In Storm

When I was a kid, I was told that life can give you sunny days and rainy days.

I thought they were talking about the weather.

I thought that by carrying an umbrella, I could shield myself from any pain that would ever come my way.

I was wrong.

What I didn’t know was that a lot of life can be like a hurricane.

There are times when the rushing currents sweep up and overwhelm you.

There are days when the waves leave you battered and bruised

coughing up water

on a sand bar

twenty miles from shore.

Don’t tell me there’s an umbrella strong enough to shield me from that blast.

I know better.

And I know that sometimes life is like a race.

Where you find yourself prepared to sprint to the finish line.

Except sometimes it’s not until the starting gun sounds that you realize you’ve tied your shoelaces together

And you’re running into a nose dive.

Well, I’ve learned something from that too.

You see, when else but when your arms are outstretched to catch a fall are you able to fully embrace life?

Bruises and all.

And I’ve learned that sometimes you just have to take a minute and breathe in the moment.

Because how do you know how much air you will need to breathe to take the plunge into that icy sea called life?

When I was a kid, I was told that it took both rain and sunlight to make a rainbow.

And while I know they were talking about the weather,

True beauty is born of both as well.

Mom, I Forgot My Life Jacket

Mom, I forgot my life jacket.

I know you were probably waving it out the door, calling after me in my haste to leave.

I’m sorry. I probably ignored you.

Now I’m up to my neck in my own troubles, adrift in a life I thought I could control.

Remember it raining when I was three? I held out my hands to catch the raindrops, only to watch them slip through my fingers. My tears soon followed.

That was the day you took a red bucket and scooped up the rain. You gave it to me and told me not to spill it.

But of course I did.

When I was five and fell off my bicycle, I thought the world was going to end.

But that was when I was five and Band-Aids and kisses could make everything better.

The world never ended of course. It just kept going.

Remember when I was eight and you tried to explain the multiplication table to me? You said it was easy.

Well, I didn’t know it then but things do multiply easily. They tend to get out of control.

But Mom, I’ve never forgotten that five times six equals thirty. And as I’m quietly repeating those lessons to myself, I’m thanking God that you are never more than a phone number away.

How can I forget twelve? I thought I was so grown up then. You always seemed so quick to tell me otherwise. I suppose, now, that you were right. Thanks for always cleaning up my messes anyway.

Skip a few years and I’m fifteen. That was when I thought a kiss would make everything better. So I followed what I thought was love. And still it was you who were always ready to patch a wounded heart.

But now I’m eighteen.

I’m trying to navigate things by myself now. And I keep knocking over that red bucket as I try to get away from the messes I’ve left behind so that the floor is flooded with more than my tears and I feel like I’m drowning.

And I’m thinking about that life jacket.

I’m wondering now if I should pick up the phone and tell you this myself.

But if I do I’ll probably just say everything is fine and that will be that.

So I’m writing this instead.

See Mom, what I’m trying to say is this:

Because now I’m trying to catch the sunlight.

I’m bottling up the smiles and love you’ve always had for me.

Love,

Your little girl 

Learning to Sing

Sometimes I wonder why I think that waking up at 5:30 in the morning will somehow help me be more prepared for the day. As if any amount of worrying I can fit into the hour before I get up will benefit me in any way. Today, as I’m about to embark on something new, I'm asking myself similar questions. But I believe that it’s moments like these where it’s normal to stop and ask myself what I’m getting into. Or at least that’s where I found myself a few minutes ago.

“Oh my gosh, Emma. What are you doing?”

And I looked back on all the times that thought had crossed my mind. Some of those answers I’m not really proud of, other instances I wish I’d stopped a second to question further. But I’ve already lived those regrets.

So I ask myself another question. If that last part of my life, with all its mistakes, regrets, memories, and accomplishments, was finding my voice; where am I now? Where do I find myself at this start of something new, with the million little thoughts running through my mind, hands shaking, eyes looking ahead, brain always questioning, ears always listening? As I take this all in, I think I feel more than hear the answer: In this moment of doubt and worry and weakness, that’s where the next part begins. And that is where I am at this moment: quavering and uncertain, but learning to sing.

A Matter of Perspective

When one thinks of Earth’s surface, with its jagged mountains, deep valleys, rifts, and canyons, the word ‘smooth’ hardly comes to mind. Instead, one might find "rugged and imperfect" as a more fitting description. And yet, the surface of planet Earth is proportionally smoother than a billiard ball.1 Surprising is it not? It just depends on your perspective.

Now apply the same perspective to life. Suddenly, all the things that we think define us, such as marks, talents, wealth, appearance, and popularity, matter little in proportion to the grand scheme of things. Once more, it all depends on how you look at it. For if the surface of Earth, with all its imperfections, can be viewed by our limited vision as a perfect, even sphere, how then are we viewed, with all our imperfections, through the eyes of the One whose perspective is infinite?

1 http://blogs.discovermagazine.com/badastronomy/2008/09/08/ten-things-you-dont-know-about-the-earth/#.WY_cqFF97IU

Lost Voices

By the next century, nearly half the world’s languages will die. This unfortunate truth speaks volumes about the way humanity values the wealth of knowledge culminated by its ancestors. To put it bluntly, we are willing to leave behind much of what was passed down through countless generations in the name of progress.

Every fourteen days, a language dies. Every two weeks, the voices of a multitude of memories, traditions and lessons are silenced in favour of the more hectic languages of English, Spanish and Mandarin. In a world that is already so skilled at quieting minorities, it appears language is yet another victim of our rush to assimilate and move on.  And it’s a real shame.  For there is wisdom in the words of one’s ancestors, and many phrases, proverbs and expressions are simply lost in translation.

Already many peoples’ native tongues are being decimated to feeble whispers and, by removing one’s language, the foundations of many cultures are beginning to crumble. I see it from this perspective:  When we drop a language, we lose much more than mere sounds and written letters; there is a lot that will cease to exist. For how many lessons learned will be forgotten?  How many songs will never be sung again?  Will the traditions and memories of a myriad of voices be drowned out by those that come in to replace them? That’s up to us to determine.

Some words are loudest at a whisper. But we must quiet ourselves if we are to learn from them.

This post was written in response to the article Vanishing Voices by Russ Rymer in July's issue of National Geographic.

In Stormy Weather

“

Some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.

”

                                                                                                ~ Willa Carter

The rain will often give more than just a slick, cold slap in the face. It offers short moments to ponder and quick glimpses of peace in the most surprising of circumstances. There is something about being out in a storm; sort of like standing against everything life throws at you. Sometimes I’ll go out in a good rainstorm and laugh in its face. For a fleeting moment, I’m almost content. The winds may be roaring, lightning flashing and the rain falling in torrents around me, and yet, it’s during those most chaotic moments that I feel at peace. In some way, nature understands. It’s like my mind is in turmoil but I don’t have to articulate anything. It just is and, for the moment, that is enough.  

Or at least that’s what I’m learning.

Learning to Ride

It is often the little accomplishments one makes early during their life journey that become the most meaningful later on. Like little gems of wisdom, we lock those certain moments up and hide the treasure chest away until we have time to better ponder them.

I learned to bike when I was six. During this time I became more acquainted with the ground than I would have liked. But I kept at it that whole summer. It was a constant cycle of climbing on, balancing for a second and then down I would go. For me, taking off my training wheels was a microcosm for the whole process of growing up (and I suppose the lifelong learning that follows). You see, no one learns to fall; it is embedded in our very nature. Climbing is easy enough too. It’s the balancing that is difficult, especially when the road gets bumpy.

Look at it this way: The best thing you can do for yourself is to learn to not be ashamed of falling; just keep climbing back up. Success will come eventually. And the people on the sides of the street will cheer you on.

See you on the sidelines. J