“You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, or who had ever been alive. ” – James Baldwin
…up to 50,000 – 60,000 thoughts a day! That’s according to the National Science Foundation.
Wow!
That’s a powerful thought, in and of itself!
But consider this…
How many of those thoughts are habitual? Thoughts that you’re simply unaware of? How many of those are wasted? How many are just the same thoughts that you think everyday, the same ones that you thought yesterday?
How many are intentional? How many are negative? Critical? Positive?
I’ve been thinking about my thoughts a lot lately. In education we call that metacognition (thinking about your thinking).
It’s been said that our thoughts become our actions. Our actions then lead to results (moods etc.). Actions then lead to beliefs.
What if we harnessed our thoughts and controlled them, intentionally? Realized our responsibility for them? Considered them assets? Yes, I realize that we can’t possibly be aware of ALL of them, that would be mentally exhausting. But, in general, what if we thought of them as assets and responsibilities?
This is a bit extreme. But consider this analogy. The old adage “A penny for your thoughts.” If each thought were worth a penny, and each were positive…you’d earn $500/day. That’s $3500/week! Yep, extreme, but maybe not.
If thoughts lead to actions, they are powerful, aren’t they? I think so.
I’m not sure where I’m going with all this. Just thinking out loud.
But it’s something to think about, I think.
And I overthink anyway, so I might as well think about something worth thinking about.
Anyway, I’m still thinking about it.
*Sigh
Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.
We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love’s light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.
I lose things. Often. I always have but it seems to have become a real issue since my brain injury.
I’ve made a conscious effort to be more organized and it seems to be helping. I don’t panic as much as I used to. Things have a way of turning up. But then sometimes they don’t. I remember traveling once, thinking that I’d been very organized in my packing, only to end up unpacking in my hotel room to find one of my favorite shoes. Never have found the other one.
But things seem to turn up most of the time. I just found a missing earring last night.
And I’ve lost my car keys twice in the last 6 months. The first time was over Thanksgiving. I noticed that they were missing after I’d unloaded groceries from my car the day before Thanksgiving. I looked everywhere. I knew that they had to be in my apartment or on the grounds as I’d driven home from the supermarket. It was too late to call the office to see if anyone had turned them in. I decided to enjoy the holiday and check back with them on Friday. Sure enough, someone had found them beside my car and turned them in. Relief!
The second time I lost them in much the same way. A neighbor found them beside my car. Again!
Both times someone had the opportunity to steal my car and didn’t!
Oh but it gets even better!
I’ve lost my purse many times!! The last time I was in the Salvation Army store. I sat down in a chair to try on a pair of shoes. Yep! You guessed it! I left my purse in the chair. When I got to the check out counter, I discovered I didn’t have it. I looked all over the store. I panicked. I got the attention of one of the employees and we both looked. Everywhere. Just when I’d given up I sat down in the same chair and quietly prayed. Just then a lady came up to me with my purse. She was in tears. I was confused. She explained to me that she had taken it. She had stolen my purse!! Somewhere in between all the tearful apologies she explained that God wouldn’t let her do it. She got as far as the sidewalk and turned around. She explained her dire financial situation and added that she couldn’t let her kids see her do something like that. I had only $5 in my purse but offered it to her. She wouldn’t take it.
Coincidences? I don’t think so.
God follows me around and picks up after me, I think. 🙂
I said all that to say this.
In all the mess that is my life since alcoholism and brain injury, I’ve lost someone very dear to me. Just yesterday I’ve been reminded of these incidences in which what I’ve lost has been found. Not by me though. And not always in the way that I would have expected.
The key is to not give up; to not lose hope.
“Don’t throw away the other just because you’ve lost the mate.”
I still have that favorite shoe…
What I didn’t tell you in my last post was that while I was excitedly discovering books I hadn’t seen in years I discovered long lost bookmarks as well. Not just bookmarks, but memories. Some aren’t even bookmarks at all, at least not according to the traditional definition. There are photos, cards, notes, even a seed packet. All used to mark significant places in books that relate to them.
Much like a child that gets sent to his room to clean only to be distracted by long lost toys, I spent much of last night going through books discovering old, now new again, memories.
It was bittersweet.
For those who are currently suffering traumatic brain injury related memory loss, this is familiar. I remember much of these special moments as if they happened to someone else. Still I cherish them. Yes, I grieve my past and its losses as I do the loss of who I used to be. But I treasure the memories.
I treasure them for they represent much of what has made me the woman I am today. I take them with me as I continue my journey of becoming.
I’m enjoying making new ones and look forward to making more. So while I’ve enjoyed my time remembering, it’s time to turn around.
And look forward.
For that is the direction in which I’m going.
“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” -Soren Kierkegaard
It’s been 18 months ago today that I had brain surgery. I could barely read at all after I woke from the coma. Since that time I’ve recovered nearly 100% of my reading ability. I attribute much of that to my love of reading and of story. I never lost that.
There’s no shortage of reading opportunities online and I take advantage of many of them. I enjoy my Ereader as well. I’m in the middle of more than one book.
But nothing replaces a book. An actual text on print book.
I’ve collected books for many years. When I relocated several years ago, I didn’t have the means to transport them nor the space for them in my new apartment so I put them in storage.
So…today my ex-husband surprised me by offering to bring them to me. I welcomed boxes and tubs of books that I hadn’t seen in 4 years! Many of them I forgot I had.
They’re everywhere! Scattered all over the place! And I feel like a kid on Christmas morning. Cookbooks, gardening books, inspirational books, self-help books (I’m keeping the ones on procrastination on my desk!), quote books, gift books with sweet notes from friends and family…there’s just so much to look at!
I’m overwhelmed! And it’s a good thing.
I don’t know why being surrounded by books is so comforting to me. Maybe it’s because I’m aware of sharing my space with the lives and stories of so many others. There is something comforting about that.
I do know now that bookcases are in order. They are a must. Until I can afford them the floor will have to do. I’ll just stack them neatly along the wall or maybe get even more creative than that, we’ll see.
I’ve been trying to regain my sense of self since my brain injury. This is a big step in doing just that. This is a part of me that remained. My love of story and my love of books.
And my books are home. Finally.
Yay!
“My Engine”
My engine has been derailed by something completely unexpected,
Affected by an accident that makes me feel isolated, even rejected.
The aftermath is daunting, unplanned and hard to withstand,
I realize that, unless you’ve experienced it, it’s difficult to understand.
This is my attempt, to the best of my ability
To explain what happened to me, for it is my responsibility.
Imagine if you will a freight train with cars, caboose and engine,
The engine is that on which all else is dependent and contingent.
That is the part of me that was injured, hurt and broken,
That is the physical part of which I can explain and be well spoken.
But then there are the emotional and psychological effects too,
Those are more difficult to understand and explain to you.
Sometimes my engine runs out of steam and you think I’m being lazy,
But my engine needs rest and I feel foggy, confused and a bit hazy.
And then there are the moods, irritable, angry and often depressed,
I don’t mean to take it out on you and I know it leaves you stressed.
But it’s really important that you understand this dilemma I’m in,
For it’s you, the normal world, on which I depend.
People can be insensitive about what my disability shows,
They even make jokes about what they don’t know.
I hope that my words will help set your mind at ease,
You may share them with others, if you so please.
Tell them I’m still here, though I may seem changed or strange,
I’m really still me, just amended and slightly rearranged.
-jmf
“Hope” is the thing with feathers
By Emily Dickinson
“Hope” is the thing with feathers –That perches in the soul –And sings the tune without the words –And never stops – at all –And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –And sore must be the storm –That could abash the little BirdThat kept so many warm –I’ve heard it in the chillest land –And on the strangest Sea –Yet – never – in Extremity,It asked a crumb – of me.What a beautiful metaphor. Oh, the powerful song of a little bird to sing so relentlessly and continuously throughout any storm. That is hope.And you don’t even have to feed it.This is one of Emily Dickinson’s earlier poems, but I think one of her best. It’s also one of my favorites.Thank you, Emily Dickinson.
When I was younger I earnestly began to learn about gardening and sought the advice of a farmer in my church. He was an older gentleman who farmed many acres of land but also had smaller gardens in which he grew vegetables. He had a roadside vegetable stand that was very popular. He was experienced and successful. He knew about gardening.
I remember one particular Sunday he asked me to stop by his house after church. He gave me a tour of his gardens and proudly showed me what was what. He emphasized the process of proper watering. He did so because he said that this is where many gardeners lose sprouts and seedlings. In the watering process.
He explained it to me this way. “You don’t want to spoil the roots.”
He went on to say that it was a matter of balance. If you withheld water and let the seedlings get too dry, they would die. But, if you watered them too much you’d also drown them.
But he also explained something in between. He described it like this. If you water the plants too often, you rob them of the opportunity to grow strong roots. The roots get used to water on the surface or shallow part of the ground and, therefore, have no need to go any deeper in search of water.
So…he said, “Don’t spoil the roots.”
In other words, give them enough water to sustain and keep them alive but also allow them to sink their roots deep in search of water on their own.
Wow. Maybe my roots have been a bit spoiled until now. Could it be that this messy time in my life is but an opportunity to sink my roots a bit deeper?
Thank you, Mr. Tremblay.
There is a price to be paid for everything of value. And, often, the greater the price, the greater the reward and the appreciation. Who could possibly know this better than Helen Keller? She did nothing to earn the odds that were stacked against her. She was born with them. And yet she didn’t let that deter her. She had every right and every opportunity to be bitter, angry and resentful. Maybe she was at times. But she took what circumstances life had given her, the proverbial hand that she’d been dealt, and she made good of it.
It’s easy to be positive when life is rolling along in our favor and we get to coast. But what happens when things go wrong? Really wrong? It’s then that we have a choice. We can let ourselves feel that we are a victim of our circumstances (whether they are of our own making and choosing or not) or we can feel that we are a victor in spite of them. This isn’t easy by any stretch of the imagination. It’s a deliberate choice. And a constant one. We can’t get comfortable. Self-pity and doubt will knock at our door and we’ll want to answer. There’s a certain amount of comfort in feeling a victim. There’s no work involved with that. But there’s no victory either. The choice has to be what drives us to overcome our circumstances, otherwise we’ll give into them. When we’re driven by our choice to overcome our conversations with ourselves will be positive and affirming. We will seek to surround ourselves with positive people who encourage us rather than enable us. We will find inspiration and energy to keep going even when we are discouraged. Because that’s what victors do.
So, things aren’t easy or quiet and there’s some trial and suffering. That’s certainly found it’s way into my life over the last several years. Now I have to choose. I choose to be strengthened and inspired. I often look to others for that. Others like Helen Keller. My circumstances pale in comparison to hers so I figure if she can have such an outlook so can I.
Thank you, Helen.
stillclumsy 