Sometimes a blur means more because it’s that space between nothing that means everything.
Sometimes a blur means more because it’s that space between nothing that means everything.
It took some focus. I hadn’t taken a pen in hand and actually written with the intention of writing a story or just writing for pleasure, even pain, since, well, a long while.
The first sentence was just a sentence to begin movement. I had learned a long time ago not to expect the first sentence on a first write to ever be first or even last long at all. It was the sentence after that first one and the sentence after that one and that one and that one that gave me a sense of what I could still do.
Writing on paper showed me the past and the future. In college, I wrote on paper. Personal computers were gigantic and felt stale and distant. Not much later, I stopped using paper though and typed everything. It was faster and easier.
But, using that pen yesterday, felt as if I connected a string to my heart. That’s where I wrote from. It all came from my heart.
Tapping on a keyboard now feels distant and almost like work.
A paper and a pen tug at the heart.
A groan of discomfort plugs into what used to be us.
Age has a lot to do with it.
Age has mostly everything to do with it.
Age and time.
The amount of time they spend on YouTube alone generates hours of mind-numbing transference that leaves my teeth clenched and off-center.
One of them lies on the couch randomly laughing and when asked about it, he replies, “This guy was playing this video game and he finally got these powers that let him punch really hard and instead of hitting the other guy he punched himself!” He laughs again.
“You wanna see?”
Disgust washes over me and I quickly blurt out, “No!”
With his Boca Juniors soccer beanie on and still wearing his pajamas, he jumps up granting me permission to look at his phone. “Here, c’mon, look, I swear, it’s funny!”
“No!” I scream. “It’s stupid. That’s stupid!” More frustrated than ever I proclaim, “This is how you’re choosing to spend your valuable time. Don’t you know what you could be doing. Read a book for Chrissake. My God!”
I often leave to the computer room where I open my computer and sulk.
I don’t pick up a book or even write with a pen and paper.
But, I am superior nonetheless.
The other one hibernates in her room, sometimes locks the door, and takes at least a minute to walk three steps to open it when prompted by my pounding on the door.
Often, I even have to say, “Open the door,” before there’s movement.
Stupid questions follow.
“Have you read your book yet?”
“No.” A glare, the wicked teenage kind, follows and so do more stupid questions.
“When are you going to read?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to take your phone?”
“Clean your room and read.”
I walk away before things start flying through the air.
I retire to the computer room.
My phone buzzes.
I pick it up and text away.
I check emails, text more, and realize that we’re halfway through the day and we’ve spent the large majority of it on devices, electronics.
What’s wrong with us?
It’s a conspiracy.
These companies want to ruin our lives.
They want to take all of our money and now our minds!
This must end or I shall die!
“Hand over the electronics,” I declare.
Dead eyes stare back at me.
No one moves.
“Now!” I scream.
“After this one thing,” my son says and rolls over on the couch.
“No!” my daughter yells, “I’m reading on my phone!”
“Lies!” I scream. “You’ve got one minute to put the devices on the counter or you lose them for a week!”
I wait a second then begin confiscating devices.
There’s screaming. Random bursts of “Crazy!” “God!” and “I hate you!”
No one talks.
I clean the house.
They grab a book and read.
I can finally hear the trees speaking to me again. It’s been a while.
After a school year that seemed relentlessly long, there’s nothing I’d hate more than to talk about this school year. I don’t want to give any advice about reading, questions types, testing, and, please, don’t ask about writing, in particular, essays.
I’m looking up.
I’m disconnecting from what supposedly defines me. Not from my phone, computer, or TV, although that’s some of it, not from electricity in any way, but I’m disconnecting from school.
So I’m going to give myself a break from thinking about reading assignments, reading comprehension, required reading, homework, grading, everything in connection with traditional, structured, life-draining education.
What a relief!
I woke up last week and it was 6 a.m. Normally I’m up at 5:30 getting ready to take my daughter to school then returning to get ready for teaching and take my son to school.
But I didn’t have to, so I looked at the time and went back to sleep.
After I woke and became instinctively lazier, I took a walk.
I noticed the trees and how many brilliant flowers were blooming. I’m physically looking up, up, seeing the branches sway and the petals drop. My neck pain is at a minimum because I’m not hunching over a computer or over stacks of papers.
The trees spoke to me. They waved and winked as I approached them. Orange petals floated over my pathway, welcoming me to life, the best kind of life.
My heart opened.
Now when I look around me, I see my children relaxed, smiling more, looking healthier and happier than, well, than in the last several months.
I see my house, messy, but home just the same.
I breathe a whole lot slower, deeper, calmer.
My feet don’t hurt.
No students to reprimand. No screeching noises. No nothing.
I see me.
The eyes spill anger, the kind that festers.
Love turns to hate so quickly.
There’s a sort of hell inside a young mind. I see it every day at school and all the time at home. It’s the conflict inside all of us, but as an adult, we master it.
We live. We learn. We stop hurting so much over small problems. Most of us work on ourselves. The youth or young people seem to us to have everything while at the same time to lack the essential appreciation of that everything.
They desire too much and can’t control that desire. Some even acquire a collection of iPhones, iPads, and video games that startles the onlooker, the elder who never had anything.
They indulge in outrageous behaviors such as cutting or bullying.
They love too much, screaming and crying for a singer or rock band.
Some adults have the audacity to act the same way. And, all of it makes sense. After all, the young know how to live. Sometimes it even works to our advantage because we harness the energy level they have and use it to invigorate our lives, not harm them.
Some adults, however, know how to just be: to live without the need to return to the youth mindset.
But, what is it about youth, that age where you’re maybe 14 and you realize that you have a period and/or hair all over your body so you grapple with ways to cope with it? You go from insecure to almost good enough.
A teenage girl might struggle with body image and find a way to control it by exercising more and improving the way she looks in the mirror and to others.
But, the events that led to her struggle damaged her so much so that her hatred for herself and others lingers. No, it festers.
What is it that makes the youth hate so much? Hate everyone they love. Hate everything about themselves. Hate the most beautiful and pleasant moments in life. Then, what is it that makes them lash out—try to destroy themselves or those around them?
I often think of Hitler Youth when I see this in a tween or teen.
He must’ve known just how angry they were and simply gave them permission, encouraged them, to act on their rage.
Read more about this in The Mindset of the Hitler-Jugend by Kyle Frabotta
When I wrote about how my grandmother had suffered through Alzheimer’s disease and my struggle with losing her both mentally and physically, the response from fellow bloggers warmed my soul almost as if they were sitting right next to me allowing me to rest my head on their shoulders.
Blogging, changed my life because the connections I made became even more meaningful than some long-time friendships and brought other people with similar depth and interests closer to me.
When I write, I connect to a place hidden from the me who I think I am or the me who I want to be or the me who everyone wants me to be. I may start with an idea or a purpose, but within a minute or so, I find the me who I really am and sometimes that secret me connects to another hidden being, someone I never knew existed.
I know other bloggers feel the same.
When I first started blogging, it was here at WordPress. I really knew nothing else. I just knew that I wanted to write and connect with other writers. I’d been busy teaching after being a full-time mom and my relationships with the working world and friendships in general felt stunted and, well, disconnected.
So when I read through all different kinds of blogs, I found myself laughing, nodding, and often-enough crying. So I thought about the idea of creating my own blog and just knew that I had to open up as well.
Four years ago, I was Freshly Pressed with a post about my children’s “Refrigerator Art” Refrigerator Art Changed My Life and the connections I made have lasted to this day. Even the talented Cheri Lucas Rowland liked my post, and here I am writing inspired by one of her discover challenges.
The same people who “liked” and “commented” on that post also comforted me when I wrote about struggles with Scoliosis Exercising My Scoliosis Demons and the loss of my grandmother .
At various times over the years, life became so overwhelming at certain points that I considered and reconsidered leaving WordPress behind. Being a teacher and a mother challenges the best of us, let alone being married and attempting to continue writing and educating yourself. Then throw into the mix health concerns and the death of someone who meant the world to you.
But, it was and is the connections I’ve experienced here that have kept and do keep me blogging. They keep me brave, smart, bold, and loved.
and takes pictures, and travels, and...
Love is ever-present within our own Being but we might not feel it until we live in the Now. "Love it Now" was created to share ideas about loving and being present in the here and now. Enjoy!
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