden hearing.  The concept is simple really: You can' expect to fill something beyond its capacity without it either getting backed up or its contents spilling over.  By accumulating so many thoughts and feelings in my head, my mind had now reached its full capacity.  I had figuratively clogged my own mind.  I was busting at the seams and the only thing that was holding my personal garbage together was my unwillingness to unleash.   Once I became willing, once I took out the trash, so to speak, I started to hear things.  So can I really deny the link between a busy mind and a heavy heart?

And if I can deafen myself to the sounds of every day life, can I actually make myself deaf to the sounds that my soul is trying to make me hear?  Absolutely.

As awesome and supernatural as the brain may be, if you are not careful, it can wreak havoc.  It works as a collection agency in two ways: by collecting knowledge and garbage.  With respect to the former, there aren't any downsides to having too much of it.  Knowledge invigorates, stimulates and expands our minds.  When it comes to the latter, however, an excess of it is problematic.  Feelings of negativity, hurt, sadness, anger, loneliness, anxiety, if left unattended, will plague your mind.

I am of the belief that our experiences, thoughts, and sentiments, especially the negative ones, should follow a flow chart.  It starts with the experience, that experience then turns into a thought, that thought then turns into analysis, questions (answered or unanswered) and conclusions, and then those should be spoken.  Communication plays a central role in the health of every relationship you foster, the most important one being the one with yourself.  To communicate is to have a soundboard off of which your thoughts bounce and if need be, it can pull the reins on your thought process to slow it down to a comfortable pace.

Sadly though, all too often, people opt against this last step.  They choose solemn silence over shameless revelation.  They hold their tongues thinking that one day their problem, thought, or desire will subside and it will finally stop biting away at their soul.  But this isn't the case.  This person, and those emotionally invested in them, will learn the hard way. 

If you close off the only exit your thoughts have, they are left with no choice but to remain enclosed and to circulate your mind over and over again, creating a dizzying effect.  The more thoughts circulating, the higher the chances of getting tangled and creating confusion.   This is all further irritated by you trying to make sense of your emotional knots by yourself.

Emotional restructuring is a hard task.  Human nature is strange in that you can have all the information laid before you about how your habits are negatively affecting you, yet you choose to continue.  It is like quitting smoking in a sense.  The negative health effects are made known, but people continue anyways.  And further like quitting smoking, the person inflicted has to make the executive decision to enact change.

Charles Dickens wrote:  It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.  It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness.  It was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity.  It was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness.  It was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair. We had everything before us, we had nothing before us.

I write:  It was the most devastating of times, it was the most cathartic of times.  It was the age of insight, it was the age of fears.  It was the epoch of faith, it was the epoch of uncertainty.  It was the season of clarity, it was the season of gloom.  It was the summer of closeness, it was the winter of sorrow.  We had everything going for us, we had nothing before us.

I implore you to not dismiss that final step of the flow chart.  Bruised and battered you shall stand undefeated if you just speak.  That is the beginning to a fruitful end.  You will be open to so much more of what life is trying to tell you.  Those gut feelings and basic instincts are just the tip of the iceberg in terms of the messages that are sent your way.  These tiny callings are meant to be heard and specifically meant to be heard by you.  You know you best and your heart knows your heart best.  You owe its uniqueness the care and compassion you extend to others.

Even if your knees buckle, you collapse, and you have to teach yourself how to walk all over again, unveil your inner most thoughts.  Empty out your mind, release some pressure, in small increments if that's all you can handle.  This will give you some wiggle room to think and then you too will be able to breathe that complicated sigh of relief.

Do not fear your fears.  Do not fear that you will be alone in this struggle because as I have learned, someone will always be there to fall and rise with you.  You would be surprised at how many people will fight the fight with you - if only they knew what the fight was about.

LCxo

Single File

LCPod
Chapel Song by We Are Augustines

One woman.  

One catastrophic life event.  

One heavy heart.  

One leave of absence.  

One week off work.  

One goal

- to just be.

One week of sleeping in.  

One week of not being able to sleep in.  

One week of enjoying the sunrise.  

One retro quilt.  

One comfortable hoodie.  

One pair of heavenly slippers.  

One installment of luxury beauty goods sent to me. 

One birthday party hosted.  

One night out.  

One too many drinks.  

One too many drunk texts.  

One deadly hangover.  

One advil, after the other. 

One too many goodbyes.  

One too many tears.  

One full comedic series rented.  

One laugh after another...after another.
One army of girlfriends.
One strong support system.

One deep analysis of my life.  

One even more deep analysis of my life.  

One epiphany.  

One of my first genuine smiles after months of frowns.

One loaded text received.  

One huge offer.  

One confused woman.  

One night of sleeping on it.  

One plus one coffee.  

One art gallery excursion.  

One + 3 wardrobe changes.

One breakfast sandwich.  

One streetcar ride.  

One head held high.  

One look back on one + many mistakes with one particular individual.  

One head now held half mast. 

One span of three hours of artistic inspiration.  

One new admirer of the Thomson Collection at the AGO.  

One huge urge to inhale something at Baskin Robbins.  

One quick glimpse of a fashion powerhouse.  

One pang of envy.  

One morning spent exactly how this one wanted.  

One door held open.  

One sincere thank you.  

One head bonk against a metal bar.
One big crowd watching.

One + one cheek blushing.  

One busy mind.
One foot in front of the other.
One dream that needs to be followed.
One moment of clarity.
One big decision is made.
One reply text sent.
One happy woman.

One of many concerted efforts to try to be.

LCxo

Grocery List: 1) Whole Me 2) Whole Men

LC Pod

1979 (ft. Liz Anjos) by RAC
Happiness by The Weepies

The other day I met up with a friend from fashion school who was in town from London, England, to work on his sartorial projects.  We strolled Bloor street for a little while and through the many knooks and crannies of Yorkville, we made our way to Whole Foods and sipped coffee as we caught up on life.  No one but myself understood why I loved being in their store cafe, because days prior, as I sat on the subway after a long day of work, I locked my eyes on, not the handsome man standing in front of me wearing great fall attire, but on his Whole Foods grocery bag.  The slogans and messages are what stole the show.  It read, not in these exact terms, "365 days a year, your own product, real value...".  

It got me thinking: am I my own real product 365 days a year?

Whole Foods Market describes their wide range of foods as not having artificial ingredients or hydrogenated fats, they never add high fructose syrup and avoid genetically modified ingredients.  So basically, no junk, no bullshit.  The real deal.  No sugar coating hiding the real hard facts of the gewy center, no excessive oil to dab off with a napkin to finally get the quality of food you will eat, no additives to tamper and to fool you.  

Why can't people be like this?  Why can't we be as uncomplicated as a Whole Foods store?  We are quite obviously more complex than complex carbs but really, why can't we be?  Why do we sometimes choose to be that pre-packaged, mass produced, sugary dessert when we can be the raw vegetable medley? Why do we sometimes choose to be that lengthy, cryptic ingredient list when we can be straightforward and au naturel, providing more food for the soul than any other chemically engineered food ever could?

To continue with the questions, why is it that I will spend the extra time choosing whole foods, make all the right healthy choices, take the time to work out, get myself in shape - for health reasons and vanity ones too - yet I don't take the time to make the right choices in men.  

We have stores fully dedicated to healthy foods.  We take the time to go to them, read the fine prints on the labels, and choose wisely for our personal health, our particular eating regimen, and our particular tastes.  Yet, when it comes to relationships, the meticulousness I exhibit with my physical health, does not translate. If I ate the same way I chose my men, that would mean I'd be eating McDonalds and foods alike.  With so many more options, why do I choose what's wrong for me and what I want?  I "eat" all the wrong foods and I "taste test" the foods I know I detest - like sardines.

It's becoming more and more clear that my decision making in that department is way off and in dire need of a revamp.  Without naming names and without listing them all - all definitely does not connote alot - the men I've dated here in the city either have one or many qualities that I most definitely do not want in my significant other.  There was Dennis and his small frame.  He was far too short for me.  So much so that on our first date he explicitly asked me not to wear heels.  I wore flats.  Me, flats, on a date.  First red flag.  Not the flats part, but him being so insecure about his height that he had to ask me to not add any to mine.  

There was Mark.  He wore an earring.  Not a stud earring, a little loop.  First red flag.  Then, on our first date, he told me he does cocaine.  He tried to ease my look of worry by assuring me he only did the stuff on special occasions like birthdays and New Years Eve. He then proceeded to invite me out to his birthday in a few weekends - insert worried face.  Following that, he expressed to me how he didn't understand how he felt so awful the day after he did the stuff.   I had to explain the process of snorting cocaine (not from experience) and how it is fairly evident why someone feels like death once they fall from the high. I know what everyone is thinking and it pains me because this is portions of my dating history for everyone to see without the high fructose coating.  Recounting such a lack of judgement irks me.  

Then there was JB who was basically a closet porno connoisseur.  

And then there's the countless other mismatched crushes that I've had.  The people that know me best know I always have a crush on someone, from mini crushes at the gym, to the ones that span years.  I'm a sucker for romantic mystery.  I think perhaps I am more in love with the possibilities I can dream up than the actual crush themselves.  A friend recently said to me that it's in my head.  And I really do listen to that because it is in my head.  I am such a dreamer, when it comes to everything mind you, that I need to come down from the clouds and start looking at things from my point of view - head on - and not the birds eye view that I have maybe been hiding behind.

They call this dating stuff a "game", usually referring to it as an emotional Russian roulette.  For me,  the game most suitable to explain my tactics, and lack thereof, is blindfolded darts.  I am literally taking shots in the dark.  With my track record these days, one can laugh and interpret that as me taking shots of liquor in the dark, but that really isn't what I was referring to.  I throw at random.  My targets are random.  They are not thought out.  I choose them blindly. 

Like a dog, I sniff out someone and follow the smell.  I drop everything I'm doing, even if it was more important than catching this scent trail, and I follow it until its end.  The end can lead me to nowhere or it can lead me to something great, but when I first start on its path, I don't know, and in hindsight, I don't think I care.  As long as I have something to do, somewhere to go, something to talk about, and something to keep me busy, whether erroneous or not, then I'm a happy camper.  The problem there is that I don't end up happy.  So what, I'm just a camper?  I don't get a positive adjective to describe me?  I have such problems staying still, getting my mind to stop running a million miles an hour, that I am constantly seeking things to stay occupied.  So is this a boredom thing?  And if it is, that is very much frightening.

My sister told me to really think about what my "type" is. She asked me to really think about what it is that I am looking for in a person.  I'm having trouble answering that because I don't think I know enough about myself to decide what is my best match and the fiasco that is my family situation is not helping; it is fogging up my mind.  So, how can one decide what will compliment them until they know what needs or can be complimented? 

I mean to walk into a Whole Foods store.  I mean to choose the right foods.  I am well intentioned.  But maybe I am a little too hungry to go shopping just yet.  Maybe I need to feed myself a little more before I can confidently buy exactly what's on my list.

LCxo

Innocent Until Proven Guilty

LC Pod

Poison & Wine by The Civil Wars 

It was a bright and sunny Sunday, a day that matched the mood I was in as I walked to church.  The homely given was about forgiveness, something the world needs a little more of.  The priest enlightened us with a story about a master that gathered his workers around to collect their debts.  When it came time for one particular worker to come forth, he begged his master to be patient with him and he would repay everything.  The master, despite being owed a significant amount, accepted his plea.  Off the worker went and on his walk back, likely back to work,  he met up with a man that owed him a little bit of money. He grabbed him by the throat and demanded that he pay him immediately.  Just as he did moments ago, the man begged with him to be patient and that he would repay everything.  But he did not give him the same benefit and refused his plea.

The moral of the story is that those who seek forgiveness must forgive as well.  How can we ask to be absolved of our transgressions, when we are not willing to let others be absolved of theirs?  The Lord's prayer reads:

"And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those that trespass against us"

After delivering this story, the priest asked the congregation to sit in silence for a bit and to think of a person, or persons, who have trespassed against us, forgive, and to let it go.  Just like that, let it go.  Feelings you've been harvesting in your heart and mind for days, weeks, months, maybe even years, tap into them, breathe in, and feel them... for one last time.  Then, through the grace of a divine power, something that is needed to trump the inclination of the human heart and mind to begrudge, exhale and let it all go.

I have learned to put aside most of the people that have hurt me, and along with that, came the forgiving.  It's impossible to forget what they've done, and impossible to forget how they made you feel, but it's very possible to forget your perception of them at that once dreadful time.   When the change in your perception occurs, when they go from being that person that hurt you to just another person, their ghost is released.  And just like that, they go back to being innocent until proven guilty. 

Somewhere on my "black list" from this spiritual exercise was Justin, more commonly known to this blog as JB.  (refer to Isn't it pretty to think so).  We are no longer in touch and I have no means to do so even if I ever felt like it, which at this present time, I do.  I have a hankering to send him my best.  I do not have his phone number or email.  I was quick to delete all of those.  But I do know he is on Twitter, and an avid twitterer at that.  So when I got home, I let the idea of writing him sit with me for a little bit.  Do I truly want to reach out to him or am I just on a church high?  That intoxicating feeling you get from an hour of listening to spiritual words, sitting in a building of such grandeur and with such meaning.  

I do want to write him, so I do the most "in" thing and follow him on twitter.  My plan was to follow him, give him time to notice me as his new follower, then send a short message, wishing him well in life, love and health, then unfollow him, and carry on.  

I followed him.  Gave it some time.  I went to write him.  He had already deleted me.  

Silently, I sat, confused.  How can it be that the person who was wronged is the one sending the well wish, and secondly,  the one that was deleted?  Logically, which there doesn't seem to be much logic in his methods, if anything, it should be the other way around.  I should be the recipient of a well wish and I should be the deleter.  But that's neither here nor there.

So now comes the trick question: Do I still wish him a great life?  He is the doer of the original cowardly deed.  And he is now the doer behind squashing my one, only, and last attempt at forgiveness.  The surprising and very feel-good answer is, yes.  It's like an apology.  You give it with the chance that the person won't accept it.

My hope for him remains unchanged.  There are no take-backs.  It is unconditional, just like the love I have for my interactive experiences, such as the one between he and I.

Isn't it pretty to think so.

LCxo

Coming Around

LCpod

We Own The Sky by M83

Carrie Bradshaw once said that when life gets this confusing, sometimes there's only one thing to do, and that's attend a fabulous party.  It's monday night and I'm sure there are many fabulous parties happening in the city.  However, I know my 9-5 job will suffer incredibly if I go out, as will my bank, my liver, and my head.  So I opt for something different to occupy my time: fast dating.  I have decided to finally open myself up to the idea that perhaps shopping and partying are not the greatest ways to cope with a confusing life, and exploring more of the city and the people it holds is more productive.

I am recycling this next thought as I have said it to a few people so far, but the only things those two methods of coping (shopping and partying) give me are hangovers and a night of feeling pretty.  When I wake up, the world is still the same.  I still feel the same.  My problems remain.  I owe it to myself to try with all my might to be that happy go lucky person I once was.  None of this self deprecation.  No more of this pity party.  No more of this "why me".  No more.  What I need more of are great laughs.  Genuine friendships.  Nights spent with amazing people.  Goal reaching.  More life.  More glitter.  More glam.  More zsa zsa zoo.  Basically...more me and less crap.

I owe alot to a few people who have been here for me, through tears, through anger, through silence.  I owe them alot for the memories, the chuckles, making me forget my troubles, and the re-ignition of me.  I think it's safe to say that LC is back.

Forever grateful, and forever faithful.

LCxo