Want or Need... A post of thankfull-ness...

Maybe it's the realization that the parents are about to embark on a new journey (moving out the state here people, it's not the final journey...just need to be clear). Maybe it's that yet another life metamorphosis is taking shape in my mind, or possibly, it's the month of thinking of all the things a person is thankful for. Whatever it is, all that's been on the brain lately, is the challenging difference between two words: WANT versus NEED.

Living in the same apartment for the past 10 years, the reality hits when you realize all those trinkets, shoes, tables, and mugs are just "stuff." They seemed so needed at the time, but now--as I travel the road of "essential" buying--they have become hindrances. Blockades in the home, if you please the metaphor.

The interesting thing is when you realize as an individual, you have never distinguished a difference between the two words. "Want" has the tendency to evoke the definition of "Need" in our society. So, this month the cleansing process began. I have discarded four boxes of "things", donated a table, three chairs, and three shelving units to my neighboring artist, books have reached the sharing frames of my local coffee shop, and I'm throwing away all those bits of paper that I felt had such significant value though in reality just cluttered up space in the home.

As the "stuff" begins to clear, I'm faced with a more open space. Space to recognize the things that have true value in my life. So as it is the month of giving thanks, I will end with this:

I am thankful for my family, who is always so supportive and encourages me to do all the things I'm passionate about in life. I am thankful for my friends; all the laughter we have shared, the way you all let me be me (with all the quirks, nuances, and frustrations that along with it). I am thankful for my cats and how they love to snuggle and share time with me even though we don't speak the same language. I am thankful to all the stories ever told to me, all the moments that have ever shaped the life I live. I am thankful to me teachers who have encouraged me. I am thankful to the teachers that discouraged me and in the process taught me to fight for what I believe in. Finally, I am thankful, thankful, thankful for having all that I need and being able to dream and hope for all the wants of my future.

A Happy Thanksgiving week to everyone out there. I hope your home is full of the space to share with the one's you love.

Chance Encounter...

You never know who you'll meet who might change your day. The past night I had a five minute conversation with a man on the street. Somehow, he said the exact words I needed to hear. He said them with sincerity.

"I want to read your book."

...

I've been frustrated lately with my writing. Some of you know, I'm working on a book about personal family issues. The writing has been taking me through a ringer of emotional ups and downs. 

So I distanced myself form writing, from the issues, yet again. But it keeps pounding in my mind anytime I have a moment to breath.

I took some advice from the author of Eat, Pray, Love. She spoke on an NPR program and stated she talked with her creativity (muse, writing voice, or whatever you want to call it) as if it's a person. It was a challenge. Give creativity time as you would a friend. Let it know your intentions, as you do in any good relationship.

This gets a bit tricky, because as you speak out loud to creativity, people around you tend to think you're going crazy. Being viewed as crazy might be worth it though. I asked recently for help from creativity, for guidance, for support, for courage. And she provided me a stranger on the street to talk "story" with, to give me encouragement that even if some people don't want to hear what I have to say, one person does... And one person can be everything.

Bell Tolls...

Church bells rang across barren city. Not mechanical ringing of old, but pulled warning human hands upon rope, controlling metal tongues reverberating against steel. Heeding alarm, body turned and ran upon crumbling cement. Leaf of changing season fell from hand, embedded between left behind cracks--lost from hopeful thought. Dress swayed as bare feet pounded echoing sidewalks. Sidewalks speaking stories of times past--children playing, dogs barking with waging tails, sun bathing and blue skies. Everything in play now, brown with dust. Clouds covered homes left in sinister expression. All life running, all hiding.

Hands clutched, soles dark with dirt, panic took over. Panic to live. Life ingrained deep in soul. If trigger for survival wasn't there--none of this would be happening. Bells would be silent, sidewalks bare, homes only inhabitants would be the skeletal bones of a race lost by their own makings. And yet--running, breathing, hiding, waiting--a race remained, if only just.

Sound deafening--a heavy whistle cracked space crashing against ears. Hands cupped them to provide small relief. Only seconds and explosion hit, pulling body from earth. Feather thin fabric whipped face and there was ringing. Ringing jarring the bones. Ringing attempting to escape the frame. Blood trickled from ear to chin. Lips parted and mouth tasted empowering iron. Life still clung on to move.

Earth still shaking, a hole on the remnants of a hollow city left by weapon. Debris covered feet, legs, torso, arms. Body's only portion not bathed in battle: Ears.

Ears cupped by hands. Ears ringing, ears fighting, ears waiting. Waiting to listen--listen to words that would explain: WHY?

Find the Instagram photo that inspired this short bit of writing by following @abaa (click on name to see photo)

Helium Rising...

The party was over, and everything was quiet. That was the problem of living in a small town. Friends could only come over for a short stay. There would be an hour of running, getting in trouble, scraping knees, and telling each other what we would do when we grew-up. And then they'd have to leave, driven away by their parents, not to be seen until the next school day, and the quiet would creep in.

My parents were doing their own scraping. Each dish brushed, cake crumbs and melted vanilla ice cream found its way into the garbage. Another birthday and the same routine after. Ma and Pa talking of what I'd become. Ma wanted me to be a doctor. Dad had his heart set on lawyer. He kept talking about needing to get me into the right school, which didn't make any sense--as I was already in school and he knew that. Somehow they didn't get I was going to be an astronaut. I had told them this for the past year. All my friends knew. I was going to be the first man to walk on Mars. One small step for man, one giant leap to see a real alien. I had my heart set on it. I wanted to squish the red dust between my toes.

But my parents never seemed to listen--they just seemed to know. So I stepped out of the house, taking with me the only salvaged balloon from the helium war my friends and I had fought. Would helium have the same affect on my voice on Mars as it did here on Earth.

Yellow and floating, the balloon trailed behind me as I past the line of our back yard into the field that was part of our house. The field stretched so far, and yet I could still make out the fence line. Everything here was sectioned off. The houses distant from each other still had boundary lines. The cows could only feed so far. And then there was me being placed into the mold of doctor or lawyer. Me stuck in a small quiet town that looked open and free, and yet here I was, fenced. Everything was fenced. Everything, but my last birthday balloon.

I let the balloon slip from my hand a bit. It rose high above my head and I held on tighter. The sun was setting and the yellow plastic glowed. I saw the sky above waiting for it. Space waiting for its arrival. I wanted it to be free. I wanted to be free. So I let the string go and watched as it drifted upwards, slow and steady, and I saw the rocket. The rocket I would one day be on. I saw my feet stepping on the red dust of Mars, and I saw the green alien that would be waiting for me--yellow balloon in hand as a welcoming.

Find the Instagram photo that inspired this short bit of writing by following @jdcowboy (click on name to see photo)