On Fear...

“It is fear that I am most afraid of.” -Montaigne

I remember the two of us, arms linked, as we walked down the hill into the woods. My sister and I were whistling and throwing rocks, sinking into the stillness around us. The woods were quiet this time of day, with the sun drowsy in the sky, its light warm and hearty on our backs. Our soft whistles filled the air and danced with the sparse branches above as we crushed through the autumn leaves.

We had just climbed over a mossy boulder when it caught our eye. Long, slender bones shining in that afternoon sun. Screaming for our immediate attention. It was a spine.

Bleached and glowing in the open air, it mesmerized us with its power. We squatted down next to it, covering our open mouths and poking it with a stick.

“What do you think it came from?” my sister asked quietly.

“A human, probably. It’s long enough. Look, lay down next to it. I’ll measure.”

We both stood unyielding, and instead we felt an unusual fear begin to slowly make its way into our veins, filling them with a fascinating new pulse.

At once, we began to run, not bothering to hold the branches from our faces, or stepping gently over the puddles of mud. We ran into the sun, hot in our faces and pulling us closer. We ran past the mailbox with the tiny red flag. We ran with the fate of the world in our hands.

Rained Out

Ten straight days of nothing but rain can dampen even the most cheerful personality. But, then again, I should be used to this. The dreariness of the bleak Ohio winter was nothing new to me. The gray sky sank into the gray trees that slumped atop the gray ground. A quiet explosion of monotony that descended every October, covering everyone and everything in its path.

Occasionally, a crisp snow would blow through and cover it all. But, after a few days of mingling regretfully with the salt and dirt at the sides of the road, the once pristine snow would turn black. Succumbing like everything else to the depression of the Ohio winter.

As I stared out of the classroom window, my breath fogged up the glass, covering the raindrops that beat relentlessly against it. I heard the professor droning on softly in the background about the history of the Civil War, and I began to draw on the blank page in front of me. First, raindrops. Dropping out of the top of the page, between clouds, landing on an umbrella held by a stick-figure. Me. But as the class crept slowly on, my page being swallowed by heavy drops of rain, I drew the sun. Starting out small, behind a cloud, then extending its rays to the far corners of the page.

As the class came to a close, I grabbed my notebooks and headed towards the door, zipping my heavy winter coat and pulling my already-dripping umbrella out of my bag. I braced myself as I stepped out into the biting air and felt the rain whip against my coat. Holding tight to the umbrella, I thought of the rays of sun beaming down on me, wrapping me in their warmth. I wished for another life, somewhere warmer. Somewhere brighter. Somewhere else. I think about Florida. Hawaii. North Carolina. I wondered what the weather was like along the coast, away from the lake-effect snow and negative ten degree temperatures.

When I reached my car, my thick gloves fumbling with the key, I realized that I needed that warmth. I needed the sun in the blue skies above me, with the sand beneath my feet and freckles on my skin. I needed to find my way out of the dark blanket that had been covering me for all these years. As I folded the umbrella, I looked towards the sun, forever hidden behind the somber clouds, and took in a deep breath of the numbing winter air. It was time for change and I was ready. I closed my eyes and as the sky grew dark, a single raindrop fell upon my nose.

On Hope…

“Things themselves don’t hurt or hinder us.
Nor do other people. How we view things is another matter.” -Epictetus

When I was five, my parents sat my sister and me down one afternoon. It was cool, and the light outside suggested winter would soon be blowing in. My sister and I sat on opposite couches; my father was next to me and my mother knelt on the floor with her hand on my sister’s leg. I stared out the window at a small bird standing on a branch and wondered if it felt the cold.

“We want you both to know that we love you very much, but things are going to change. Your father and I aren’t going to be married anymore,” my mother said as I saw the bird flutter its wings.

“You don’t love each other?” my sister cried. “You don’t want a family?”

“We will always be a family and we will always love each other. We think things will be better if we live apart,” my dad reassured. I stood up from the couch and went to the window.

The bird was gone.

A few weeks later, my sister and I were packed into a U-Haul with the rest of our childhood and re-assembled four hours away in rural Pennsylvania in order to be near my mother’s family. I remember feeling the tears, hot on my cheeks, as I watched my father standing in the driveway as we pulled away from the curb and began the long trek, leaving behind our our lives in Ohio.

After a chaotic day full of boxes and hugs, my mother tucked me into bed that night. As she turned off the light and left the room, I began to cry. I sat up, unable to sleep, and looked out the window. A light snow was beginning to fall on the bare branches that hugged my view. As my breath fogged the glass, I saw something small and dark nestled in a nook of the tree. Hollow and empty, it was a bird’s nest.

Three years later, I sat next to my mother and sister, smiling in the passenger seat of a borrowed pick-up truck as we pulled into the familiar driveway in Ohio. The truck crawled to a stop, sighing under the weight of its contents. My father stood on the stoop, beaming at us as we ran to greet him.

"Are we back for good?" my sister asked as he kissed her cheek.

"Yes, sweetie. Things will be just like before. We're together forever...all of us," he said as he picked me up, swinging me through the air. I smiled as he held me above his head, my arms outstretched, flying like a bird.

Embrace the Good...

The good in my life is the happiness I feel from my family and friends. I enjoy being alone often, but it's when I am spending time with a loved on that I feel the most happiness. Knowing someone is there for you and wants to see you succeed and find happiness is one of the most comforting feelings a person can have.

As alone as I feel sometimes, being with a friend never fails to ease my mind and make me feel untainted goodness. A bad mood can be lifted with an embrace and shared laughter can ease worries and make the troubles of life seem less significant. Life is less complicated when a friend helps carry the burden with you, if only briefly.

For me, the good is everyone I love.

Buddhism Is The New Black...

The first two sources I have found are, "It's Easier Than You Think," and the Dalai Lama's "Book of Wisdom." Both are introductions into Buddhism. I have always been interested in Buddhism, and I am taking this opportunity to relate some of its teachings into my everyday life; small steps towards finding some sort of inner peace.

Sylvia Boorstein's "It's Easier Than You Think" teaches meditation and relaxation techniques that introduce the reader to the Buddhist's way towards happiness. She uses humor and powerful stories from everyday experiences to help the reader relate these techniques to their contemporary lives. I am already loving this book because of the humor in it.

The Dalai Lama's book is also extremely fascinating. He offers small, simple tips and advice to those who want to bring more happiness into their lives. He, too, writes with humor and I find myself beginning to truly admire this great spiritual leader. What really draws me with both of these books, is the compassion and light-heartedness both invoke. I am looking forward to putting their advice to action.

Wisdom...

The most important piece of wisdom that I have learned is from my grandmother. I would visit her on a regular basis and tell her the oh-so-terrible troubles of my childhood life. She would always look me in the eye and tell me, don't sweat the small stuff.

The mountains I would be stressing about --that new boyfriend, the trendy clothes that I never had, the zit on my face-- none of it truly mattered in the big picture. They were minor annoyances, and I should not spend precious time worrying about them.

And now, more than a decade later, I try to focus on this little piece of wisdom every day. When I am stuck in traffic, when work didn't go as well as I would have liked...these little things don't matter. They are trivial and I should not let them affect me negatively. Life is full of small problems, and if you focus on the negativity constantly, your happiness will suffer.

Machiavelli & Me...

Maybe because I am not an ancient ruler or soon-to-be-throned prince, I found it hard to relate to Machiavelli's The Prince. However, there was one particular idea that really stood out for me.

"Just as those who paint landscapes set their easels down in the valley in order to portray the nature of the mountains and the peaks, and climb up onto mountains in order to draw the valleys, similarly in order to properly understand the behavior of the lower classes one needs to be a ruler, and in order to properly understand the behavior of rulers one needs to be a member of the lower classes."

I took this to mean that when you are facing a difficult problem or situation, it's often best to take a step back and look at things from a different angle, or a distant perspective. It's the equivalent of the old saying, "walk a mile in someone else's shoes."

When doing so, one is able to fully grasp the severity of something; you are able to see the whole picture in its entirety. By observing from a different angle, or more specifically the opposite angle, one is better able to find a solution. Quite often it's a solution that they would have never discovered had they immersed themselves completely in the problem or situation. It's only when they take a step back are they able to see the situation for what it really is.