Before this weekend, I’d only been camping once. Though we only camped for one day, the cold night temperature was enough to convince me that the one time experience was sufficient. But, I like trees…really, really like trees…and I also really appreciate the feeling of oneness that nature facilities for me. So, four years later, in the spirit of ‘just doing,’ I gave it another go.
During this trip, I had a lot of space to be aware and sit with how events in my life these past couple of months have changed me, the emotions and challenges that have surfaced, and, most importantly, what they have taught me about myself and to what extent they reflect my progress in trying to honor my core values.
The more you leave your home (both the physical structure and the internal one you hold) to experience life, the more you ‘do,’ the more enriched you become by experiencing others’ authentic story, but only when you make yourself available to receive and relate.
Though many will attest that it is easier to be honest with a stranger, the reality is that the majority of us do not move past small talk with strangers. We exchange niceties, we complain about how crowded the train is on that particular morning, refer back to the news of the day, or worst of all…we say nothing at all when an opportunity to connect arises. Instead, we look down at our phones and pop in our headphones.
Disclaimer: This post is an anomaly from my previous posts and is more centered around sharing the internal transition that ‘doing’ is provoking for me.
I attended an event, not even sure that’s the right word to describe it. In my attempt to ‘do,’ to push my boundaries in order to clarify which ones I want to keep and which ones I’d like to release, I walked inside a sanctuary for the arts. The building structure reflects everything that a church resembles, but once inside the setup offers a different type of healing. It plays with lighting, meditation pillows cover the floor, a big stuffed tiger is on stage…it is quite the scene.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words may never hurt me.
If there was an award for most fallacious clichés, then this one would be making its way to the podium to accept the winning trophy. Words do have the power to hurt, and they are the most common weapon used when we are entrenched in anger; some spoken words remain with us for the rest of our lives. To hurt with words is common, it’s easy, everyone has done it, intentionally or not.
The real incredibleness in words lies in their ability to heal.
A couple of weeks ago, I (somewhat impulsively and in the spirit of ‘just doing’) bought a ticket to visit a friend in New York. The days leading up to the trip, I’d been in a reflective state. There were a couple of decisions that I knew that I needed to make and one of those decisions carried the type of weight that you know has the potential to take you down a completely different road, one that I knew I most likely did not want to take . The decision pinned curiosity, perhaps even desire, against rationality.