3/10/2017 0 Comments
My heart desires… #moreofthatplease
It was a magical day back… not sure when… Emilia typed #moreofthatplease into the screen on periscope and I knew, exactly, this was a way to state our core heart desires without stumbling into the lack mode of whiny wanting.
I don’t necessarily see wanting as whiny and I get that some do and would if I were to say “I want I want I want” like when I was a little girl and my many pen pals and I were writing letters to each other sharing about what we wanted for Christmas. I said I wanted a Malibu Francie doll.
I wrote the same letter to my Grandmother and she saw it as me boldly asking her for a Malibu Francie doll. She ended up buying it – after talking about my ten-year-old indiscretion with who knows how many people. Now, the middle-aged me is laughing at both thoughts: my grandmother’s distaste for my writing about what I wanted and my ten-year-old-me thinking “Uh oh, writing about what I want publicly is a bad thing and to be avoided at all costs because it upsets people and for goodness sakes, one must never upset people!”
The tragedy would fall if I continue to believe what my Grandmother said. She never even said it to me. She said it to others who repeated what they thought she said back to me. She actually bought me and sent me the doll, fulfilling the wish – so in a way, I gave us both a gift.
She got to be my Fairy Grandmother (not a typo) and I got to receive an actual gift from her instead of the usual $5 check.
The #moreofthatplease I am looking at is further healing, deepening clarity and the realization that things are not as they seem. Especially when it is the adult me peering back into the childhood years.
I realize I have forgotten to set my timer and I have no idea how long I have written.
Ahhh, I will get more later my loves. I will write more and share #moreofthatplease later today.
It’s your turn, too, dearies.
Your heart desires #moreofthatplease – share it with the world, unabashedly. Invite it all into your life.
Write for five minutes with the prompt -- My heart desires #moreofthatplease and watch what flows. Repeat as necessarily. Enjoy the process - I certainly enjoyed my rambles. And watch the video to write alongside, it is timed as well. Go and flow and write.
This is the writing from yesterday’s prompt – my second “go around”. This prompt is definitely worthy of several writes. I may revisit on another day, later this week, as well.
When I forget to be afraid, I can say what I really think: I am not concerned with the ramifications of every phrase my mind curates before I the words are spoken.
I hear my mother intone to my sister “Think before you speak,” a phrase I didn’t need to hear because it was tattooed across my forearms and my memory before I reached puberty.
It is more than possible this “Think before you speak,” managed to be fodder for me electing not to speak, write, finish for concern with what evil may lurk if I somehow say, scribe or complete in a way that might be offensive.
And I wonder why during dark times of my depression why I thought my very being was offensive? Back then each inhale, every exhale felt like an insult to the universe, painful to execute so many times a day. It felt easiest then to lie in bed on my side, shallow breaths, gazing loosely out my back window praying no one would notice my existence.
I notice today when I get to the end of that turn of phrase, my writing stops completely.
There is still a twinge of “how did I get there?” much like the twinge of “oh, yes, I am right here… still.”
Not in a depressive sense, but in a chronic fear sense wrapped around worries about my almost-all-grown up children.
This, now, has more ramifications and less of a chance for me to be protective toward them.
I am not a helicopter parent like some, but I do always seem to want to be there to soften any difficult punches or prods or stumbles.
(I also realize I don’t want to write about these difficult things. My pauses get more deep and the urge to turn away widens.)
When I forget to be afraid, I poke around my emotions more, with a curiosity rather than an investigator with an agenda.
When I forget to be afraid, I remember to investigate any lingering truth in the emotionally charged assertions. When I forget to be afraid, I take a deep breath and look intensely, openly at the facts in front of me without pre-colored/stained lenses.
I say “oh, interesting!” more regularly than “oh, no,” when I forget to be afraid.