may be, maybe not
September 2, 2013 § 3 Comments
I may be wrong. Maybe not. Most of my greatest lessons came at the cost of my pride. Uncomfortable conversations and misguided intentions are usually tinged with emotions that color conflict with shades of self challenging me to see beyond the feelings cloaked in language.
I am less comfortable with conflict than I am my errors; my stomach in knots and heart in my throat I tend to retreat behind words studying a circumstance for clarity, trying to catch images of truth in a faceted experience reflecting prisms of personality.
Recently I stepped outside the comfort of contemplation into conflict. Reflecting on words spoken rather than written, I wonder at the error of insinuating over absorbing; interjecting in place of observing.
Still there are moments when speaking up for self or others mandates wading into discomfort. This past week I have attempted to speak through my emotions, words heavy with worry and pride. I have invited criticism and judgment for choices guided by little more than my gut.
My lesson has been one of humility. In each experience I may have been wrong, but I may be right. Time will speak to my choice, but I have come to understand it isn’t enough to think clearly, we must also endeavor to give voice to the certainties of self that inform others.
In much the same way I instruct my children to use their voice to identify their values, ideals, and boundaries, I, too, must be willing to speak up even at the cost of conflict and error.
inheritance
July 24, 2011 § 2 Comments
When we get married we inherit new family with old stories. Woven beneath traditions are habits that can foster a feeling of connection as naturally as they can make one feel misplaced. Nostalgia gleans over difficult moments while basking in happier times. Sometimes we find a place of belonging and other times we struggle to wade through unmarked territory.
My husband and I met one another’s family in our Sunday best; everyone sparkled, poised and polished, on their best behavior. Over time health concerns, conflicting opinions, and irreversible mistakes have piled sloppily between us creating boundaries. Spaces marked with sadness or anger that we tiptoe over and around. I wonder, is it better to create a quiet space marked by limits to preserve feelings or do we remove walls and accept what we struggle to forgive?
I won’t strip away the simple dignity that accompanies privacy with details; this space where I set aside my thoughts feels deceptively intimate. Still, I cannot believe that something as universal as family would go unshared even among strangers. So I’ll pose these questions to no one in particular. How do we love openly with different values? How do we find our way when we close our eyes to ward off hurt? Is it more painful to forget or remember?
scribblechic 