The Front Row II (A short reflection on CHANGE)

With another birthday approaching, I am naturally reflecting on all things CHANGE (and no, I am not only talking about the spread in the middle)

 

It always fascinates me how deciding who gets a front row seat in the movie that is our lives isn’t exactly as simple as ordering a large popcorn and Slush Puppie.

Friends change, lovers drift, egos inflate, eyes open, lust rattles, death knocks, jobs morph, travel calls, masks drop, strategies shift, needs flip, kids drift, hearts evolve. You know, life happens?

While we are certain that CHANGE is the law of the universe (with seasons changing, leaves falling, blossoms springing effortlessly before our very eyes) I have often wondered why we find it so difficult to just “flow” with these changes especially as they affect key relationships.

 

Then it hit me : We are uneasy with movement, with change itself.

 

The old moulds are more warm and familar than a onesie, clouded in words like “loyalty” and “history”. Deciding to actively drop leaves, sprout flowers and reassign those name tags on the prime VIP spots in our life, ruffling feathers and inviting scrutiny challenges our comfy paradigms. Crap ain’t easy.

But it must be done.

So, as I mascara another grey hair this morning and try not to overthink my Kombucha ambitions, do allow me to send you my best good vibes as you contemplate your own selections.  

• If you have to increase or decrease the number of seats, make that call.
• If you are blessed that no rearrangement is necessary, scream “thank you!”; such blessing is never to be taken lightly.

…BUT yes, that seating chart needs to be issued. (Or else some random weeds will fill those vacant spots and then your garden will really be sad).

Go on…Today is a good day to think about that front row again.  Aluta continua, as they say.

#gratitude #reflections #alutacontinua

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2017.

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Is THIS it? (A reflection on why the h#ck we are here)

Why am I here?

What is my purpose?

Why do I feel like something is missing?

How can I be happy? 

Is THIS it?

 

Yes, I know it’s only Monday morning but surely you also ask yourself these very questions too. We all do!

 

And I bet you’ve dipped in and out of books, religion, dark incense clouded rooms and travel in a quest to closer to the “answers”. We all have!

 

But here’s the thing,

…We are all here at THIS very time in THIS very place TOGETHER and we are here for an EXPERIENCE.

 

The experience of goosebumps.

The experience of being warmed by fire.

The experience of learning.

The experience of synergy, alchemy, mystery, magic, “God”.

The experience of blooming, ageing.

The experience of vitality, abundance, creativity.

The experience of whispers and loud bangs.

The experience of chemistry and connection.

The experience of rain, pain and sunset.

The experience of recognition, resonance, mastery, reward, acknowledgement.

The experience of tasting a lemon.

 

…and even the experience of loss, illness, abandonment, tragedy, fear, resentment betrayal, loneliness and jealousy.

 

That’s the full package . 

That’s why we’re here.

And yes, to me at least, that’s IT. 

 

I figure that I may as well eassssssse into the EXPERIENCE, learn to ride the waves and flow with the current. You know? After all, none of us are getting out of here alive.

 

I reckon we may as well surrender to the journey….

 

Can YOU?

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2017

 

 

 

The Zahir (A story about getting even)

I was NOT happy with my accommodation. I booked a self-catering apartment on the beach (with “distant sea views”) and when I arrived, I found that I had actually booked a whole house (with a person inside it)

 

Now, if I have gotten a good vibe from the person, I would have thought that perhaps there was an adventure to be had, but I did not.  It was definitely NOT love at first sight.

 

Her bedroom became my bedroom. Her spot on the couch mine. The coffee mug with her name called my name. Shit was weird.

 

But, I was there on a “pilgrimage” of sorts, and I needed to remain centered.

I noticed that the book on the bedside table happened to be “The Zahir” by Paulo Coelho — one of the very few of his books I had not yet read and the VERY book I had lost in the airport. It was fate.  There was no way I was going to be polite and let her continue reading it, so I grabbed it.  I carried it around the house from room to room (just in case she pounced) and savoured each beautiful moment of reading pleasure. 

 

The home owner had a way about her. Even when you could not see her, she was there.  Like in Big Brother.  She was hard to ignore.

 

I got lost in the pages of the book, and each time I felt irritated by her presence (washing the dishes, folding towels, bloody making coffee at 5am) I would just keep reading. It came as no surprise to me that The Zahir means ‘the obvious’ or ‘conspicuous’ in Arabic.  I mean, what are the chances?  Those were the only words I could use to describe the home owner. Always bloody there!

 

I wrote her a note when I left. I said “Thank you for sharing your home with me. I will always remember your presents…I mean presence! xoxo”

 

…and then I tucked her book (aka the “present”) into my suitcase, along with the mandatory miniature toiletries and waved her goodbye.

 

I figured we were square.

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

One of thosssssse days

I woke up feeling strange.

 

I knew that I had not slept well because my son was up lots, but it was not that.  I felt off- centre.  Just not myself.

 

Instead of allowing myself just 15 minutes of gentle writing and meditation time (which I know works for me), I jumped straight into my work in the kitchen, of preparing things for school etc.

 

After everyone had left the house for the day, and still feeling slow and low, I jumped into my car with no plan of where I was going.

 

As I set off, I received an SMS from my housekeeper reminding me that I needed to buy toilet paper. I responded “Okay”.  She knew I would forget.

 

Because habits are hard things, I got the urge to send some work emails so I swerved right into my local country club to use the wifi. I planned to rush in, send the emails and go straight for the toilet paper. You know, get the shit out of the way, so I could enjoy my day off work.

 

While I was signing into the club, there was a knock on my window followed by my door opening. A 100 year old man got into the car and said “Oh dear, would you give me a ride to Gate 1” pointing to the gate in the distance.

 

He was already halfway in the car. So was his walking stick. It was too late to do anything but drive. So, I smashed the old McDonalds Happy Meal box off the front seat and said “Yes, sure.”

 

The security guard was laughing hysterically. It must have been my face.

 

Gate 1 was not where he thought it was. In fact, it was Gate 2 to be precise and it was far, far out of my way. Thirty minutes later, I dropped the old man off at the cricket stadium, right in front of the entrance. Yes, thirty whole minutes later. That’s how long it took me to find his Gate 2.

 

He kissed my hand and said “Thank you, dear. Now go on and do something fun. You are only young once!” 

 

Shaking my head, I found myself laughing and then crying as I drove back home to do something “fun”.  I climbed into bed with some ginger tea, a Mr Delivery menu and my notebook.  I also gave my housekeeper the day off.  (Because ain’t nobody got time for toilet paper dramas on their day off!)

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015.

 

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

I Believe in observing local custom

I believe in observing local custom

 

I believe my jeans don’t fit because I eat too much.  I believe in eating too much

 

I believe in smoked salmon, fresh salmon, shellfish and other squiggly beings drenched in lemon butter

 

I believe in a black suit

 

I believe in hedging my bets

 

I believe that heart break is physically painful

 

I believe that frenemies have their place

 

I believe that emotional intelligence is under rated

 

I believe in the power of names. I believe that South Africa is crying for a name

 

I believe that I write from my heart

 

I believe that my heart can touch other hearts

 

I believe that the group decision making is for wimps

 

I believe in karaoke

 

I believe in walking away from dead chemistry

 

I believe that the difference between expats and immigrants is yet to be clarified

 

I believe in wedding ceremonies, baby dedications, barmitzvahs and other rites of passage

 

I believe in public displays of affection

 

I believe that sometimes the heart gets it wrong