Warning: Kindness is Dope

I met someone recently who thanked me for something I did for her 20 years ago.

I kid you not.

To be quite honest, I did not recall the detail or that act of apparent kindness at all. She tells me that it came at a time when she desperately needed a strong mother figure and that young-me stepped up.

I must say, our exchanges back then never did feel like “rescue” or “help” to me. In fact, I reckon I was the one who felt good. I was the one who felt useful. I was probably the one who felt high from the endorphins that make us drunk with purpose. That’s really all I remember about our interactions ~ how lovely I felt around her.

How cool?

Her testimony has since inspired me to write some random “Thank You” notes of my own. Because the stars know that there are plenty of people who have touched me over the years. And just like that, I’m part of an energy that keeps the magical vibration of GRATITUDE in motion.

Perhaps you feel inspired to hop on the train and thank someone today too? If so, I can tell you without a doubt that the wise ones were right: It is indeed GIVING that we RECEIVE.

Try it. Thank me (29 years later).

Lee Mayimele

Chief Storyteller

Childhood Innocence & The Power of Names

It was a beautiful day.

We had taken the kids out into the countryside. We stopped at a market along the way. The smell of meat on the open fire drew us in.

I felt so happy!

My kids ran off towards the makeshift playground. There was a slippy-slide; just a guy with a hosepipe and some washing-up liquid dishing up happiness. I knew that I stood no chance in trying to convince my kids that I didn’t want them wet. They were stripped down to their undies and laughing all the way down the slide in seconds.

That childhood innocence was beautiful to watch. Gratitude filled my heart.

There were families everywhere. Every now and then a kid would run up to their parents to grab a bite, give a kiss and run off again.

I spotted a 2 year old playing alone. She really stood out.  She had long white blonde hair with curly ends. She sprayed water all over my son and he burst out crying. An old lady came over and shouted at her. The girl didn’t flinch.

I assumed that the old lady was her granny but she started talking to me “IT is very naughty, you know.”

Yes, she referred to the girl as “IT”.

My kids were burning in the heat. The family sitting on the striped blanket under the Jacaranda next to us offered to share their sunscreen. In return, I offered some of our watermelon. It felt like summer.

I noticed all the other kids sharing sunscreen too. The blonde child called “IT” was very burnt but no one seemed to mind. I also noticed that her diaper was soiled and she didn’t have anything to drink for 2 hours.

I asked the old lady if anyone knew who her mother was. She pointed her out to me. She was the drunk lady in miniskirt, pouring drinks for a group of men in the band in the distance. The old lady said “She doesn’t care about IT, so why should anyone else? Mark my words. IT will end up just like her sorry excuse for a mother.” 

I was about to scream at granny-zilla “No! You are wrong!  She is the victim of shit circumstances, for sure, but that doesn’t mean she CAN NOT and WILL NOT rise! F%#%ing idiot!” but it was just then that a storm broke out and we all ran to our cars.

I blamed the rain for my mascara stained cheeks.

© 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.

Do YOU Over Promise and Under Deliver?

I believe in under-promising and over-delivering.

But, if truth be told, I never really feel like I am on top of my game as a parent.

There is always a sock with a hole, a teacher’s birthday I forget or a tooth fairy duty that nearly slips my mind.

As I stood at my kitchen counter, I stared at the half-eaten chicken pie that no one said thank you for. I looked around at the yoghurt smears on my curtains. I read the note in my daughter’s diary, reminding me of an outstanding indemnity form and I thought: Gosh girl!….are you sure you are qualified for this gig?

I couldn’t dwell on the thought because I needed to give my kids a bath. They had jumped into the mud, right after I told them to stay clean.  We were on our way to a dentist appointment.

I snuck in a quick photo (who doesn’t love a muddy face?) before I turned on the bath tap.  There was no water. Our cleaner reminded me that if I had read the letter on the fridge, I would have, and damn right should have, known. Boom!

It was a rough day at Mom HQ.

As I walked into the dentist with the two kids from Mudville, the nurse and I got talking straight away. She was a lovely old woman with a round back — an observation pointed out to me by Miss Mudville herself.

The old lady had lost her daughter 50 years ago. She had been standing on a pavement, minding her own business, when she was knocked by a car. She died instantly. She was just a young girl.

I asked her how she ever found the strength to live and she said “The memories! The memories are all we have in the end!”  She pulled out a small album and shared her most prized possession with me. Her pictures of special family milestones.  I saw muddy faces, spilled drinks, and grazed knees. The other thing I noticed was smiles. Smiles and kisses, hugs and laughter.

I drove home, observing the fighting and moaning coming from the back, and thought: “Of course I am qualified for this gig. The giver of life chose ME by name! Remember?”

We stopped off at the ice cream store and my daughter said, “I thought you said NO ice-cream because we are muddy?”

Now, how do you explain the under-promise and over-deliver concept to a child?…

© 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 http://www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The Calling

I have answered a call and I am going on a journey.

A journey to rest, explore, connect to the magic that has called my names. All my names.

I am going to seek vibrations of ancient wisdom, to engage the feminine divine.

I am going on a journey to remember my past, to anticipate my future.

I seek nothing more than to remember my names. All my names.

I desire only to reignite the light at the centre of my being.

I send love and light ahead of my heart and say “Go on, brave one. Take another step forward in the direction of your dreams”

© 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 Rituals II

I believe in rituals.

I believe that our talents evolve, our fantasies change, our goals shift.

I believe that allowing ourselves the space to create freely is a great indulgence.

I believe in a vision, mission and life policy that allows for edits.

I believe in the smell of babies.

I believe that “I understand” are among the most beautiful, healing words.

I believe in filtering the news.

I believe in avoiding traffic and people who complain.

I believe in tv-less bedrooms.

I believe in taking sides.

I believe in potato chips with mayo.

I believe that you can’t un-spill the water.

I believe in overdrafts.

I believe in routine maintenance.

I believe in self investment.

I believe in self-promotion.

I believe in talk radio.

I believe that humility and prayer will always be fashionable.

I believe in soft light, soft music, soft perfumes.

I believe in mentorship.

I believe in surrender.

I believe in less sugar, less tv, less hair processing.

I believe in ginger chai.

I believe in instrospection.

I believe in Tobasco sauce.

I believe that scrolling on your smart phone during church is sad.

I believe in cupping and dry body brushing.

I believe that sometimes no one knows exactly what you are going through, and that’s okay.

© 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.

Loaded Questions – Short-Short Story

Each time she asked a question. I became uneasy.

The question was always loaded.   Guaranteed.

I found this exhausting.  Mentally and emotionally exhausting.

At times, I refuelled.  I got ready. I fired.  Game on.

But most times, I retreated.

My reasons for not playing the game varied.

Sometimes I was just not in the mood for the game.   It happens right?

Other times, the stakes were too high. The casualties too precious.  The possible fatalities strategic.

All in all, I reckon the learning experience was invaluable.

And today, I am grateful.

© 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.

YOU are Enough

…The time surely comes

When you put yourself first

When you regain your God essence

When you count your blessings

When you honour your sadness

When you give yourself permission to try

When you name your pain

When you stop calling your passion a “hobby”

When you keep your word

When you kick someone out of your emotional bed

When you alienate nasty creatures

When you write thank you notes

When you take more risks

When you stop trusting losers

When you approach people you need

When you say no to darkness

When you yield appropriately

When you say beautiful words of gratitude instinctively

When you sleep for days

When you trust your internal red flags

When you disappoint another heart

When you run your race and let others run theirs

When you clear everything on your vision board and start again

When you no longer mind being called emotional

When you equate self respect with breathing

When you allow yourself to dream again

When you listen to a child

When you let yourself be touched

When you honour your calling

When you travel to places that call you

When you risk humiliation

When you press “reset” on your life

When you accept the shape of the parts you disguise

When you simply say “not today”

When you acknowledge those that guide you

When you start imitating yourself

When you draw a line in the sand

When you empower other people

When you forgive yourself

When you delight in the success of others

When you laugh loud

When you kiss your broken heart

When you are your own role model

When you emulate the speckles of light you see

When you tone down the noise

When you soothe your heart with music

When you dine alone

When you share your struggles

When you own your fears

When you unlearn your defences

…and on that day, may you know that YOU are enough YOU have always been enough YOU will always be enough End of story!

Aluta Continua, I say!  The road is long (for me)

© 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.

Angel

I believe in being proactive, punctual, passionate and polite. So, I placed the order for Christmas for my top 50 clients two months before I needed them. Two weeks before the gifts were due to be delivered, I saw an article in the newspaper.  The supplier had gone bust.  My deposit and my order were in liquidation hell. I needed to make another plan.  Yes, I needed to be proactive. That’s when I got a call.  The girl sounded polite. I liked that.  She also sounded passionate about her project. I liked that too. She told me her name but I didn’t register it.  The only thing I heard was that she had a coffee table book with an African influence and that a portion of the proceeds from book sales would go to charity. I saw stars! My problem was solved. My clients would surely love me forever. I quickly forgot about the stupid newspaper article. The saleslady aka my angel and I agreed that we would meet in 2 days time. She needed to pick up a sample from the printer, who was behind schedule. She emailed me to confirm our meeting.  When I saw her name, I felt so stupid!  Definitely not the “polite” princess I fancied myself.  I knew her well but I treated her like a stranger.  I planned to give her a big hug and make up for it when we met.  I also planned to tell her about her new nickname.  Angel. I had not seen her in 7 years and wondered how time would have left its mark on her.  I wondered if she had kids and if life had treated her the way she deserved. She was the sweetest thing. I arrived 15 minutes before our meeting. She was late. Angel was losing points. I tried to distract myself by surfing the net.  I was annoyed. Being “polite” was going to be hard. I went to reception to check if they had heard from her.  They had not.  I tried her mobile, there was no reply.  I reconsidered her nickname. Seriously!  My time was precious, I thought. I went back to the email to see if I had gotten the date wrong.  I had not. She did not turn up.  Just like that I looked out for an email from her.  It did not arrive.  One day, two days. Nothing from Angel. I was not happy.  I liked being punctual. I liked being proactive.  I liked being polite but I was seriously annoyed. That evening, I received a text message.  It said “The memorial service of **** will be held at…” Angel had died.  Tragically. At her funeral, her son said “My mom was an angel. My angel”.  Then he turned to his schoolmates, hundreds of young boys all dressed in their school blazers and said “….and I am so jealous of you guys, because you still have your moms.  Mine is gone”. I burst out crying.  I cried for him. I cried for me. I cried for Angel. My clients never got gifts that year.  I figured it was destiny.

© 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.

Man in Torment

He watched his wife lift her skirt to many men.

He lived through the humiliation.

He ate her bitter words routinely.

He faced her rejections nightly and he sniffed the smells of other men knowingly.

He perfected the art of saying NOTHING.  He was so good at it that when his kids did hear his voice, they ran.

On his mother’s death bed, she said “My son, please do me a favour. Leave that woman. You can’t go on like this without killing yourself or someone else”.

He was shocked. Surely the medication was messing with the old woman’s head.

He could go on! And he did.

© 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.

Her Heart

Her heart invited his in.  Of that he was dead sure.

So, when her husband turned up at his door, the boy was stumped!  Her husband?  Really?  That girl was good and two guys were pissed off.

Her husband earned the right to air his thoughts.  The new guy accepted that he needed to shut up and look the fool.

The girl simply said “I do not even know the guy’s last name! He is mad”.

She was right.

© 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.