I had a bad day:
I had an exam, and the clouds stole the sun. I was happy, and then the night stole my joy. I felt helpless, alone, unsatisfied, upset. I went for a long walk in the middle of the night. I was cold. I didn’t want to get out of bed, I didn’t want to go to class.
Or
I had a good day:
I did well on my exam, and the sun played peek-a-boo. I ate lunch with a friend. When I went for a walk my friend insisted she keep me company: she listened, she wiped my tears, she held me. I started my day with a hug and a kiss from my boyfriend. I was not alone.
As I walked home, alone for the moment but far from lonely, I looked up at the setting sun. The clouds may have been encroaching, but it made for a vibrant pink wash of sky. I fell in love.
Love is not only person to person, not between a man and a woman (or two men or two women), or between friends, or family members. Love is everything, love is all around. Love is the pink in the sky as shadows grow long. Love is the uncontrollable smile when walking alone. Love is the companionship of a friend when you are at your lowest, the kiss of a boy when you are at your best, and your own strength through everything in between. Life is love. Love is a choice, not a gift. You choose to love the life you live, choose to appreciate the pink sky and long shadows. That choice is what makes us human. The precarious balance of loneliness and love, sadness and joy, is what makes us human. Whichever one you choose, it is your choice, and that is what is important.
Choose love.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Monday, March 18, 2013
Narcotics Anonymous Not Applicable?
My name is Tara; I am not an addict. But that does not mean I don’t relate.
Tonight I went to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting as part of a class assignment. I listened to men and women, old and young, recount their struggles and their inspiring tales of success. And I could relate. The most surprising thing about the NA meeting was that, even though I am not an addict, or an alcoholic, or picking my life up from rock bottom, I could relate with these people.
Struggling with a higher power, with the choices we have made in our lives, and with the repercussions of our actions both on ourselves, and those around us is something every human faces at one point or another. I was surprised to find that each time someone raised their hand to speak I could see a little bit of myself in a little bit of what they were saying. Yet at the same time I was completely, wholly aware of my own identity (which, I have realised, is a very rare blessing). I know who I am and who I want to be. I am lucky.
If I have ever been unsure about my choice to pursue a profession in Psychology, I learnt tonight why I want to do what I want to do. It’s not for the satisfaction of helping people, it’s not for the control of fixing someone else’s problem; it’s not for me at all. It’s for the people, the strong and inspiring people that have enough self-regard, and, more importantly, enough hope to want to help themselves. There is nothing I, as a psychologist, or any other professional could do for a person that they could not do for themselves. Human strength is a powerfully inspiring thing.
What struck me most was not the people courageous enough to speak, not the heart-wrenching struggles of the newcomers to the meeting, but simply the number of people that filled that small room both with their physical presence and their ambient encouragement.
Before I attended the meeting I did not fully understand how a self-help group worked. I learnt about it in my counselling class, I’ve heard about it, and seen re-enactments on TV, but I never really knew what self-help was until tonight. It’s each person’s individual battle, and victory over their struggle. Even if just for that day, even if just for the hour they are sitting in that room. It’s the will power to take control of your own life and learn to make the decisions you want to make. It’s the personal search for a higher power, and surrendering to it or, alternatively, choosing not to. Self-help groups are about helping the individual. All the group is there for is support, but support is the most important thing.
Anyone who is struggling with substance abuse, or simply struggling with themselves, should know what it is to be a part of something greater than themselves. Not God, or Buddha, or religion, or anything, but help. A group arranged with the sole purpose of helping yourselves by helping others, to me, is a higher power worth believing in.
Tonight I went to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting as part of a class assignment. I listened to men and women, old and young, recount their struggles and their inspiring tales of success. And I could relate. The most surprising thing about the NA meeting was that, even though I am not an addict, or an alcoholic, or picking my life up from rock bottom, I could relate with these people.
Struggling with a higher power, with the choices we have made in our lives, and with the repercussions of our actions both on ourselves, and those around us is something every human faces at one point or another. I was surprised to find that each time someone raised their hand to speak I could see a little bit of myself in a little bit of what they were saying. Yet at the same time I was completely, wholly aware of my own identity (which, I have realised, is a very rare blessing). I know who I am and who I want to be. I am lucky.
If I have ever been unsure about my choice to pursue a profession in Psychology, I learnt tonight why I want to do what I want to do. It’s not for the satisfaction of helping people, it’s not for the control of fixing someone else’s problem; it’s not for me at all. It’s for the people, the strong and inspiring people that have enough self-regard, and, more importantly, enough hope to want to help themselves. There is nothing I, as a psychologist, or any other professional could do for a person that they could not do for themselves. Human strength is a powerfully inspiring thing.
What struck me most was not the people courageous enough to speak, not the heart-wrenching struggles of the newcomers to the meeting, but simply the number of people that filled that small room both with their physical presence and their ambient encouragement.
Before I attended the meeting I did not fully understand how a self-help group worked. I learnt about it in my counselling class, I’ve heard about it, and seen re-enactments on TV, but I never really knew what self-help was until tonight. It’s each person’s individual battle, and victory over their struggle. Even if just for that day, even if just for the hour they are sitting in that room. It’s the will power to take control of your own life and learn to make the decisions you want to make. It’s the personal search for a higher power, and surrendering to it or, alternatively, choosing not to. Self-help groups are about helping the individual. All the group is there for is support, but support is the most important thing.
Anyone who is struggling with substance abuse, or simply struggling with themselves, should know what it is to be a part of something greater than themselves. Not God, or Buddha, or religion, or anything, but help. A group arranged with the sole purpose of helping yourselves by helping others, to me, is a higher power worth believing in.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Post Secret
When I was in 9th grade my English teacher shared with the class a new project that she had discovered called Post Secret.
Last night I was lucky enough to hear Frank Warren, the founder of the Post Secret project talk at my University.
It has been five years since the first time I heard of post secret at the start of high school. I am now at the start of college, and I have been through many ups and downs in that time. (There really is no other way to say it: there are those moments of height and happiness, the ‘ups’, and those times that you just feel small, defeated, ‘down’.)
I have followed post secret regularly throughout this five years, I have checked the website many Sundays in a row, I have written secrets but never found the courage to mail them, I have suffered and I have learned. Most of all I have found a happiness that I did not know about five years ago, and part of that has to do with discovering that I am and never have been alone in my perceived struggles. That is what post secret is about: understanding the truth that none of us are as alone as we feel.
Sitting in the crowd last night with close friends, some people I recognised, and some people I had never seen before, I did not at any point feel alone. I felt an overwhelming sense of community in the crowd that was all there to share in their hope. Hope found through the secrets of others. Hope found in themselves when they thought there was none left to discover. Hope in humanity, in the future, in making a connection.
I could go on and on about how inspiring the post secret community is. I could talk about how it has helped so many people in so many ways. I could say that it touched me and showed me a humanity I had never imagined. But I don’t want to preach; I want to inspire. So go see for yourselves: go to postsecret.com and connect with someone else’s secret: laugh, smile, and cry.
Ever since I first heard of post secret I have tried to think of what, if ever, I would send in on a postcard. I used to think I had too many secrets, but now I think I do not have any. I have been lucky enough to find a select few people with whom I share everything (whether they want to hear my thoughts or not, that’s what best friends are for). Yet, after the event last night, I do have one secret I want to share:
They asked us not to take any pictures after the first 5 minutes,
but I loved this secret so much I couldn’t help myself.
Last night I was lucky enough to hear Frank Warren, the founder of the Post Secret project talk at my University.
It has been five years since the first time I heard of post secret at the start of high school. I am now at the start of college, and I have been through many ups and downs in that time. (There really is no other way to say it: there are those moments of height and happiness, the ‘ups’, and those times that you just feel small, defeated, ‘down’.)
I have followed post secret regularly throughout this five years, I have checked the website many Sundays in a row, I have written secrets but never found the courage to mail them, I have suffered and I have learned. Most of all I have found a happiness that I did not know about five years ago, and part of that has to do with discovering that I am and never have been alone in my perceived struggles. That is what post secret is about: understanding the truth that none of us are as alone as we feel.
Sitting in the crowd last night with close friends, some people I recognised, and some people I had never seen before, I did not at any point feel alone. I felt an overwhelming sense of community in the crowd that was all there to share in their hope. Hope found through the secrets of others. Hope found in themselves when they thought there was none left to discover. Hope in humanity, in the future, in making a connection.
I could go on and on about how inspiring the post secret community is. I could talk about how it has helped so many people in so many ways. I could say that it touched me and showed me a humanity I had never imagined. But I don’t want to preach; I want to inspire. So go see for yourselves: go to postsecret.com and connect with someone else’s secret: laugh, smile, and cry.
Ever since I first heard of post secret I have tried to think of what, if ever, I would send in on a postcard. I used to think I had too many secrets, but now I think I do not have any. I have been lucky enough to find a select few people with whom I share everything (whether they want to hear my thoughts or not, that’s what best friends are for). Yet, after the event last night, I do have one secret I want to share:
They asked us not to take any pictures after the first 5 minutes,
but I loved this secret so much I couldn’t help myself.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Homeless
Today I woke up in a warm bed in a nice room provided for me by the prestigious university I attend and paid for by my generous, caring parents. Today I put on clean clothes and a warm jacket, I ate, and I went to class.
After class I got on the t and went to a homeless shelter.
I got lost. Straight off the subway right next to the cinema I always go to I had no idea where to look for a homeless shelter in an area I had been numerous times before. I walked around in circles, not understanding why my expensive iPhone’s map application couldn’t find the shelter for me. I guess these sorts of things aren’t programmed into iPhones. Eventually I got my head out of my phone and looked up just in time to see a man begging for money. He stopped me, and I reached for my wallet to give him some change. Then I asked him if he could point me in the right direction. Despite my $600 iPhone a homeless man showed me the way.
I got to the shelter in time to sit in on one and a half interviews that my Mental Health and Counseling instructor was conducting as part of a research project.
The first woman made jokes. She was a success story; she had recently been given a home by the state, and her children were coming to visit her soon. She had no teeth and she was funny.
As I listened to her I became increasingly aware of myself. There I was, wearing nice clothes because I had wanted to look professional. I had a sparkly hair band, earrings, a ring from Poland, and a real diamond nose stud for goodness sake. Yet she did not judge me, she did not look at me any differently from the way my friends look at me every day. When she looked at me as she cracked a joke about her Jamaican husband she smiled at me. When was the last time someone smiled at her, or looked at her as if she were an equal? When was the last time someone smiled at any of the homeless community, for that matter?
The next woman came in and answered routine questions about herself. Then she began to cry. I don’t know how she did it but my counseling instructor comforted her professionally and carried on with the interview. I couldn’t watch as the woman’s eyes filled up and brimmed over, as she went silent and still, as she gave up hope for that brief moment because life has given her nothing to hope for.
By the end of the interview she was in better spirits, she was hopeful again. That’s the beauty of human nature. Hope. When it was negative 15 degrees Celsius the other night and I was complaining though I had a warm room to go back to she was sleeping on the streets. Yet she is hopeful.
I am so lucky. I have a roof over my head, food in my stomach, clothes on my back, and an education at my fingertips. I have friends who love me, and a family who cares for me. We are all so lucky. We cannot ever take that for granted.
After the interviews I walked back to where the homeless man had given me directions. I wanted to buy him food from the fast food restaurant he was begging outside of. I wanted to give him the same hope I had seen in the second interview. But he had already moved on.
Today I lived and I learned. Today, and every day, I am grateful.
After class I got on the t and went to a homeless shelter.
I got lost. Straight off the subway right next to the cinema I always go to I had no idea where to look for a homeless shelter in an area I had been numerous times before. I walked around in circles, not understanding why my expensive iPhone’s map application couldn’t find the shelter for me. I guess these sorts of things aren’t programmed into iPhones. Eventually I got my head out of my phone and looked up just in time to see a man begging for money. He stopped me, and I reached for my wallet to give him some change. Then I asked him if he could point me in the right direction. Despite my $600 iPhone a homeless man showed me the way.
I got to the shelter in time to sit in on one and a half interviews that my Mental Health and Counseling instructor was conducting as part of a research project.
The first woman made jokes. She was a success story; she had recently been given a home by the state, and her children were coming to visit her soon. She had no teeth and she was funny.
As I listened to her I became increasingly aware of myself. There I was, wearing nice clothes because I had wanted to look professional. I had a sparkly hair band, earrings, a ring from Poland, and a real diamond nose stud for goodness sake. Yet she did not judge me, she did not look at me any differently from the way my friends look at me every day. When she looked at me as she cracked a joke about her Jamaican husband she smiled at me. When was the last time someone smiled at her, or looked at her as if she were an equal? When was the last time someone smiled at any of the homeless community, for that matter?
The next woman came in and answered routine questions about herself. Then she began to cry. I don’t know how she did it but my counseling instructor comforted her professionally and carried on with the interview. I couldn’t watch as the woman’s eyes filled up and brimmed over, as she went silent and still, as she gave up hope for that brief moment because life has given her nothing to hope for.
By the end of the interview she was in better spirits, she was hopeful again. That’s the beauty of human nature. Hope. When it was negative 15 degrees Celsius the other night and I was complaining though I had a warm room to go back to she was sleeping on the streets. Yet she is hopeful.
I am so lucky. I have a roof over my head, food in my stomach, clothes on my back, and an education at my fingertips. I have friends who love me, and a family who cares for me. We are all so lucky. We cannot ever take that for granted.
After the interviews I walked back to where the homeless man had given me directions. I wanted to buy him food from the fast food restaurant he was begging outside of. I wanted to give him the same hope I had seen in the second interview. But he had already moved on.
Today I lived and I learned. Today, and every day, I am grateful.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Happy 2013
Better late than never:
This time last year I wrote a post about how good 2011 was for me. I wrote that I had seen so much, learned so much, and loved so much that year. I don’t want to repeat myself so I will not say that 2012 has been just as good if not better to me. Splitting the year between living in 3 different cities in Italy and discovering Boston has been a gift in many ways. It was an eventful, educational, exciting year and I loved every minute of it.
This time last year I wrote my five news years resolutions to share them with the world so I would have no excuse not to keep them. They were as follows:
1. Stop making excuses:
For the most part I’d say this was a success. I didn’t always live by this resolution but when I did I experienced some truly great moments. I took life by the hand and ran with it and though by the end I was out of breath (because I’m out of shape) it was worth every stride.
2. Be better at long distance communication:
It was slow and steady, but I would say I improved at maintaining the friendships that matter. Thank god for facebook, skype, and having a US number.
3. Stop being so lazy:
Yeah, maybe, almost. I still like to take a lot of naps. I can’t accomplish every resolution at once can I :P
4.Accomplish at least one thing on my bucket list:
http://memoirsofarat.blogspot.com/2011/12/my-bucket-list.html
I accomplished two! I not only went to Venice and lived there for a month and wrote some of my favourite blog posts from the watery streets I learned to call home, but after that I was lucky enough to see one of my favourite musicians perform live with one of my favourite people. Check, and check!
5.Allow myself to get hurt:
This I did and did not do. I took risks to the best of my ability. I did not fall but I threw myself into relationships and moments that could potentially hurt me. Whether they did or not is irrelevant because I took the chance and experienced the vulnerability that makes us human, and the warmth of heart that makes the risk worthwhile. I’m still falling, I have not hit the ground yet. (Though I did fall down the stairs a couple of times…)
Suffice to say 2012 was both scintillating and successful. I look forward to 2013 and all it has to offer.
This year I have only one resolution: to enjoy it. I hope you all do the same.
This time last year I wrote a post about how good 2011 was for me. I wrote that I had seen so much, learned so much, and loved so much that year. I don’t want to repeat myself so I will not say that 2012 has been just as good if not better to me. Splitting the year between living in 3 different cities in Italy and discovering Boston has been a gift in many ways. It was an eventful, educational, exciting year and I loved every minute of it.
This time last year I wrote my five news years resolutions to share them with the world so I would have no excuse not to keep them. They were as follows:
1. Stop making excuses:
For the most part I’d say this was a success. I didn’t always live by this resolution but when I did I experienced some truly great moments. I took life by the hand and ran with it and though by the end I was out of breath (because I’m out of shape) it was worth every stride.
2. Be better at long distance communication:
It was slow and steady, but I would say I improved at maintaining the friendships that matter. Thank god for facebook, skype, and having a US number.
3. Stop being so lazy:
Yeah, maybe, almost. I still like to take a lot of naps. I can’t accomplish every resolution at once can I :P
4.Accomplish at least one thing on my bucket list:
http://memoirsofarat.blogspot.com/2011/12/my-bucket-list.html
I accomplished two! I not only went to Venice and lived there for a month and wrote some of my favourite blog posts from the watery streets I learned to call home, but after that I was lucky enough to see one of my favourite musicians perform live with one of my favourite people. Check, and check!
5.Allow myself to get hurt:
This I did and did not do. I took risks to the best of my ability. I did not fall but I threw myself into relationships and moments that could potentially hurt me. Whether they did or not is irrelevant because I took the chance and experienced the vulnerability that makes us human, and the warmth of heart that makes the risk worthwhile. I’m still falling, I have not hit the ground yet. (Though I did fall down the stairs a couple of times…)
Suffice to say 2012 was both scintillating and successful. I look forward to 2013 and all it has to offer.
This year I have only one resolution: to enjoy it. I hope you all do the same.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Sailing through life
It’s interesting to think how one person’s hell is another’s luxury.
After reading The Life of Pi I have a new understanding of how some must view a life at sea. Granted, I am not ship wrecked, or stranded on a lifeboat with no company but a tiger. I have been sailing from before I could walk; I learnt to steer a boat before I learnt to drive a car. Some, however, have not been so fortunate. Some do not understand the ways of a boat.
They don’t know that dolphins are the socialites of the sea. That they love the sound of a ship’s motor and will swim alongside you, dancing and playing, until you cease to acknowledge them and they get bored.
They would not know that when a boat leans on its side, lying on the sea as if lying down to bed as we do, so that when you are on the inside of the boat looking out you do not see sky or land (if there happens to be any close by) but only water, as if you are swimming with the fish, that his extreme tilting of a boat is not dangerous, not something to worry about; it is natural. The boat is bending her ear to the tumultuous sea to hear it whisper and better understand its moods. A well designed boat- a graceful lady of the water- will then straighten herself with no need of help from her captain (who really serves her more than she serves him) and will carry on her buoyant dance through the sea, whom she now has a better understanding of.
No, some one who does not know boats may not appreciate that exchange.
Just as they may not know that there are fish with wings- rightfully named flying fish. This sounds like a fairy tale now but it is the truth, which only someone who sees them in action would believe. They breach the waves and spread their wings, not covered with feathers but with scales, and when they catch the wind just right, like the sail of a boat, they fly alongside a 50 ft Beneteau with ease, clearing the length of the boat and then some before closing their wings and ducking their heads and diving back into their watery home.
Likewise, one who does not appreciate these things may not realise that there is a special moment when you are lying on the bow of the boat with the wind coming at you and all around you, when the hull hits a wave in that moment where you are pointing to the skies, before the boat comes down on the other side of the wave when, just for that brief moment, you feel this is the closest you will ever come to flying; like the fish beside you and the birds above you, this is the only time you can know what it is like to have wings.
No, someone unfamiliar with sailing not privy to the ways of the water will never know these small blessings of the sea. I am fortunate and I am in awe; open water is a world in itself.
After reading The Life of Pi I have a new understanding of how some must view a life at sea. Granted, I am not ship wrecked, or stranded on a lifeboat with no company but a tiger. I have been sailing from before I could walk; I learnt to steer a boat before I learnt to drive a car. Some, however, have not been so fortunate. Some do not understand the ways of a boat.
They don’t know that dolphins are the socialites of the sea. That they love the sound of a ship’s motor and will swim alongside you, dancing and playing, until you cease to acknowledge them and they get bored.
They would not know that when a boat leans on its side, lying on the sea as if lying down to bed as we do, so that when you are on the inside of the boat looking out you do not see sky or land (if there happens to be any close by) but only water, as if you are swimming with the fish, that his extreme tilting of a boat is not dangerous, not something to worry about; it is natural. The boat is bending her ear to the tumultuous sea to hear it whisper and better understand its moods. A well designed boat- a graceful lady of the water- will then straighten herself with no need of help from her captain (who really serves her more than she serves him) and will carry on her buoyant dance through the sea, whom she now has a better understanding of.
No, some one who does not know boats may not appreciate that exchange.
Just as they may not know that there are fish with wings- rightfully named flying fish. This sounds like a fairy tale now but it is the truth, which only someone who sees them in action would believe. They breach the waves and spread their wings, not covered with feathers but with scales, and when they catch the wind just right, like the sail of a boat, they fly alongside a 50 ft Beneteau with ease, clearing the length of the boat and then some before closing their wings and ducking their heads and diving back into their watery home.
Likewise, one who does not appreciate these things may not realise that there is a special moment when you are lying on the bow of the boat with the wind coming at you and all around you, when the hull hits a wave in that moment where you are pointing to the skies, before the boat comes down on the other side of the wave when, just for that brief moment, you feel this is the closest you will ever come to flying; like the fish beside you and the birds above you, this is the only time you can know what it is like to have wings.
No, someone unfamiliar with sailing not privy to the ways of the water will never know these small blessings of the sea. I am fortunate and I am in awe; open water is a world in itself.
Monday, December 17, 2012
New.
There is something so fulfilling about finishing a semester at a new school, in a new place, with new people, yet feeling at home.
Something blissfully rewarding about looking back on the four months that have just flown by, leaving you dazed in the wake of the wind that hit you as the wings of time beat by you.
Something amazing about looking back on all those things that seemed so new that are now familiar. All those faces you did not know, that you now hold dear. All those once unfamiliar places that now welcome you as your home does, with open arms and a warm hug (though the winter months are cold).
Something special about remembering that first encounter with a new friend, when you were wearing nothing but a bathrobe and you were so uncomfortable but she was so friendly. Or when you watched Doctor Who with a cute boy and how that night turned into a relationship. Or the friend with the tin mug, the girl you call your “twin”, and the ‘crazy’ friend you love.
I like to think that these people, these new people know me as I am. Not as I was, and not yet as I will be. They only know of my past what I want them to know, only what I think they need to know. Not that I have to hide things, but I have grown, I know I’ve grown, and these ‘new’ people know this ‘new’ me. Funny how new things seem to come together. And now they are not new, the are friends. And we will face new 'new' things together.
Most of all, there's something so heart-warming about the happy memories you have made. Something so fortunate about the sadness you feel saying goodbye for 3 short weeks after 4 short months together.
I look back at my first semester at Northeastern with love and happiness, and I am so lucky.
Something blissfully rewarding about looking back on the four months that have just flown by, leaving you dazed in the wake of the wind that hit you as the wings of time beat by you.
Something amazing about looking back on all those things that seemed so new that are now familiar. All those faces you did not know, that you now hold dear. All those once unfamiliar places that now welcome you as your home does, with open arms and a warm hug (though the winter months are cold).
Something special about remembering that first encounter with a new friend, when you were wearing nothing but a bathrobe and you were so uncomfortable but she was so friendly. Or when you watched Doctor Who with a cute boy and how that night turned into a relationship. Or the friend with the tin mug, the girl you call your “twin”, and the ‘crazy’ friend you love.
I like to think that these people, these new people know me as I am. Not as I was, and not yet as I will be. They only know of my past what I want them to know, only what I think they need to know. Not that I have to hide things, but I have grown, I know I’ve grown, and these ‘new’ people know this ‘new’ me. Funny how new things seem to come together. And now they are not new, the are friends. And we will face new 'new' things together.
Most of all, there's something so heart-warming about the happy memories you have made. Something so fortunate about the sadness you feel saying goodbye for 3 short weeks after 4 short months together.
I look back at my first semester at Northeastern with love and happiness, and I am so lucky.
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