Okay I admit it. I fell. I fell into consumerism. But does it count if it was food? It was early after our departure from Texas and into a weekend in Santa Fe that I found it. Trader Joes. Like a beacon the sign rose up from the faux adobe walls that Santa Fe insists all its businesses to adopt. It was even more exciting because it was my partners first time at a TJ’s. We walked in, my jaw dropped, and for the next 40 minutes I was in a state of, well I was in an orgasmic state at the sight of all the vegetables, the fruit, the organic reasonably priced unique shopping experience! It was perfect for camper world, our current home for two months. Small packages of pre-cut sweet potatoes, zucchini, stirfry mix. Perfect two portion sized fish and meats. Trail mix, yoghurt that was less then $8! No pudge brownie mix, and of course, 2 Buck Chuck. I had to restrain myself from buying 6 cases of the cheaply priced, but decent tasting wine, as the couple in the parking lot had in order to take back with them to Colorado.
We moved quickly, and tried to get out as fast as we can, and though the bill was in the hundreds, it was a fraction of what it would be at a whole foods. As we walked the cart to the camper we both looked at each other, a little shocked, spent.
What did it all mean? Had I succumbed to what I was at first revolting from? So I began to reevaluate my America opinions. I began to make exceptions for good healthy organic foods, and for the fact that recycling is now prevalent, and there are movies, and there are yoga studios, and good sandwich shops, and good beer. Hmmm, but wait . . . all those things are true in Indonesia too, and it is a fraction of the cost. Oh goodness. Oh goodness.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
America – The Bold, Big, and Ridiculous
Three days since arriving on my home soil, and I am beginning to get disillusioned. At first the largeness and the ability to have anything you need at a finger tip was a novelty. How fun! Look at all the beers, all the vegetables, all the different kinds of toilet paper, juices, how do you pick a toothpaste? But as we drive back and forth from one humungous store to the next outfitting our camper for the tour across Western and Midwest America, I started to get a funny taste in my mouth. A kind of unfortunate wish I didn’t eat that taste.
As Hummer after Hummer drove by, as large after large human passed, as choice after choice presented itself I found myself wanting to bolt to back to my little island where you have to search 5 stores to find a part that might not even exist on the island and requires ordering from the states. Where there are only a few choices of cheese and frozen vegetables (expiration dates are for sissy’s), and once in a while a zucchini shows up that is not bruised and dented from the ship it came over on.
Upon further inspection I started to notice the empty yards. It was a lovely day, only 75 or 80 degrees F. Yet no one was outside. No children biking down the street, no one working in the yard. The huge yards, neatly manicured, recreation vehicles standing at the ready, but no humans. Where are they? In the cars, the SUV’s, going from one activity to the next, one store to the next. Zoom, zoom ya’ll.
‘Really,’ I say to myself, ‘you came from this why should it be such a shock? Why should buying product after product at super sized stores in super sized vehicles, then stopping by the super sized church be a shock?’ It is no wander that we Americans are huge, are ignorant, are dumfounded at the rest of the world. We have everything that we could possibly need neatly located on a shelf down the street in a huge warehouse of a store.
Ah but I know I am shell shocked. And they are good people, I happen to know that because I know many of them, and I adore them and love them, but the masses, the large picture, it just turns my little island head round and round a few times. It makes me appreciate living without. And it puts me in check when I get all excited at the ‘things’ you can get in America. And you know, it makes me long for a little island where you are spared the ‘As Seen on TV’ Margarita-Ville blender that makes perfect margaritas for $349.99, or the egg heel scraper to get those calluses off, or the $9.99 purse organizer.
Ah . . . America . . . Welcome Home
The silver lining!!!!
I am happy to report that many of the large warehouse stores are pushing reusable shopping bags as opposed to the plastic that is damaging so much of the world. Good job corporate headquarters! And yes, they do come in 'super-size.'
As Hummer after Hummer drove by, as large after large human passed, as choice after choice presented itself I found myself wanting to bolt to back to my little island where you have to search 5 stores to find a part that might not even exist on the island and requires ordering from the states. Where there are only a few choices of cheese and frozen vegetables (expiration dates are for sissy’s), and once in a while a zucchini shows up that is not bruised and dented from the ship it came over on.
Upon further inspection I started to notice the empty yards. It was a lovely day, only 75 or 80 degrees F. Yet no one was outside. No children biking down the street, no one working in the yard. The huge yards, neatly manicured, recreation vehicles standing at the ready, but no humans. Where are they? In the cars, the SUV’s, going from one activity to the next, one store to the next. Zoom, zoom ya’ll.
‘Really,’ I say to myself, ‘you came from this why should it be such a shock? Why should buying product after product at super sized stores in super sized vehicles, then stopping by the super sized church be a shock?’ It is no wander that we Americans are huge, are ignorant, are dumfounded at the rest of the world. We have everything that we could possibly need neatly located on a shelf down the street in a huge warehouse of a store.
Ah but I know I am shell shocked. And they are good people, I happen to know that because I know many of them, and I adore them and love them, but the masses, the large picture, it just turns my little island head round and round a few times. It makes me appreciate living without. And it puts me in check when I get all excited at the ‘things’ you can get in America. And you know, it makes me long for a little island where you are spared the ‘As Seen on TV’ Margarita-Ville blender that makes perfect margaritas for $349.99, or the egg heel scraper to get those calluses off, or the $9.99 purse organizer.
Ah . . . America . . . Welcome Home
The silver lining!!!!
I am happy to report that many of the large warehouse stores are pushing reusable shopping bags as opposed to the plastic that is damaging so much of the world. Good job corporate headquarters! And yes, they do come in 'super-size.'
Monday, September 1, 2008
Without
I am learning to live without. Without power, without water, without computers, without internet. I am learning to live with patience, learning to change plans at a moments notice. To always have a bucket or two filled with water. To take a shower at 3am if you wake up and find that there is power, to grind the coffee beans when you can, to buy non perishable foods, to cook only with a butane stove and to eat by candle light. I am learning to enjoy the hammock, to do yoga on the balcony, and to get to the ocean to cool off. Through it all I am in a state of incredible gratitude. For with all there is to learn to be without these days due to the power being on a total of 12 hours a day and at random intervals, there is so much to be thankful for. And there is an incredible amount of love surrounding it all. My partner is home. And for the first time in many, many months, I am feeling complete.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Life knocked me off my platform . . . but I've got an appointment on Thursday . . .
(The following post was written one week ago and thus comes before the Neon Arrow post, yet was not ready to be unleashed until now. . . )
The body is an amazing, incredible, precious thing. And a woman’s even more so for from it comes life.
I’ve always gone back and forth about children. I think I want them, I enjoy them, yet as a teacher I realize what it takes to be a good parent, to raise a child, I help parents through the hard times and am glad when I go home to my dogs who require only a belly rub, a little walk and a cuddle. Those aspects make me rethink the idea of motherhood. And they make me carefully think about bringing a child into the world, with whom, at what point in life.
For awhile I said that I would never want a child if I was not stable, had a well paying job, and a stellar partner. The joke these days that goes with picking a father is, “is this the man you want your children spending their weekends with.” Hmm what does that say about our society and about how we choose relationships and partners in life? And then there is adopting. I always had a funny feeling that I wouldn’t be able to have children that I would adopt even if I could. There are so many children that don’t have a home, how could I deny them one for selfishly wanting to create my own?
Tonight I did a summersault, half twist, nose dive, into a completely different frame of mind. I’m three days away from a doctor’s appointment that will let me know if there is cancer or not. And to find out they do a procedure that may have to be repeated for a few years as they keep checking. The procedure and even the treatment if there are cancer cells create risk factors in future pregnancies. Silly me I researched way to far until the hysterectomy word loomed in front of my face – blinking on and off with a crackle like a vacancy sign on a sleazy hotel. A hotel where countless ‘accidents’ happen giving children to mothers that have no idea how to care for them.
The past weeks I have been finding friends and family members who have been scared in this way, some much older after they’ve had a family, some younger on the verge. Talking with them I realized how I’m more scared of the thought of never having children, then of anything else. That is what makes the tears come. Not the doctors, not the description of procedures, not even the idea of being alone through this – well okay that part does suck but I am thankful to have friends that will come with me and pick me up, and hold my hand.
Years ago a roommate of mine had ovarian cancer. Her family was not around and I became the shoulder she leaned on. She was older then me, divorced, and had once been pregnant as a teenager, but aborted the child as her family wished. I will never forget bursting through the doors adorned with “no visitor’s allowed” after not being told where or what was happening, and finding her through the curtains of surgery prep cubicles. A pen in her hand, tears in her eyes, her body shaking as a nurse waited for her to sign the form that stated she understood that after the surgery to remove the cancer she would never have children.
And though I know now after researching this thing, that the chances of cancer are only 15%, that if it is they can get it out quickly – I’m beside myself, thinking of her in that surgical gown signing away her uterus, her motherhood.
I don’t think I am ready for children. I don’t have a job, a savings, hoping to have enough to get the jeep out of the shop. My partner, I know he likes the thought of children, but I don’t know that he understands what it means, especially for the mother, what it takes to be a family, and to be a parent. We’re just figuring out what it means to feed a healthy relationship with each other.
And at the same time, this appointment on Thursday, for the first time in my life I feel like I am on a schedule. Like I need to let nature take its course. My roommate was 34 when she lost her uterus. That’s not that far away.
It’s a precious thing to be a human. It’s a precious thing to be a woman. It’s a precious thing to be able to house life.
I have faith that it will all be fine, I’m manifesting that it was all a mix up anyway.
Almost a week later : Biopsy Smiopsy, I offered to personally take them to Hawaii, it would be fresher I argued, but alas the larger part of me is still here, and in three weeks they will tell me what level and if we wait and cheer the white blood cells to do their job, or if we do a little zip zap and just 'get er' done.' All in all it will be gone, it is not a huge deal in the grand scheme of things because it was an early catch. I had a great friend with me, and great friends afterwards.
However, the emotional and mental process of this 'catch' was a whirlwind and still is. And it made some things clear. I'm done waiting forever to get going on this sharing a life and creating a life thing. I'm ready to settle, in the light terms of settling. Meaning I want to start making steps to life partner family planning. No need for there not to still be adventures just family in tow instead of dinner for one. I'm not interested in waiting around for someone else to be ready. I am interested in taking steps forward, not meandering around for long periods of time waiting for everything to be exactly perfect. Because, things are never going to be exactly perfect. They are only going to be what they are, and as long as they are surrounded by good Intentions, Love, Communication, Partnership and Trust they will be good.
The body is an amazing, incredible, precious thing. And a woman’s even more so for from it comes life.
I’ve always gone back and forth about children. I think I want them, I enjoy them, yet as a teacher I realize what it takes to be a good parent, to raise a child, I help parents through the hard times and am glad when I go home to my dogs who require only a belly rub, a little walk and a cuddle. Those aspects make me rethink the idea of motherhood. And they make me carefully think about bringing a child into the world, with whom, at what point in life.
For awhile I said that I would never want a child if I was not stable, had a well paying job, and a stellar partner. The joke these days that goes with picking a father is, “is this the man you want your children spending their weekends with.” Hmm what does that say about our society and about how we choose relationships and partners in life? And then there is adopting. I always had a funny feeling that I wouldn’t be able to have children that I would adopt even if I could. There are so many children that don’t have a home, how could I deny them one for selfishly wanting to create my own?
Tonight I did a summersault, half twist, nose dive, into a completely different frame of mind. I’m three days away from a doctor’s appointment that will let me know if there is cancer or not. And to find out they do a procedure that may have to be repeated for a few years as they keep checking. The procedure and even the treatment if there are cancer cells create risk factors in future pregnancies. Silly me I researched way to far until the hysterectomy word loomed in front of my face – blinking on and off with a crackle like a vacancy sign on a sleazy hotel. A hotel where countless ‘accidents’ happen giving children to mothers that have no idea how to care for them.
The past weeks I have been finding friends and family members who have been scared in this way, some much older after they’ve had a family, some younger on the verge. Talking with them I realized how I’m more scared of the thought of never having children, then of anything else. That is what makes the tears come. Not the doctors, not the description of procedures, not even the idea of being alone through this – well okay that part does suck but I am thankful to have friends that will come with me and pick me up, and hold my hand.
Years ago a roommate of mine had ovarian cancer. Her family was not around and I became the shoulder she leaned on. She was older then me, divorced, and had once been pregnant as a teenager, but aborted the child as her family wished. I will never forget bursting through the doors adorned with “no visitor’s allowed” after not being told where or what was happening, and finding her through the curtains of surgery prep cubicles. A pen in her hand, tears in her eyes, her body shaking as a nurse waited for her to sign the form that stated she understood that after the surgery to remove the cancer she would never have children.
And though I know now after researching this thing, that the chances of cancer are only 15%, that if it is they can get it out quickly – I’m beside myself, thinking of her in that surgical gown signing away her uterus, her motherhood.
I don’t think I am ready for children. I don’t have a job, a savings, hoping to have enough to get the jeep out of the shop. My partner, I know he likes the thought of children, but I don’t know that he understands what it means, especially for the mother, what it takes to be a family, and to be a parent. We’re just figuring out what it means to feed a healthy relationship with each other.
And at the same time, this appointment on Thursday, for the first time in my life I feel like I am on a schedule. Like I need to let nature take its course. My roommate was 34 when she lost her uterus. That’s not that far away.
It’s a precious thing to be a human. It’s a precious thing to be a woman. It’s a precious thing to be able to house life.
I have faith that it will all be fine, I’m manifesting that it was all a mix up anyway.
Almost a week later : Biopsy Smiopsy, I offered to personally take them to Hawaii, it would be fresher I argued, but alas the larger part of me is still here, and in three weeks they will tell me what level and if we wait and cheer the white blood cells to do their job, or if we do a little zip zap and just 'get er' done.' All in all it will be gone, it is not a huge deal in the grand scheme of things because it was an early catch. I had a great friend with me, and great friends afterwards.
However, the emotional and mental process of this 'catch' was a whirlwind and still is. And it made some things clear. I'm done waiting forever to get going on this sharing a life and creating a life thing. I'm ready to settle, in the light terms of settling. Meaning I want to start making steps to life partner family planning. No need for there not to still be adventures just family in tow instead of dinner for one. I'm not interested in waiting around for someone else to be ready. I am interested in taking steps forward, not meandering around for long periods of time waiting for everything to be exactly perfect. Because, things are never going to be exactly perfect. They are only going to be what they are, and as long as they are surrounded by good Intentions, Love, Communication, Partnership and Trust they will be good.
Neon Arrow Please
I’m avoiding writing. I’m avoiding thinking. Yet, in my avoidance of thinking I am going back and forth in half thoughts that never really get a chance to finish before being shoved to the side by other half thoughts. It’s really a time consuming state of being, leaving room only for the annoyance of power outages and frantic spurts of cleaning, which is closer to moving dirt from one place to another.
One might inquire as to why. Why these crazed half thoughts, why these elusive posts of vulnerability and then nothing. Simple: You open up the door to Intention and you don’t get to choose what comes in. You choose what you send out, what you intend, but the Cosmic Joker out there isn’t always following the same script that you wrote. Oh said Joker is working towards those same intentions, I do trust that, but they have to have their ‘fun’ with you along the way, making sure you learn those valuable lessons, have those epiphanies, those strokes of insight that come from cause and effect, thought upon thought (if you can allow them to complete themselves), from falling, from getting thrown off the train that you had booked months in advanced and forced to take the horse and pony cart.
So then you are left thinking, “Okay, what lessons AM I supposed to learn here, what directions AM I supposed to be taking? Jeez if you you’re going to high jack the train like a band of old west robbers at least you can leave a map to the nearest town.”
All I have to say is that I am manifesting a great big neon arrow flashing like a vacancy sign on a sleazy hotel, pointing in a defined direction. I intend to see a blinking flashing arrow. I intend to allow a thought to finish itself.
One might inquire as to why. Why these crazed half thoughts, why these elusive posts of vulnerability and then nothing. Simple: You open up the door to Intention and you don’t get to choose what comes in. You choose what you send out, what you intend, but the Cosmic Joker out there isn’t always following the same script that you wrote. Oh said Joker is working towards those same intentions, I do trust that, but they have to have their ‘fun’ with you along the way, making sure you learn those valuable lessons, have those epiphanies, those strokes of insight that come from cause and effect, thought upon thought (if you can allow them to complete themselves), from falling, from getting thrown off the train that you had booked months in advanced and forced to take the horse and pony cart.
So then you are left thinking, “Okay, what lessons AM I supposed to learn here, what directions AM I supposed to be taking? Jeez if you you’re going to high jack the train like a band of old west robbers at least you can leave a map to the nearest town.”
All I have to say is that I am manifesting a great big neon arrow flashing like a vacancy sign on a sleazy hotel, pointing in a defined direction. I intend to see a blinking flashing arrow. I intend to allow a thought to finish itself.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
vul·ner·a·ble
Pronunciation:
\ˈvəl-n(ə-)rə-bəl, ˈvəl-nər-bəl\
Function: adjective
Etymology: Late Latin vulnerabilis, from Latin vulnerare to wound, from vulner-, vulnus wound; probably akin to Latin vellere to pluck, Greek oulē wound
Date: 1605
1 : capable of being physically or emotionally wounded 2 : open to attack or damage : assailable3 : liable to increased penalties but entitled to increased bonuses after winning a game in contract bridge
4. A perfectly horrible state of being when you have torn down all your walls, dropped all your clothes, and presented yourself to the world. You frantically look around for your clothes, but somebody has already given them away. You then turn your attention to getting those walls back because with them you at least knew where your boundaries were or were able to pretend that you did. They are gone too. Then you take a breath, say to yourself, "um, this is what I wanted right? This is what the sign said to do if you Intended to Live with Intention, be happy, find your true path right? Can't I just have one wall? I must have been insane to do this, was I high? Those clouds over there look threatening, could storm, on the other hand it could clear up and the rainbow could come out. I don't remember hearing the weather forecast. Brrr. . . getting chilly. How long will I have to sit out here? It's getting late . . . Yup, those look like rain clouds . . .
\ˈvəl-n(ə-)rə-bəl, ˈvəl-nər-bəl\
Function: adjective
Etymology: Late Latin vulnerabilis, from Latin vulnerare to wound, from vulner-, vulnus wound; probably akin to Latin vellere to pluck, Greek oulē wound
Date: 1605
1 : capable of being physically or emotionally wounded 2 : open to attack or damage : assailable
4. A perfectly horrible state of being when you have torn down all your walls, dropped all your clothes, and presented yourself to the world. You frantically look around for your clothes, but somebody has already given them away. You then turn your attention to getting those walls back because with them you at least knew where your boundaries were or were able to pretend that you did. They are gone too. Then you take a breath, say to yourself, "um, this is what I wanted right? This is what the sign said to do if you Intended to Live with Intention, be happy, find your true path right? Can't I just have one wall? I must have been insane to do this, was I high? Those clouds over there look threatening, could storm, on the other hand it could clear up and the rainbow could come out. I don't remember hearing the weather forecast. Brrr. . . getting chilly. How long will I have to sit out here? It's getting late . . . Yup, those look like rain clouds . . .
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Amazing Women
When I picked her up from the airport I hardly recognized her. The feeling was mutual as she hugged me and asked in disbelief, “who are you?” Funny, that’s just the question that I had been asking myself for the past 6 months, the past year. As we drove from the airport I had a sudden feeling that I was old. No longer was I the younger sister, no longer was I just starting out, but in her eyes I saw that I was old, that we had both grown and changed, that life had given each of us joys and pains, that I was no longer learning from her, but we were learning from each other. It was the beginning of three weeks with my oldest sister in a country far from the place we’d grown up. It would be the most time we have been together since we were both girls living in the same house. Three weeks together, sharing a room, a bed, meals, and life.
I was struck at the internal reactions that I experienced in the build up to seeing her and then in the first week of her being with me. She represented more then just herself, she represented my whole family, all that I had been working to forgive and let go of, all that I was trying to understand about myself, who I was and wanted to be. I had written down my intentions for the trip before I left: to have a peaceful and meaningful trip with my sister, to find balance, clarity, understanding, to find love for myself. I didn’t feel that she needed to know what I was working on. I recognized that it was mine to work on, not hers.
It seems funny. A sibling, or any family member for that matter, is the one person in your life that you are never really introduced to, yet you are a part of each other for your whole existence. There is no, ‘nice to meet you, tell me about yourself.’ Even if you have not lived near each other for ten years, you still pick up right where you left off. The time that has past, the little details, ups and downs not recognized, life journeys are overlooked and immediately you are 12 again and fighting over a shirt.
A sister is like a mirror, in which you scrutinize the image more then anyone else in the world for the simple fact that you are made from the same people and have had the exact experiences to a point. Making them become the closest glimpse into what your life would be like if you had taken a different path, and the closest glimpse into who you are now.
Within each other we see what we are and what we are not.
We compared, sometimes out loud, sometimes inwardly, bodies, clothes, wrinkles, choices, fears, accomplishments, failures, lives. Even the way we spoke. Mannerisms from our parents manifested within us in different ways – proving we were cut from the same cloth. And there is the competition. I’m not a competitor at heart, but with a sister it is there just slightly. She jumped off the cliff, so I had to. I went down to the ocean floor so she had to. Or perhaps we were just showing each other what we both were capable of.
The one thing that was still there immediately, the one thing that gave us a forgotten glimpse of the tie that binds us forever was always apparent at night time. Lying in bed we were once again school girls teasing each other, throwing out jokes and smart ass comments, giggling. An unspoken understanding that we were the same no matter what different choices we made. That we were in the same boat and would be for the rest of our lives.
When you have been gone a long time, it can be easy to not address the past. It is easier to forget on the exterior. But that water damage is still there. And I knew I had to fix those leaks if I was ever going to be the person I wanted to be. I started that work months ago, really a year ago. However, my sister was an important part in the mending process; she represented me in so many ways. In the first weeks I went from angry, to sad, to bitter. I fought tears in the showers of the spas where we pampered ourselves. And I started to close up again.
Then one day I wrote it out, I wrote and wrote and wrote and I gave it up. I had begun understanding a while ago what negative patterns I had and where they might have stemmed from, but I hadn’t been ready to let them go. There was a part of me that still clung to them. My sister’s presence helped me to say goodbye to those patterns, to separate myself from the bondage of the past. To no longer be defined by anything but the present.
It was freeing. It was freeing to finally be able to be a person, and not a family member, to see her as the beautiful person she was and not just my sister, not just the mirror to my mistakes. To recognize that we were both on different paths, we had different journeys in this life, but we were both beautiful amazing and wonderful people and I was glad to make her acquaintance. She helped me to find unconditional love for myself, and for my family. And for that I am forever
grateful to her.
And the beautiful thing about it all is that unspoken binding. In the end, after three weeks together, those initial representations, those initial feelings were gone. And we were sisters. Through it all, no matter what has happened or will, we loved each other and knew that we would always be there for each other.
When we parted, I had tears in my eyes again. This time my tears were full of love and gratitude. I am thankful for this person who I am almost identical to yet completely different from, this person for whom I am bound to forever. This amazing woman who is on an amazing journey, doing the best she can, ever growing, ever learning, ever loving. This Friend.
I was struck at the internal reactions that I experienced in the build up to seeing her and then in the first week of her being with me. She represented more then just herself, she represented my whole family, all that I had been working to forgive and let go of, all that I was trying to understand about myself, who I was and wanted to be. I had written down my intentions for the trip before I left: to have a peaceful and meaningful trip with my sister, to find balance, clarity, understanding, to find love for myself. I didn’t feel that she needed to know what I was working on. I recognized that it was mine to work on, not hers.
It seems funny. A sibling, or any family member for that matter, is the one person in your life that you are never really introduced to, yet you are a part of each other for your whole existence. There is no, ‘nice to meet you, tell me about yourself.’ Even if you have not lived near each other for ten years, you still pick up right where you left off. The time that has past, the little details, ups and downs not recognized, life journeys are overlooked and immediately you are 12 again and fighting over a shirt.
A sister is like a mirror, in which you scrutinize the image more then anyone else in the world for the simple fact that you are made from the same people and have had the exact experiences to a point. Making them become the closest glimpse into what your life would be like if you had taken a different path, and the closest glimpse into who you are now.
Within each other we see what we are and what we are not.
We compared, sometimes out loud, sometimes inwardly, bodies, clothes, wrinkles, choices, fears, accomplishments, failures, lives. Even the way we spoke. Mannerisms from our parents manifested within us in different ways – proving we were cut from the same cloth. And there is the competition. I’m not a competitor at heart, but with a sister it is there just slightly. She jumped off the cliff, so I had to. I went down to the ocean floor so she had to. Or perhaps we were just showing each other what we both were capable of.
The one thing that was still there immediately, the one thing that gave us a forgotten glimpse of the tie that binds us forever was always apparent at night time. Lying in bed we were once again school girls teasing each other, throwing out jokes and smart ass comments, giggling. An unspoken understanding that we were the same no matter what different choices we made. That we were in the same boat and would be for the rest of our lives.
When you have been gone a long time, it can be easy to not address the past. It is easier to forget on the exterior. But that water damage is still there. And I knew I had to fix those leaks if I was ever going to be the person I wanted to be. I started that work months ago, really a year ago. However, my sister was an important part in the mending process; she represented me in so many ways. In the first weeks I went from angry, to sad, to bitter. I fought tears in the showers of the spas where we pampered ourselves. And I started to close up again.
Then one day I wrote it out, I wrote and wrote and wrote and I gave it up. I had begun understanding a while ago what negative patterns I had and where they might have stemmed from, but I hadn’t been ready to let them go. There was a part of me that still clung to them. My sister’s presence helped me to say goodbye to those patterns, to separate myself from the bondage of the past. To no longer be defined by anything but the present.
It was freeing. It was freeing to finally be able to be a person, and not a family member, to see her as the beautiful person she was and not just my sister, not just the mirror to my mistakes. To recognize that we were both on different paths, we had different journeys in this life, but we were both beautiful amazing and wonderful people and I was glad to make her acquaintance. She helped me to find unconditional love for myself, and for my family. And for that I am forever
grateful to her.And the beautiful thing about it all is that unspoken binding. In the end, after three weeks together, those initial representations, those initial feelings were gone. And we were sisters. Through it all, no matter what has happened or will, we loved each other and knew that we would always be there for each other.
When we parted, I had tears in my eyes again. This time my tears were full of love and gratitude. I am thankful for this person who I am almost identical to yet completely different from, this person for whom I am bound to forever. This amazing woman who is on an amazing journey, doing the best she can, ever growing, ever learning, ever loving. This Friend.
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