Movies have ruined me. You know what I mean. The perfect moment, the perfect exchange of words, the perfect music playing in the background, the perfect resolution to the drama and the perfect ending. I live in reality, yet I am convinced that my life should play out like a movie and when it doesn't, I am left to wonder what happened! I have even gone as far as to pick what music would be playing in the background of some of the more dramatic scenes in my life. I don't know if my life as a movie would be a blockbuster hit, but it would certainly be hysterical! Yep, movies have ruined me.
I am sure that all of you have had those perfect moments in time when, like the movies, all things conspire for your good and everything goes exactly like you planned. Those are what I call "movie moments." In my world, I must admit that I have been blessed with many movie moments. However, I have found that in the time surrounding these moments is when my flictedness is most apparent and I am reminded, yet again, that my life is not like the movies, nor should it be :)
Before I continue, I must mention the fact that I have been blessed with the greatest friends and family in the entire world. They all love and care for me in so many ways and this fact becomes more evident to me everyday I am still here to live and breathe and love and learn. My love for these dear souls will be an emerging theme as you follow the life of the Flicted Friend.
So, let me illustrate by sharing two experiences, one happened just this weekend and the other, a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away . . .
On Friday night, I had a lengthy conversation with a dear friend. My heart was full and somewhat heavy and this friend listened and shared with love and concern. It was very meaningful to me. In the end, my heart was lifted and I felt renewed. It was a movie moment.
After the conversation, I hopped out of the car and walked to the stairs leading up to my apartment door. I started up the stairs, head held a little higher and a slight spring in my step. However, my shoes were a little loose and my newfound stride was a bit too quick. I tripped on one of the last stairs and stumbled up to the landing. No damaged ankles or wrists but I was left to laugh out loud at my anti-climatic, less that triumphant resolution to the evening.
Upon entering my apartment, I was left to consider other such scenes in my past. That bobble reminded me of another moment in my not-so-movie-like life.
Take your minds back to May 1988. I was finishing my eighth grade year at Biscoe Middle School. Like most schools, we had our share of somewhat silly traditions. The eighth grade prom was one: the country club, the dance, the dress, the date, the pictures, the parents, and so on. At that moment in time, it was an important event in my life and so it had the potential to become one of those movie moments.
I had found the perfect dress: knee-length, powder blue with white polka dots and a poofy skirt supported by many yards of crinoline. I had chosen to accessorize this magnificent dress with a pink cumber bun and a pair of two-inch, pink heels. (It was the late eighties so I wouldn't have looked like a clown for another decade :)
The night came and my parents dropped me off at the country club. The foreshadowing couldn't have been more obvious as I wobbled in those two-inch heels up the stairs and into the gala event. After about ten minutes in those shoes, I had had my fill of life in a pair of heels. They were neatly tucked with my other things under a chair in the corner. I was left, scurrying around to all my friends in my stocking feet. The dance played out like most middle school dances, a beautiful blend of awkwardness and silliness sprinkled with bursts of fun and laughter. Most of the details are fuzzy except for the Electric Slide.
The music came on and for one brief moment, everyone was dancing. I think about it now and I am laughing so hard, I am crying. Imagine a room full of fourteen-year-olds doing the Electric Slide in a myriad of bad eighties clothes while teachers and parents watched with awe. Well, you can all imagine where I was: in the front, leading the group, laughing and singing loudly. It was a lot of fun, a movie moment.
However, as I have been reminded over and over again, my life is not like the movies. In the middle of the song, on one of the turns or steps or shuffles, the hard wood floors and the stocking feet conspired against me and I found myself, in a heap, on the floor, poofy skirt, pink cumber bun and all.
I suppose it could have been a tragedy and I could have left crying and humiliated but what good would that have done? I got up, and finished the song and learned an important lesson about two-inch heels, stocking feet and hard wood floors. It was even rumored that one of the parents had gotten the whole thing on tape, which I still have never seen, but perhaps someday it will surface :)
In all honesty, I am grateful for these not-so-movie-like experiences. In a way, they have been the building blocks to my character. So what if I fell down at the eighth grade prom or the million and one other bobbles I have made in my days on the planet? It's not like I'm not going to quit falling. It's hysterical and is just reminder that I shouldn't take myself too seriously. Plus, every time I fall, I have a choice. I can either get up, laugh and keep dancing or quit and go home. Most times, I keep laughing and dancing. I think if my life were a movie, people would much rather see someone get up and keep going rather than quit. And, I suppose if that is the case, maybe some of my not-so-move-like-flicted-moments are actually real movie moments after all!
Monday, November 15, 2004
Friday, November 12, 2004
The magic of a field trip
I apologize for another delinquent issue. I am glad I don't work for a newspaper. I have been having a hard time finding the minutes that it takes to write something worth reading, which is still debatable!
This week, I reflected on the wonder and amazement of what a good field trip can do for the amount of joy felt in one's life. On Wednesday, I had to pick up some paper work from the Department of Adminstration office building. Since it was such a beautiful day, I decided to walk. I had a lot on my mind so I walked slowly, having a dialogue with myself, of course. When I talk to myself, I try to do it all in my head so no one will realize that I'm having a conversation with myself :)
On the way back, I walked even slower, not wanting to return to work on such a beautiful day. My pace was barely a stroll and as I looked around, I noticed all the school buses in the parking lots. I remembered all the cool stuff to see in downtown Raleigh: the musuems, the North Carolina history sites, the government officials and buildings. It is quite a city.
I remembered how fun our class trip to Raleigh in the 8th grade had been. Mr. Smith, our Social Studies teacher, had wanted us to appreciate it so much more than we could at age 13. I chuckled at myself because I remembered being a ball of teenage emotion and worrying about who I would sit next to on the bus trip. I remembered that the boy I loved sat next to another girl on the bus which made me jealous. Then my best friend sat with me and we talked about the usual worries of 13 year-olds (boys, friends, high school, etc.). I felt accepted and loved.
According to the pictures I have of that day, the boy I loved walked around with me for part of the day because part of him is in every picture I took. I also have a picture of us sitting together at McDonald's when we stopped on the way home, proof that the trip wasn't a total loss!
I kept walking and decided to sit down in my favorite park. A school group was using the park and picnic tables to eat their lunches and so I watched for awhile. It looked like a young middle school group, probably sixth graders, on the cusp of puberty: insecure yet still able to give in to fun of a game of tag. It was fun to watch and remember.
I noticed one boy who was walking on the edge of the mayhem. He was chubby and walked slowly. I could tell he wanted to be a part but was afraid. My heart went out to him, I knew how he felt. I watched as he kept walking around. He made his way over to three girls playing in the leaves under a huge tree.
These girls were picking up arm fulls of leaves and throwing them into the air and laughing as the leaves rained down on them. Over and over, picking up leaves, tossing them into the air, and laughing. It looked like the best time and I wanted to join them myself!
This little boy slowly approached them and in my heart, I was afraid for him. I knew he wanted to play and they were having so much fun. I watched as he walked up and I said a little prayer in my heart that these little girls would include him and let him play. There was a moment of pause in the tossing of leaves, a few words were exchanged, and then the tossing continued with four kids tossing and laughing.
It was a little miracle to watch. I was happy for that little boy and I was proud of those little girls. I am glad that when they are 30 years old and they have a moment of nostalgia about their class trip to Raleigh, they will remember fun with friends and feeling accepted by others.
Field trips can definitely be a source of much joy in life. Going away to have fun with people you know and love. I suppose this life itself could be considered one field trip afer another, always changing, always going somewhere new, with those I know and love and always making precious memories. Those memories are what warms me when the chill of despair or sadness settles on my heart. I can't help but be warmed when I think about all the good memories of people and places that I have known and loved. What a great trip this has been!
This week, I reflected on the wonder and amazement of what a good field trip can do for the amount of joy felt in one's life. On Wednesday, I had to pick up some paper work from the Department of Adminstration office building. Since it was such a beautiful day, I decided to walk. I had a lot on my mind so I walked slowly, having a dialogue with myself, of course. When I talk to myself, I try to do it all in my head so no one will realize that I'm having a conversation with myself :)
On the way back, I walked even slower, not wanting to return to work on such a beautiful day. My pace was barely a stroll and as I looked around, I noticed all the school buses in the parking lots. I remembered all the cool stuff to see in downtown Raleigh: the musuems, the North Carolina history sites, the government officials and buildings. It is quite a city.
I remembered how fun our class trip to Raleigh in the 8th grade had been. Mr. Smith, our Social Studies teacher, had wanted us to appreciate it so much more than we could at age 13. I chuckled at myself because I remembered being a ball of teenage emotion and worrying about who I would sit next to on the bus trip. I remembered that the boy I loved sat next to another girl on the bus which made me jealous. Then my best friend sat with me and we talked about the usual worries of 13 year-olds (boys, friends, high school, etc.). I felt accepted and loved.
According to the pictures I have of that day, the boy I loved walked around with me for part of the day because part of him is in every picture I took. I also have a picture of us sitting together at McDonald's when we stopped on the way home, proof that the trip wasn't a total loss!
I kept walking and decided to sit down in my favorite park. A school group was using the park and picnic tables to eat their lunches and so I watched for awhile. It looked like a young middle school group, probably sixth graders, on the cusp of puberty: insecure yet still able to give in to fun of a game of tag. It was fun to watch and remember.
I noticed one boy who was walking on the edge of the mayhem. He was chubby and walked slowly. I could tell he wanted to be a part but was afraid. My heart went out to him, I knew how he felt. I watched as he kept walking around. He made his way over to three girls playing in the leaves under a huge tree.
These girls were picking up arm fulls of leaves and throwing them into the air and laughing as the leaves rained down on them. Over and over, picking up leaves, tossing them into the air, and laughing. It looked like the best time and I wanted to join them myself!
This little boy slowly approached them and in my heart, I was afraid for him. I knew he wanted to play and they were having so much fun. I watched as he walked up and I said a little prayer in my heart that these little girls would include him and let him play. There was a moment of pause in the tossing of leaves, a few words were exchanged, and then the tossing continued with four kids tossing and laughing.
It was a little miracle to watch. I was happy for that little boy and I was proud of those little girls. I am glad that when they are 30 years old and they have a moment of nostalgia about their class trip to Raleigh, they will remember fun with friends and feeling accepted by others.
Field trips can definitely be a source of much joy in life. Going away to have fun with people you know and love. I suppose this life itself could be considered one field trip afer another, always changing, always going somewhere new, with those I know and love and always making precious memories. Those memories are what warms me when the chill of despair or sadness settles on my heart. I can't help but be warmed when I think about all the good memories of people and places that I have known and loved. What a great trip this has been!
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Just dance
My parents are the greatest parents in the entire world. I can say that because they are my parents. They made sure that I had a childhood filled with many great and wonderful experiences. The list goes on and on - piano lessons, a trampoline, little league baseball, horseback riding lessons and of course - dance lessons.
I, like most little girls, had visions of grandeur - to be a beautiful ballerina on a stage, twirling in a tutu to beautiful music while everyone oohs and ahhs. So at age eight, mom enrolled my sister and me in a dance class.
Under the tutelage of Mrs. Bowers, I made great efforts to make my mark on the dancing world. My first jazz routine was to Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl." And boy was I ever! Every time I hear that song now, I can almost see myself in my purple leotard and shiny purple sleeves with the silver fringe, strutin' my stuff across that stage. Even though the audience was filled with people who had to clap and cheer, it was just as great as I had ever dreamed.
But life changes as you get older.
Unfortunately, my dancing career ended at the tender age of eleven. I am sure there were many reasons why I stopped taking dance lessons but the ones I can remember are not very good ones. Most of the reasons can be summed up into one word: insecurity. And even though I did a lot of other really awesome things like sports and clubs, I never danced again.
Until now.
In September, I enrolled in a beginner's jazz class at Ninth Street Dance. Now, every Saturday from 10 to 11 AM, I dance. At first, I was so apprehensive. I almost backed out a hundred times. I made myself write the check for the cost of the class and put it in the mail a whole month before the class started so I would have no excuses.
The first class was grueling. I had forgotten that I had so many muscles! One of our warm up routines involves holding a one-handed push-up postion for what seems like forever. Needless to say, upon my first attempt, I ended up kissing the floor, with a loud thump! But, no one seemed to notice so I picked myself up and tried again.
This past Saturday, our teacher watched as we worked through one of our warm-up routines and gave us each some individual pointers. When she got to me, I just knew she was going to say, "Give it up!" (Not really, but the disease of insecurity is a hard one to get rid of.) She pointed out that I was not letting my head and neck relax and because of that, my body was not following suit. She said if I would let my head go, the rest of the movements would be more open and fluid. "Your body will follow your head."
After that, I must have come up with a dozen reasons why I couldn't just let my head go. What if it hurt my neck or what if I fell down because of the momentum? How could I ever remember all the steps and remember to let my head go? What would the others think if I looked silly or what if I threw my head around so much, I broke my neck or something like that?! Then, it occurred to me that not only was I not getting the most out of the class, I was allowing myself to be controlled by the very insecurities that I had wanted to overcome by taking the class in the first place!
If I want to be a better dancer, I have to not only hear the advice of the one who knows how to dance, I have to DO what she says, no matter how insecure I might feel. That's life in a nutshell, really. Too many times I am satisfied with the fact that I have heard from the One who knows how to live this life. I let fear and insecurity rob me of the joys of actually living such a life. So what if I looked like a little grape in my purple jazz leotard, I was dancing and I was happy! Fear and insecurity had no place in my life as an eight-year-old, why should things be any different now? It shouldn't. I just have to remember, "Your body will follow your head," and see how it goes from there :)
I, like most little girls, had visions of grandeur - to be a beautiful ballerina on a stage, twirling in a tutu to beautiful music while everyone oohs and ahhs. So at age eight, mom enrolled my sister and me in a dance class.
Under the tutelage of Mrs. Bowers, I made great efforts to make my mark on the dancing world. My first jazz routine was to Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl." And boy was I ever! Every time I hear that song now, I can almost see myself in my purple leotard and shiny purple sleeves with the silver fringe, strutin' my stuff across that stage. Even though the audience was filled with people who had to clap and cheer, it was just as great as I had ever dreamed.
But life changes as you get older.
Unfortunately, my dancing career ended at the tender age of eleven. I am sure there were many reasons why I stopped taking dance lessons but the ones I can remember are not very good ones. Most of the reasons can be summed up into one word: insecurity. And even though I did a lot of other really awesome things like sports and clubs, I never danced again.
Until now.
In September, I enrolled in a beginner's jazz class at Ninth Street Dance. Now, every Saturday from 10 to 11 AM, I dance. At first, I was so apprehensive. I almost backed out a hundred times. I made myself write the check for the cost of the class and put it in the mail a whole month before the class started so I would have no excuses.
The first class was grueling. I had forgotten that I had so many muscles! One of our warm up routines involves holding a one-handed push-up postion for what seems like forever. Needless to say, upon my first attempt, I ended up kissing the floor, with a loud thump! But, no one seemed to notice so I picked myself up and tried again.
This past Saturday, our teacher watched as we worked through one of our warm-up routines and gave us each some individual pointers. When she got to me, I just knew she was going to say, "Give it up!" (Not really, but the disease of insecurity is a hard one to get rid of.) She pointed out that I was not letting my head and neck relax and because of that, my body was not following suit. She said if I would let my head go, the rest of the movements would be more open and fluid. "Your body will follow your head."
After that, I must have come up with a dozen reasons why I couldn't just let my head go. What if it hurt my neck or what if I fell down because of the momentum? How could I ever remember all the steps and remember to let my head go? What would the others think if I looked silly or what if I threw my head around so much, I broke my neck or something like that?! Then, it occurred to me that not only was I not getting the most out of the class, I was allowing myself to be controlled by the very insecurities that I had wanted to overcome by taking the class in the first place!
If I want to be a better dancer, I have to not only hear the advice of the one who knows how to dance, I have to DO what she says, no matter how insecure I might feel. That's life in a nutshell, really. Too many times I am satisfied with the fact that I have heard from the One who knows how to live this life. I let fear and insecurity rob me of the joys of actually living such a life. So what if I looked like a little grape in my purple jazz leotard, I was dancing and I was happy! Fear and insecurity had no place in my life as an eight-year-old, why should things be any different now? It shouldn't. I just have to remember, "Your body will follow your head," and see how it goes from there :)
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Skip the Cheerwine
So I know it's been three weeks. Don't worry, I'm still flicted. A nice mix of my own flictedness and some life experiences have given me pause. I have wanted to write so much but haven't found the right words. I think that this experience that I had this past week sums up what I'm learning pretty well. I hope I've found the right words.
I'm a native of North Carolina. I've spent the majority of my life here and I love it. However, in all my years as a citizen of the Ole North State, I have never been to the state fair. I know you all just gasped, "Thirty years of life lived as a citizen of North Carolina and she's never been to the fair?!" I know, it's just not right.
Well, this year, I decided to mend my ways and go to the fair. In fact, to prove to my fellow North Carolinians that I am serious about my heritage, I actually went twice. It was all I had expected, and more. I saw everything, and then I saw it again!
I milked a cow and I held some baby chickens. I loved the pygmy goats and the award winning crops. I didn't know pumpkins could get that big! My life has so much more meaning since I witnessed the racing pigs at the Hogway Speedway. I rooted for Piggy Gordon every time. The incredible craftsmanship at the Village of Yesteryear made me wish I had been born then, in a much simpler time when life was about hard work and survival. But then, I was glad I could walk out and down the midway and enjoy a $10 ride on the ferris wheel with my dearest friends.
And then, there was the food. The ham biscuits from the Cary United Methodist Church, the roasted corn, the funnel cake, the boiled peanuts, the ice cream from the State dairy, and of course, the fried everything, including the fried Snickers and the fried Twinkie. Yes, I even had some of a fried Twinkie.
Herein lies the life's lesson learned through my flictedness.
I wanted so much to enjoy this first fair experience. I had heard so many wonderful things about it and I had so many great expectations. In my eagerness to take it all in, I forgot most of what I have learned over the past two years of my life about moderation in ALL things. I figured that I could eat just like everybody else. Unfortunately, I am not like everybody else. I have a capacity issue :) Needless to say, I ate too much. In most people's world, this would mean a long ride home, with the top button on the jeans undone, and perhaps a restless night's sleep.
Not me. In my world, when it won't go down, it has to come up.
Of course, I spent the final thirty minutes to an hour of our outing walking around the fair with my friends pretending that I was just fine. I thought that if I could just keep walking, it would all go down. The crazy thing is that I almost made it. But they stopped for a Cheerwine on the way out and I love Cheerwine. Knowing full well my situation, I had a sip anyway. As we headed for the car, I knew I was in trouble.
We loaded up and drove one of our friends to her car. We found her car and she got out with our happy goodbyes. I just kept telling myself, "You can do it, you can keep it down." I think I was actually using some Lamaze techniques there for a moment, breathe in, breathe out, and focus. To no avail.
Half way down the parking lot, I asked my friend to stop the car so I could get out. I ran behind one car and then - NOTHING. It was horrible. I felt so bad but nothing. So, I ran back to the car and said I was OK. I was passed a plastic bag from the folks in back, just in case.
At this point there was a hush among my friends in the car. We pulled out of the lot and to the stoplight. And then there it was again - the sweaty teeth feeling and the aching jaw. So, I asked her again to pull over as we turned through the intersection, which she did promptly. I jumped out and ran behind a parked car and finally, relief.
Here's what I'm learning from this experience. I can pretend all I want but I'm not like everyone else. I've got limits. If I'm 100% honest with myself, I know those limits. There are times in life when no matter how good something is, I'll still have my limits. Still, there are some things that I want that are beyond those limits. But, no matter what I do, there are going to be some things in life that are great but I'm never going to be able to have, no matter how much I want them. Often, I'll have to be satisfied with just a taste. Experience will continue to be my mentor.
Of course, this was my first time at the fair. First times and new things are sometimes difficult to manage. No matter what others say and how great the expectations are, I will have to experience these things for myself and learn these lessons for my own experience and good. I'm so grateful to have been schooled so well. Now that I've had this experience, next time, I'll be wiser. (Well one can only hope!)
Even though I am pained deeply by the embarrassment of this flicted moment, the knowledge I've gained is invaluable. The solace to my soul in this moment was that this first fair experience was had with dear friends, who, despite my flictedness, love me still.
Of course, there's always next year. I have great hopes for next time. A little wiser and a lot more humble, I know that I will enjoy my next trip to the fair even more. Though there will never be another "first time at the fair" experience for me, the memory of this time will make the next experience even sweeter. I'm so grateful I can look forward with anticipation and back with no regrets.
I'm a native of North Carolina. I've spent the majority of my life here and I love it. However, in all my years as a citizen of the Ole North State, I have never been to the state fair. I know you all just gasped, "Thirty years of life lived as a citizen of North Carolina and she's never been to the fair?!" I know, it's just not right.
Well, this year, I decided to mend my ways and go to the fair. In fact, to prove to my fellow North Carolinians that I am serious about my heritage, I actually went twice. It was all I had expected, and more. I saw everything, and then I saw it again!
I milked a cow and I held some baby chickens. I loved the pygmy goats and the award winning crops. I didn't know pumpkins could get that big! My life has so much more meaning since I witnessed the racing pigs at the Hogway Speedway. I rooted for Piggy Gordon every time. The incredible craftsmanship at the Village of Yesteryear made me wish I had been born then, in a much simpler time when life was about hard work and survival. But then, I was glad I could walk out and down the midway and enjoy a $10 ride on the ferris wheel with my dearest friends.
And then, there was the food. The ham biscuits from the Cary United Methodist Church, the roasted corn, the funnel cake, the boiled peanuts, the ice cream from the State dairy, and of course, the fried everything, including the fried Snickers and the fried Twinkie. Yes, I even had some of a fried Twinkie.
Herein lies the life's lesson learned through my flictedness.
I wanted so much to enjoy this first fair experience. I had heard so many wonderful things about it and I had so many great expectations. In my eagerness to take it all in, I forgot most of what I have learned over the past two years of my life about moderation in ALL things. I figured that I could eat just like everybody else. Unfortunately, I am not like everybody else. I have a capacity issue :) Needless to say, I ate too much. In most people's world, this would mean a long ride home, with the top button on the jeans undone, and perhaps a restless night's sleep.
Not me. In my world, when it won't go down, it has to come up.
Of course, I spent the final thirty minutes to an hour of our outing walking around the fair with my friends pretending that I was just fine. I thought that if I could just keep walking, it would all go down. The crazy thing is that I almost made it. But they stopped for a Cheerwine on the way out and I love Cheerwine. Knowing full well my situation, I had a sip anyway. As we headed for the car, I knew I was in trouble.
We loaded up and drove one of our friends to her car. We found her car and she got out with our happy goodbyes. I just kept telling myself, "You can do it, you can keep it down." I think I was actually using some Lamaze techniques there for a moment, breathe in, breathe out, and focus. To no avail.
Half way down the parking lot, I asked my friend to stop the car so I could get out. I ran behind one car and then - NOTHING. It was horrible. I felt so bad but nothing. So, I ran back to the car and said I was OK. I was passed a plastic bag from the folks in back, just in case.
At this point there was a hush among my friends in the car. We pulled out of the lot and to the stoplight. And then there it was again - the sweaty teeth feeling and the aching jaw. So, I asked her again to pull over as we turned through the intersection, which she did promptly. I jumped out and ran behind a parked car and finally, relief.
Here's what I'm learning from this experience. I can pretend all I want but I'm not like everyone else. I've got limits. If I'm 100% honest with myself, I know those limits. There are times in life when no matter how good something is, I'll still have my limits. Still, there are some things that I want that are beyond those limits. But, no matter what I do, there are going to be some things in life that are great but I'm never going to be able to have, no matter how much I want them. Often, I'll have to be satisfied with just a taste. Experience will continue to be my mentor.
Of course, this was my first time at the fair. First times and new things are sometimes difficult to manage. No matter what others say and how great the expectations are, I will have to experience these things for myself and learn these lessons for my own experience and good. I'm so grateful to have been schooled so well. Now that I've had this experience, next time, I'll be wiser. (Well one can only hope!)
Even though I am pained deeply by the embarrassment of this flicted moment, the knowledge I've gained is invaluable. The solace to my soul in this moment was that this first fair experience was had with dear friends, who, despite my flictedness, love me still.
Of course, there's always next year. I have great hopes for next time. A little wiser and a lot more humble, I know that I will enjoy my next trip to the fair even more. Though there will never be another "first time at the fair" experience for me, the memory of this time will make the next experience even sweeter. I'm so grateful I can look forward with anticipation and back with no regrets.
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