A land far-far away

Last month I left the good old state of Massachusetts to spend a week sailing around the BVI's on a catamaran. One might think that this sounds super-relaxing and rejuvenating...but being on a boat brings things to a whole different level. The quarters are tight...things like regular showers, access to copious drinking water, and comfortable sleeping areas are things that you appreciate a whole lot more when you get back from this type of trip. I thought the vacation from my everyday hustle and bustle life of race training and work and managing my home would be the perfect opportunity to catch up on my reading, and do a bunch of writing. To enjoy the slow island pace (that I did do), and just enjoy the time disconnected from the world wide web. Okay-I know, that term is terribly out-dated and completely out of use. Speaking of out-dated, and dating oneself... Back in the day I had an English teacher who made us write weekly 5-paragraph essays. She would insist on having us turn in a paragraph each day, and that these paragraphs always be typed. I did not have a computer at home (not everyone did at that time), and I would be forced to go to the computer lab or have my mom drive me to the library EVERY single day so that I could type my work. One day, I couldn't get a ride, so I wrote out my paragraph (VERY NEATLY). I have excellent printing and penmanship, so I felt it perfectly reasonable that on a single occasion I could hand in my assignment untyped. Boy was I wrong! Not only did my teacher call me out publicly in front of the entire class...but she went so far as to say "You will never be anything without a computer!" I was totally mortified, because in your formative years the last thing you want is to be publicly ousted as being "different" in any way, and because I was called out by my teacher! And the teacher of my favorite subject no less. Why am I bringing all of this up now, today, in June of 2012? Well, because, as much as this teacher hurt my feelings, and as angry as I was with her at the time (I went home crying, to my mom, who then scrimped and saved like a maniac to buy me a word processor so I could do my work!), this teacher knew something we didn't know... The way of the world is computers. And she saw that coming way before a lot of people did. So, I guess even though she was kind of a bitch she was a smart bitch. Today I make my living in internet, I do my writing on my laptop or my tablet, and I am pretty much constantly connected to social networks. I save information and photos and history online...and I struggle to imagine what I used to do before I had a smart phone to guide me through my day! The point is, I didn't spend my vacation relaxing in the way I expected. I did a lot of swimming and snorkeling and running around from island to island. I connected with friends first-hand, and in person. Talking and experiencing them in the flesh instead of on a screen. And this was the true benefit of my trip. By disconnecting I reconnected. To myself and the world around me. And I appreciated every little thing for what it was. But, boy, at the end of it I was tired. And boy, when my flight landed back in Philly I was DYING to get back online.

Guess Who's Back....back again!

Well, I wrote a great little post, and then blogger got confused, and I lost it....HMPH!

Killing the Jade Plant

She sat on the counter, feet dangling, one sandal on the floor, the other hanging off a dark red polished big toenail. There were empty wine glasses in the sink and on the table, and he sat facing away from her, considering his role in everything.
"This plant is dead" he said, as he lifted a knobby leaf and let it drop. "No it's not," she said...and crossed the room quickly to place herself between him and the plant.
"Oh it's dead alright"....he said, and walked towards the door. The summer heat had dampened the kitchen air and their words were both thick in the humidity.
"What do you want from me?" she asked, "If you know I'm not what you're looking for and this relationship isn't what you want, then why don't you just go?"
A few moments later she heard the sound of his car pulling away, and a single tear dropped from her chin, landing on the hardwood floor. She shook her head...she'd never been able to understand him. What went on in his mind, and how he could so abruptly go from hot to cold when it came to her.
She stared at the Jade plant. It was 13 years old, and it had been handed down from person to person whenever someone new moved into the apartment. It was the only plant she had ever successfully kept alive, and it had been with her almost 4 years now. How dare he tell her it was dying.
Not a week later, she woke up early. It was a Friday, but she wouldn't work today as she was moving. Not with him, the man she had thought she would spend her life with, but alone, to a new home...a fresh start. The movers would be there first thing, but she wanted to make time for a run first.
The sun was rising as she laced up her running shoes. She pulled back her hair as she entered the kitchen, and looked over at the table. At first glance, things seemed ok, yet not right. A few moments later, she looked more closely & discovered that one entire trunk of the jade tree was shriveled and worn. When she touched it, there was only mush---and pieces fell off. When she realized what was happening her heartbeat quickened and blood rushed to her face.
She was too stunned to move, and before she knew it, the movers were knocking at the door. Carrying all of her possessions out to the curb, and closing the back of the moving truck. She placed the jade plant lovingly on the floor of her car, hoping that the second half of it would remain and wracking her brain for which of her friends was good with plants, and who could advise her on keeping the second part of the plant alive. Suddenly, the car in front of her stopped short, and she swerved to avoid hitting it....the plant went flying into the air, the terracotta pot shattering into pieces all over her front seat.
She burst into tears. The sobs coming harder and deeper, until she could not breathe. She pulled to the side of the road and dropped the remnants of the plant and pot into the gulley. As she drove away, she felt empty and alone...She would make a new life and a new home. A home alive with plants and love and happiness.

I've Been Away for a While

Hi All-
I've been on hiatus from my blog. Why, do you ask? Well, there's no truly specific reason, except to say that my life over the past year took me to new & exciting places and away from my writing. That said, there is never a good excuse for leaving one's art by the wayside, so I am apologizing to myself and to all of you, my loyal followers. In lieu of beating myself up, I am going to promise to write something in here at least three times a week, with a bigger goal of spending time with the Blogosaurus Rex everyday. But, I will forgive myself if that doesn't work out, because as we all know, life happens.
TTYS...VERY soon.

Tara

What does value mean?

What gives something value? Is it a high price tag? Is it demand? Or is it something more?

People give things value. It's never quite the object itself, but the thing that the object represents, or the sentiment behind it that really makes an item valuable to us.

The simplest thing can have high value to a person. I may think a seashell is the most valuable thing in the world, if it was given to me by a dear friend who is no longer with me. That seashell represents the bond between that person and I, regardless of the fact that is one of millions, and if it were still sitting on the beach it would likely mean nothing.

Perhaps I think a BMW has value. Not for the high price tag, but for the thing it represents. That I have "made it" in life and I have proof. That I am able to have luxuries if I want them.

I have become more sentimental in recent years, and sometimes think my life was easier before I developed my sense of sentimentality.

When I was young we didn't have much. We moved a lot, and I was forced to live a life where you didn't attach yourself to things. This included items, homes, neighborhoods, and friends. I developed a thick skin so that when these things went away (which the inevitably did) it would hurt less.

I also had a few items that I was able to carry with me, even as my life changed, and I developed such sentiment for those that I truly believe my heart might have stopped had they ever been taken from me.

This imbalance between creating zero attachment, and fierce attachment has become less as the years have gone on. Now that I'm an adult, and I'm living my own life. Now that things are more stable. But, this has also meant that I have learned to be more sentimental about things in general.

Today, I am sentimental about places, and things and people. Photographs and the shirt I wore on the night of my first date with someone, or the wrapping paper I used to wrap his gift on our first Christmas together. I look at these items and I have the memories, and I feel sentimental.

But I have to ask myself why.

These are only objects.

And I give them value because I care for the person I associate them. But truly, I am either holding on to something that has been lost, trying to find it again in an object, which only leads to my own suffering, or I am pouring attachment and sentiment into objects instead of into people, which just doesn't seem right to me.

I've always been a reflective person. Quiet. Thoughtful. I've always looked at the things around me, and tried to really consider how important they were. But perhaps I've developed into a person who makes things more important than they truly are; and by allowing my memories to reside in objects I displace my sentiments and give things value that truly have none.

What gives something value? It's up to you. We can convince ourselves of anything if we try hard enough. We can feel attachment or sentiment for anything if we choose to. We can also choose not to care so much. Not to place value in things. But to value feelings and experiences.

People.

The sound of a dream dying

What sound does a dream make when it dies? Is it a weep, a sigh, or nothing at all. It it the sound of footsteps receding, or a breeze over water? Perhaps it depends on the dream itself. Who the dream belonged to, and where the dream existed. Perhaps there is no sound, only silence, booming through the empty place where the dream once was. A reminder of what was lost.

Does the dream put up a fight? Is it aware of the impending doom? Does it struggle to alert the relevant parties, to prepare them for it's departure? Or does it simply fade away? Or perhaps, even, it departs abruptly. A door slamming behind it. It is gone.

As humans we can't know what happens to the dream. We only know that at a certain point it has died. We can no longer deny it's absence. And we have to mourn the loss in the best way we know how. To put to rest, something intangible, that seemed so close and so immediate. To let go of something that we held so dearly.

Making the most of it: 2009 and beyond

A friend said that he would dub 2009 "The Year of TM", and I thought that was one of the nicer gifts anyone has ever given me.

For the new year, I wish many things. First and foremost, health and happiness. They do go hand-in-hand in a way, and it seems that with them, all of other things will fall into place.

I also wish that I'll do a better job of finding inner peace. Of not worrying so much about making other people happy. Of standing my ground when I know something isn't right.

I saw the movie Doubt yesterday. It made me realize that everyone in this world has doubts. None of us can really ever know what another person is thinking. And even more than that, no single person is ever truly certain of anything.

A line in the movie said "Certainty is an emotion, not a fact" and I think that is very much true. We choose to believe what we want to believe and can convince ourselves of anything if we try hard enough.

I would like to make 2009 a year of honesty.