"I have found that if you love life, life will love you back" – Arthur Rubinstein
Indian
I still cannot believe the words that come up on this screen. My cup of tea steams, waiting for me to drink it down. The dog watching my every move, believing any second now I will take her for walk. The quietness of the morning, interrupted only by rare passing cars or the random barks of dogs who think they can take on the cars, seems loud. The hardness of the chair I am sitting on, digging into my butt deeper and deeper as if looking for something inside me, makes me realize how much effort it takes to put on these tiny words onto this screen.
The remnants of a dream come to me just now. An old couple I am visiting insist I take the 2 books I was admiring in their library. I don’t know who they are, but I confidently tell them to feel free to come borrow anything from mine. I also brag that mine is bigger (Freud anyone). At that, I look around and see what I have. There’s Bharati Mukherjee‘s The Holder of the World right next to by Bombay Time by Thrity Umrigar. Then there is Junglee Girl by Ginu Kamani, overwhelming Love from Punjab by someone named Dhillon. My Indian collection is a source of pride for me. I used to visit the book store, and look for any Indian authors because I believed it was important to have them in my library. I don’t know when my enthusiasm waned, or when I stopped buying any books. Perhaps it happened when I realized that I had more more than I could possibly read in 6 months or maybe it came when I look at the titles, and most of their stories don’t come to me. Lately, my memory is not what it used to be. It is a fact that I am painfully aware of, and makes me want to reread all the books in my library especially the Indian ones. Salman Rushdie‘s Shalimar the Clown beckons me, and does the anthology Our Feet Walk the Sky. But then I realize it’s not just about the Indians, it’s about all the words that surround me. They all are staring at me, almost wishing for me to create my own. Silence…
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Food For Thought For Thursday, March 21st, 2013
"Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds you plant" – Robert Louis Stevenson
Thank you!
Today, I drove in silence from Artesia to Torrance because the cacophony in my head just wouldn’t allow for any outside noise? A sample: When should I do www.lumosity.com and www.babbel.com? When should I edit my final essay for UCLA Extension writing class? What should we do this week (I really want to take my wife somewhere nice, new and romantic)? How can I save more money? Why won’t XYZ take my advice, and on and on the noise went until I realized that this internal dialogue I was having was only making me feel inadequate. As much as I want to accomplish more in my life, and be better for the ones around me. I have to take pause and congratulate myself for the things I do accomplish. Take today for example. I had a friend call me and thank for me supporting him while he was unemployed. Now he had a job. That’s a real cause for celebration, and shows that people do care.
I had another friend whose mom passed away from cancer. He was with her when she took her last breath. I cannot love this guy enough for his selflessness, and the genuine love he showed me recently when I was in the hospital. In fact, his entire family has shown me nothing but kindness, and love. I will never forget that. So I took a moment to thank both these friends for being in my life. And then I was blessed with a best friend who not only listens to me whine and complain, but also keeps giving me solid advice (which I normally fail to take)
. Finally. I have a dear friend whose wonderful father is fighting (and I know beating) pancreatic cancer. So what’s my point in all this? That instead of all the random worries I have, I need to take a moment and appreciate and thank for who and what I have in my life. It’s easy enough to say, but quite hard to do, so today I want to say THANK YOU to all those who have done so much for me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!
Food For Thought For Wednesday, March 20th, 2013
"Be more concerned with your character than your reputation, because your character is what you really are, while your reputation is merely what others think you are" – John Wooden
Prison
Words escape me. I am like the prison where I can’t hold them captive. Instead, I am constantly on a state-wide hunt to be able to say something. Yet, I know that’s not true exactly either. I hold one big prisoner: Fear. And in the interrogation room, I question FAITH and BELIEF. I don’t know if I have the actual ability to write more than a few pithy blog posts, and maybe by some luck, a short story. So I sit here on this hard chair in my library surrounded by words of others, waiting for inspiration. But if I am being honest, maybe I am just praying for talent, or maybe I am asking someone out there to get me started.
Either way. I sit here yet again posting about not writing, but hey that’s considered writing, right? What is it they say, if you want to write, write! So here I am pushing out words like dry turds, hoping that at some point I can make real shit. OK
, maybe not shit shit, but more like something that is more than just empty words. Yet, I also know that’s not what the real battle is about. Part of writing is being truthful to yourself, and others, but I am not ready to share what is inside me. I am afraid. I am not ready. So I sit here alone, wondering what is it that I want to do with myself. Now that’s a question, I have struggled with all my life. Even at 41, I still don’t know what to do. I don’t mean to suggest I am unemployed, but more that I am uninspired. A lot of things intrigue me, but nothing has come forth that has taken me prisoner. I am free in the worst way possible. I want to be imprisoned, but nothing is holding me back. Not yet anyway. Here’s to hoping, that someday I will be free…