Let's talk about your heart

 The way we talk about things matters. The metaphors we choose to frame our perspective affect our lives experience. It's a marvel to me.

Take, for instance, your heart. Already a metaphorical organ as the instrument we use to love (a kind of schenectady, no?).

But a common metaphor is that when we love, we give our heart to the person we love. When you think of giving your heart away, what does that heart look like to you? For me, it is small, small enough to fit in my hands in order to be handed over. It also feels light and fragile - easily broken, easily lost. The person to whom I've given my heart then looms even larger, and has awesome power to heart me, and they can break my small, fragile heart. What am I left with in that case? Picking up sharp shards of this delicate thing that is so important to me and so easily broken by another.

Now, if you will indulge me, let's change the metaphor. Your heart, the metaphorical origin of love, is the home of love. It is your love's home. Imagine a sturdy structure with a strong foundation. Imagine the space within, sheltered from life's vagaries, warm and secure. What if, to love someone, you invite them into the home of your heart with you, to share that space? They are a guest, and it's up to you how long they are welcome and how much of your home they can see.

It's still true that a rude guest, or an ungrateful one, can do damage to your heart. They can make a mess or scuff the floor, or maybe even demo some rooms. But you can escort them out, and you can always restore and/or rebuild your home. It remains there for you whatever others' comings and goings may be.

I find this metaphor much more helpful when I think about my heart and about loving someone.

In Full View

So, I belong to a church email listserv. PRoblem, I know. It seems important to these two individuals to have their conversation in full view of all those reading the emails. Why can't they have a private conversation about it? Why do I need to be subjected to this? Group speech was left to deft orators. Now, any schlub can grab an audience. Oy.

The more things change...

You know the rest. You know how I long to do something, anything. I am full of things to say, to write. And yet afraid. So very afraid. To matter, or not to matter.

I find myself obsessively reading social media feeds, trying to find exactly the right sentiment to forward as a post for myself. Instead of just writing my own post.

I have spent years thinking of these hard things. I am woke. Or am waking. I have been waking. I want so much to help others out of bed. These things matter. It matters that I do my own small part, even if I don't do that part perfectly. I am the only one who can do my part. It has gone undone for too long.

I've imagined so many other blogs I could be writing. "But Have you Considered?" a thoughtful progressive's earnest attempts to actually persuade others over, around, and through their blind spots that cause so much pain. "Love Bandwagon," yet another privileged white woman of a certain age reflecting on her experience with polyamory. Because my insights are so different from all the other privileged white women. "That'll preach," a seminary-uneducated individual's attempt to reflect and write words that matter about things that are important. Because my thoughts on scripture, or God, or my Christian obligation, are so much deeper than all those incredibly wonderful clergy's thoughts.

There, there it is again. The fear to show my light. Who cares if other people have had similar insights before? Those were their insights. I've been so grateful to those who have shared their insights. Mine are shareable, too. Mine are worth sharing.

Again, again

I thought about starting a blog.  I knew I'd made attempts in the past.  I went looking for the attempts and found this.

I think about writing, sometimes.  I want to have a voice.  I want to make something instead of endlessly consuming others' somethings.

But I am also afraid.

It helps to know no one is looking.

I am still here.

Just saying.

I Want to Believe

I just saw an advertisement for "Yes Man." The reviews of it I've read mostly comment on how this movie is simply re-treading familiar ground for him. Some go further, saying that the repetition is beginning to look a bit frayed around the edges.

But I liked the premise: a guy who has been saying no to life starts saying yes. Okay, from a certain angle, the wacky antics look a little similar to other, possibly better movies. I still think there's value in that premise, though. Start saying yes.

It doesn't take so long to establish familiar ground to re-tread, particularly at these loaded annual mileposts. And I can't be the only one who also notices the unruly edges around the rituals, formal and informal, that take place.

I mean, it's another year ending, and here I am making a blog post, thinking about resolutions and new beginnings, again. The themes keep coming around. Maybe we walk this ground because there's something new to be found on that old path, some detail we've missed. Maybe if we lift our feet just so this time, something different will rise up to meet us.

Merry Christmas.

One of Those Days

http://www.azcentral.com/community/scottsdale/articles/2008/10/28/20081028abrk-homeinvasion1028.html

Sadly, this happened at my childhood home. Keith and his girlfriend were beat up and we don't yet know what was taken.

And So It Begins...

At least it began for me today.

I ran my first two miles in preparation for the half-marathon. I managed a 10-minute mile pace. Not a bad start. I have big dreams, though. As always.

Miles run: 2
Money raised: $125