In Response to Sandy Hook

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

     The horrible events of this past week occurred during Chanukah and during advent, leading up to Christmas. Chanukah is the festival of lights and miracles. It is the holiday of rededication after war. Every menorah lit during this time is a sign that says “I will let my light shine. You did not win.” It is a light of identity.

     Christmas is the day we Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus, when the light of Christ came into the world. We adorn our homes inside and out with lights, be they white, multicolored, flashing or still. It is a time of love and peace and miracles.

     And, what could be more miraculous than a child? Children are the bright hope of the world.  Someone tried to snuff out that light. Someone’s personal darkness was so all-encompassing that he was unable to feel the warmth, to see the light that shone from menorah candles in windows, from strings of bulbs lining roofs, from the eyes of children and those who fought to save them. While my first reaction was one of visceral anger at the attacker, I now choose to light a candle and remember those lost, remember love, remember only good can ever make real, lasting change.

     And, most of all say, “I will let my light shine. You did not win.”

Peace, love, and prayers to all those who lost a loved one or were in any way affected by the tragic attack.    

Say Something! (Writing about writer's block)

What do you write when you have nothing to say? When you want to write, driven to connect to a reader who will clutch your book to her chest amazed by your artistry; how you put her feelings – no! the thoughts and feelings of the whole human condition! – into such succinct truth no one else has expressed? Perhaps you are reaching too high. Perhaps your reader mid-flight will, instead, get to chapter four in your book before stuffing it in the seatback pocket in front of her – right between the vomit bag and the Skymall. Perhaps she will take a break from your highfaluting artistry, retrieving the catalogue to check the price of the self-flushing litter box she saw advertised during her connecting flight and in her haste to exit the plane, leave your book behind. Maybe she will walk to baggage claim with that “I-know-I’m-forgetting-something-but-what?” feeling, only to shrug her shoulders while ducking into the Cinnabon. Well, fine. You don’t need her. Maybe she’s not even your target demographic. Maybe you prefer your readers cat-less.

But, you still don’t have anything to say. Nothing to be left behind beside the puke bag.

Fighting Perfection

Hello, my name is Melissa and I am a perfectionist. (hello, Melissa)

When asked in an interview “what is your biggest weakness” I often counter by admitting my perfectionist nature. It is suppose to be a sly way of turning a negative into a positive. Honestly, though, I have come to learn perfectionism is a negative, plain and simple – a stress-inducing, frustrating way to go through life. Nothing is perfect. Nothing. And, if one perceives something as perfect it is only that one chooses not to focus on the flaws. Perceiving something as perfect is possible. This is a state of mind.

There is a difference between seeking excellence and achieving perfection: only one is possible, the other is a futile pursuit.

My new motto is ‘do your best and forget the rest’. A challenge for sure for someone who naturally scans the world for how it could or should be. I’m all for making the world a better place. I believe I have a better shot at this goal if I find value in the quirks and flaws in others, the world at large, and myself.

Perfection is boring.

So, let me give an honest answer to that interview question. My greatest weaknesses are (in no particular order) I’m overly talkative, sensitive, overly-contemplative, occasionally lazy, stubborn…. I suspect the list could go on, but I’ll stop there. Whew! That feels better.

Photos

This collage is evidence of one of my favorite pastimes; editing photos. I enjoy the fleeting moment that is captured that, try as one might, can't be recreated exactly. I also, perhaps equally so, love editing photos. You get to take this raw material and polish it up, give it mood that may not have existed before, tell a new story, or highlight the story that is already being told.

Micro Memories - Homecoming

When my mom returned to my grandparents’ house after work I met her in the dining room and embraced her. My head rested on her stomach. She smelled strongly of perfume and faintly of nicotine. Her parents didn’t like her to smoke. She smelled like home. I stepped back and adjusted her skirt. She wore it high-waisted, belted just below her bra. I pulled her wide band, elastic belt down as I said, “That’s not your waist! This is your waist!” She always let me. She always left it that way the rest of the evening.

Downward Facing Ego

Yoga class is no place for competitive drive. In fact, it’s rather frowned upon by yogis. My ego didn’t get the memo. So, I pushed past my limits and entered pure pain, holding downward facing dog long past my physical abilities and right into excruciation. Still, I felt good at the end of the class. Then my friend and fellow yoga novice asked me what was in my eye. I looked in the mirror. Blood. It was blood. I’d burst blood vessels in my eye from my sheer stubborn competitive will to deny my newbie status, to avoid embarrassing myself by falling mid sun salutation. Instead, I walked out of the studio breathing in wellness while looking like a drug addict.

Namaste.

Choice

Today I learned two things that put life into perspective.

First, today is my would-be-graduation-day. That is, it’s the day those I began my MFA in Creative Writing program with have donned gowns and goofy hats and walked across a stage in completion of three years of writing, thesis revisions, teaching, and oodles more revisions. I left the program after one semester. I say I left for financial reasons and because it was in the middle of nowhere. I was miserable. Truth: I expected to have teaching assistantships lavished upon me for my mere presence. Truth: I chose to focus on the negative. I chose to be miserable.

Second, today I received a text marking a turning point for a dear friend fighting cancer – a text with words like morphine, hospice, comfort and hope. It seems her ultimate journey home has begun. From the beginning, I’ve been in awe of her strength and courage. Even when she moved from solids to an all liquid diet, she didn’t complain. She appreciates each moment she has. Hope for her right now means that she will have little pain, that she will have dignity and comfort. Hope means she will get to leave the hospital and return home for in-home hospice for her remaining days.

Today has led me to consider gratitude. How the lack of gratitude causes harm and steals life’s joys. How a life lived in gratitude touches others and brightens the world even if one expresses that gratitude quietly from a hospital bed.

All that we can expect from this life is a unique journey that begins with a crying out followed by innumerable opportunities to learn and grow. Whether we appreciate each obstacle as a lesson, each person we meet as a teacher, that is our choice.

When a Dream Grows Up

Why is it that both the deepest, most cherished wishes and the most heartbreaking, primal fears are oft not spoken, as if to utter them aloud would dissolve hopes, empower dread? Call it superstition; call it what you’d like, but unspoken dreams have a kind of power, a potential energy that is lost or diminished once announced as fact. Once a dream is outed as an intention a roadmap appears – one riddled with deep chasms no bridge could span, impassable deserts, uncharted roads. In short, every imagined roadblock grows obvious while the destination recedes, a dot nearly indiscernible from the surrounding flora.

As it turns out, dreams take imagination while intentions take hard work. Moreover, intentions become goals, hard and tactile, that require commitment – commitment to a belief in a self capable of finding detours, scaling canyon walls, and navigating the most treacherous terrain.