Dear Barbara Streisand: “People who need people are indeed the luckiest people in the world”

What could go wrong on a morning when all the traffic lights are out?

Well, I packed some hot dog rolls into a Woolies shopping bag together with some cheese grillers and set off to gym. Stay with me – the hot dogs and gym visual is true.

The plan was to give the food away before it expired without my husband finding out. Long story…

I never quite made it to the gym (no surprises there) but I decided to sit down for some scrambled eggs instead. Just before I picked a spot, I saw someone I could give the food away to. The man sells Homeless Talk, a newspaper that I have seen a million times but never bought.

As I sat down at the cafe for my breakfast, I reached for my wallet to put the parking ticket in the spot where I always put my parking ticket and that’s when I realised that my wallet was in the black hot dog bag! The plan had been to stick the empty shopping bag into my gym bag, that’s how my purse ended up inside. Note to self: forget gym.

When I related the story to my children later that afternoon, sure I added some drama but essentially:

I had no cash to get out of the parking lot and had to make some decisions quickly.

So I asked the parking lady for a free pass. Sure, she said.

The cafe owner said that I come could totally have stayed for a free breakfast.

I opened my banking app to see if there had been any transactions. Cancel Cards/Not? Pause, I decided.

As I drove up the road towards the Homeless Talk seller, I saw him holding out the Mykonos blue purse with a look that said, “………..!”

The kids screamed “Nice hot dog lady!” but the man’s face really screamed “dumb blonde!” I was guilty as charged on both counts.

But here’s what this story is really about: people people, people.

We are all just people who need people. And that’s how we all get by. By needing people and by allowing people to need us. Barbara Streisand was right.

Lee

P.S. I couldn’t find much info online re Homeless Talk but the lovely guy selling his is at the garage near St Davids in Inanda close to Summer place:-) Didn’t catch his name. Don’t tell him you know me.

The courage to tell your story

Have you ever noticed that the people who behave the worst, are the ones who fancy themselves the hero/ine in the story?

I’ve been going through my notes from a recent Writing Course that I taught. It was a deep emotional kind of writing in the genre Memoir. What really interested me, was that when asked why they chose not to publish or share their writing, that a range of people all said the same thing : FEAR. (I remember saying that too when I first started publishing).

I took the time to really look at the profiles of the characters that they had written about that they most feared would react negatively. It wasn’t the public. It wasn’t Twitter trolls. It wasn’t some overly critical readers out there in Cyberspace. No, the characters in their TRUE stories who my writers feared most were those closest to them! It was parents, siblings, loved ones.

As a result, the writers I am talking about became immobilised.

They were terrified of being called gaslighters, drama kings and queens, liars or being told that they were bringing up old secrets that were best left under the dirty carpet.

Sound familiar? I thought you would say yes.

The issue is universal and it does not only relate to writing. It’s a people issue.

As a writing coach though, my job is really only to facilitate a process, to guide and mentor, to edit and teach technical aspects. I would never push anyone to write or share that which they are not ready to do BUT I will (and did) say this:

• It is YOUR story
• You decide how you write the characters
• The ones that have a problem with their characteristics, should have behaved better
• How your truth lands is something out of your control
• But tell your story, YOU MUST

Perhaps my little pep talk has gotten you thinking? Do you have a story you want to write or share? I offer a range of writing and coaching services, which you can see on my website www.leemayimele.com

Remember, this is YOUR story and we all have a story that only we can tell. Truth is magic!

xoxo

Lee

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

Looking for GOD? (A short “Soul Sunday” reflection)

 

Don’t look for me in holy books or so-called holy people.

That’s not where you’ll find ME.

 

Don’t hurriedly hunt me in secret places, special buildings, strings of beads, ancient scripts, in potions or in star alignments.

 

Get quiet!

 

Then,

Look at the fire coloured sun, rising and setting without you having to do a thing;
See the butterfly, the migrating birds pulsing to a vibration of pure precision;

Listen to the waves crashing, a choir singing, the cry of a newborn baby;

Smell the fresh earth after a thunderstorm;

Feel the high of a meditation, the warmth of a touch, the tears that run when the soft smell of a deceased loved one wafts through your home;

Tune in, and you’re getting close.

 

Don’t chase after me in holy water, special foods or men who claim to “know”.

 

NO,

I’m more likely to be in the eyes of your lover, a generous stranger, a homeless man;

I’m more likely to be the laughter of children, the gentle push of a teacher, your gran’s dusty kitchen floor;

I’m more likely to be in the tingle of strawberries, the soft rain playing jazzy tunes on your rooftop;

 

YES,

That’s more my style.

 

For I am GOD, my child,

The creator, narrator, the connector of the dots.

The beginning;

The end;

Foremost an artist! Second to none.

 

All light comes from me, and all light flows through you.

 

AND,

How will you know when you’ve found ME?

Ah, that’s the easy part: You’ll just know!

I designed you that way.

 

© Aluta continua, as they say.  A Heart Full of Stories, 2017

APOLOGY:

It seems there were some gremlins in yesterday’s post, trying to scramble text and give me more grey air. Luckily, we’ve now sorted them out.

 

 

 

Feathers appear when ANGELS are near (A story about a lady cleaning my room)

I was sitting and writing in my hotel room, watching the bluest sea go up and down like digital musical notes while a lady who looked just like my late mother went about her business of cleaning my room.

 

I kept changing my position slightly in order to stare at her, wondering each time if she noticed. I was feeling naughty, bad, sad and weird all at the same time. It’s hard to explain.

 

I finally let up the espionage to take a walk along the beach.  She called back at me “Lady, you dropped something”.  It was a feather which I quickly picked up in a big red blush!

 

It was then that I felt this immense sense of Gratitude.

Gratitude for her presence,

Gratitude for the lesson,

Gratitude for way the dice landed placing me in a position to live the life I do,

Gratitude also for the luxury of being able to travel, write and tell YOU about the things that touch my heart.

 

I dreamed of days like this, I must tell you.

Days of random magic,

heart swells,

ocean air,

pink sunsets,

…and days when the old saying “feathers appear when angels are near” rings beautifully true.

 

I wish YOU days of “magic” too.

 

© Aluta continua, as they say.  A Heart Full of Stories, 2017

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Whilst we don’t know the origin of the pics used, all respect and due credit are hereby given where appropriate. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and A Heart Full of Stories with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. All media rights and copyright for the words reserved.

 

Confession: I’ve been taking drugs (A story about AFFIRMATIONS)

“Thank you”

“I see what you do”

“That can’t be easy”

“You sacrifice so much”

“Please rest”

“I trust you”

“How can I help you?”

“I see your pain”

“Relax”

“No one can replace you”

“I need you”

“What do you need?”

“You matter”

 

Imagine hearing those words daily.

Imagine someone saying them to you every single day.

Imagine how you would feel.

Imagine what you could and would do.

 

Can you even fathom the surge of energy that would flood your veins?

Can you even fathom the motivation?

The adrenaline?

The sudden surge of dopamine, serotonin and all the other hormones that would overflow in your bloodstream?

 

You could?

So can I!

 

And you wanna know something else? It’s top secret. You can administer all those drugs to yourself daily. No prescription required. All you need is a mirror.

 

 

And you know what else?!

The results are fantastic!

 

I speak from experience.
AFFIRMATIONS

Dosage            :          1 phrase daily in the morning on an empty stomach

Side Effects    :           Happiness, Confidence, Motivation

Warning          :          This drug is highly effective, highly addictive

 

Aluta continua as they say.  Let’s work gently to give ourselves the gift of the words we most need to hear.

 

Today is the perfect day to start!

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2017

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.

Traffic Light Lady (A story about running your own race) – To the Trompies “MADIBUSENG” soundtrack

Someone I barely know asked me how I find the energy to chase my dreams with such gusto?  She continued by stating, quite matter of factly, that I seem to be one of those people to whom great opportunities “just come” and the lovely lady ended off by saying that she also noticed that I didn’t really have to “work very hard” to get to the finish line, often beating the ones who “slave away 9 to 5”.  

 

She touched my shoulder and smiled warmly. For impact.

 

I did not respond. I could not.  Words failed me.

 

Now, it doesn’t take a PhD student to understand why this was so problematic that it actually left ME speechless.  I think it may have something to do with the tone.  The tone of the 3 “facts” wrapped up as compliments, when in fact they were not.

 

I went through them in my head again:

1. Accusation 1:  I am the one chasing with gusto (implying that I am workaholic running uphill at high speed). So, a GREEN light sort of person?
2. Accusation 2:  Things just come (implying that I am in neutral, just waiting). So, an ORANGE light kind of person?
3. Accusation 3:  I don’t have to work very hard (implying that I pretty much rely on my fake boobs to bring in the moola). So, a RED light kind of person? – Every pun intended!

 

And, here’s the part where the penny is supposed to drop and I am supposed to deliver some profound sermon, dispelling the accusations and leaving the daft woman looking dafter. But no.  I fancy a different approach….

 

I’ve decided that the next time I see her, I will play the famous Trompies Song “Madibuseng” featuring the late and very great Lebo Mathosa (“Sometimes you red-y, sometimes you green-y, sometimes you orange-y”)  in my head and say:

1. “Good morning, can’t talk, gotta run…to Paris for my croissants and then back to Dubai for a meeting with Oprah and finally back to a TED Talk in Vegas. Gosh, when will I eat?” (The colour GREEN should come to your mind right about now)
2. I will continue “Oh wait! Sorry, I think I will just go back to bed and meditate. You know? We can have anything we want if we just believeeeeeee (and do “ohm” with my hands)” (You feeling organgy yet?)
3. Acting all excited I will then add, “No, no, actually, let me call my butler. I sooooo need a wax (roll eyes), a spray tan, my extensions fixed, eyelashes lifted but first…let me pop this pill. You know? It puts you in a coma so you don’t have to be awake during the process” (at which point I can put a red Smartie in my mouth).

 

Crap man! Who am I kidding?

 

While I do love that Trompies song very much, I won’t have timeeeeeeee to disarm the woman because I will be so busy driving to work on a tank with a flashing orange fuel guage to finish a PowerPoint presentation in order to meet a deadline in order to meet my KPI’s, hoping to get a bonus while touching up my grey hair with mascara and wondering how to turn leftover KFC into Chicken A La King for a family dinner!  You know? I will be busy chasing, working, running, hustling, doubting, fixing, negotiating like the rest of the world…..

 

So, before I let old Chairman of the Peanut Gallery get to me, best I remember that what other people think of us, is actually none of our business.  © A Heart Full of Stories, 2016

 

Aluta continua, as they say. The road to learning to run our own race and let others run theirs is longer for some than others.  I wish you a short one, friends.

 

 

COPYRIGHT: 

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.

 

 

 

KINDNESS POLICE (A story about fickle people)

I’m always surprised when someone I know is funny towards me.

 

I bumped into one such acquaintance recently. I walked away from a brief encounter with her wondering if she actually knew me at all. She certainly made no effort whatsoever to be warm or receptive. She was entirely self-absorbed, in a vain, I’m-very-important kind of way.

 

Now, of course I have had plenty of experience with people like that: the full range from mild to extra hot bitches, from the subtle frenemies to the full-on social food chain hoes. But I walked away from my brief encounter wondering why it still unnerved me. I shouldn’t give a damn, right?

 

Wrong.

 

As I touched up my lipstick in the ladies room, I caught a glimpse of my daughter’s two little ponies in the mirror.

 

I immediately thought about how many times in her life she will have to interact with funny people.

 

And, of course, I wanted to write her a note:

 

My little one,

 

You are enough.

You have always been enough.

You will always be enough.

 

But there are people in this world who will leave you feeling less than that. Sometimes knowingly. Often unwittingly.

 

Be happy anyway.

Shine your light bright anyway. 

Talk lots, laugh lots, be open and receptive. 

Or be quiet.

Oh, be whatever the hell you want to be! 

 

But, do be kind. It’s for YOU.  

 

Love,

Mama

 

Just before heading home, I was standing talking to a warm person. A really humble person. A pretty important person too. She was actually the VIP of the event we were attending.

 

And, of course my old fickle “friend” headed our way, smiling at ME as if to say “ohhhh there you are!” (Ja right!)

 

My daughter needed to wee and for once, I was glad to rush off to her aid.

 

Because even the “kind” girls reach their bullshit ceiling. And I had had enough for one day.

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016

 

P.S. Friends, I am by no means asking you to be spend your days and nights fretting about every person who makes a dent on your rainbow. No, no no!  I am only asking that you be sensitive enough to notice the dent they make. And move on. For you!

 

Aluta continua, as they say.  We’re all on this journey together.

Dancing & Dreaming (A story about the power to create)

Now whooooo is that famous person who said “Some dance to remember. Some dance to forget”?  

 

Oh yes! It’s the famous Hotel California line. But hey, before you get excited, do allow me to express upfront that this is not that kind of story.  It’s sadly not about a wild youth filled with drugs. Wrong storyteller.

 

It’s about:

Dreaming

Dancing

Remembering

and Forgetting.

It was nearly full moon of the Winter Solstice and I was in a full moon kind of mood. So, along I went to a “Sacred Dreaming and Dancing” Ceremony.  I thought it would be an hour long. It turned out to be more than 6 hours. Yes, 6 hours of dancing. Beyond midnight.

 

Now, anyone who knows me knows that I am NOT a beyond-midnight kind of person. Those same people will also tell you about my stamina.  I am a weakling on both fronts.

 

But, I needed to dream. 

And I do have an amazing imagination.  So, I pressed on.  I visualised myself with long grey hair, living in a stone house on top of a beautiful hill where I could see the ocean down below.  The house in the dream was full of light in Summer, full of melancholy in Winter. And, as the seasons changed, so would my soul-inspired writing.  I would be guided by my intuition to write about Gratitude, Grace, Love and Blessings during the 10 month long summer and Sorrow, Loss and Fear during Wintertime.  God knows, I could write about all those things with absolute ease.

 

So I danced. 

I tried some of my sexy belly-dance vibes at first but soon enough eased into something a lot more Kate Middleton. More my zone, actually.

 

And so I started to remember:  

I remembered my power to create. The absolute magic of visualisation.  I remembered my dreams as a child. I remembered every single step I have taken and continue to take towards my dream.

 

At the end of the 6 hours, I was in a bad mood. I was cold. I was tired.  But mostly, I was pissed off.  They had told us we would EAT and then presented us with cold (organic no doubt) paw paw. Paw paw at midnight? That’s the part I wish to FORGET! 

 

Still, I jumped into bed that night happy, satisfied, full of smiles.  But on second thoughts, perhaps it was just the Big Mac from the DriveThru that did that.

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016

 

P.S. Friends, do allow me to wish you well with your own dreaming.  Hold on to the vision.  See it clearly.  But please, do remember that it is never too late to dream a new dream. Change that shit if you change your mind!  Nothing is cast in stone. This is YOUR life. YOUR dreams. YOUR way!

Aluta continua, as they say….

 

Reflections on Mama Karma through 3 generations

 

My daughter is beginning to get embarrassed by me. Not by anything I do/say/wear or how I use my hands to eat. Just ME. The whole package. Even when I am silent and using a knife and fork to eat pizza.

 

There’s a blush beginning to develop. A very faint pink flush but it’s there all right. It’s there and I know it well.

 

From experience.

 

It really brings into focus my relationship with my own mother, who was a non-conformist of note. And while I can be a real people-pleaser, never wanting to cause any waves, she was very much the opposite.  

 

She would embarrass me constantly too. Not by anything she did/said/wore (well sometimes the Converse trainers and expletives were a bit much) or how she smoked with the young girls while her peers drank tea in a circle saying the rosary. No, just by being herself. 

 

And history will judge us both.

 

Me for being me, slightly too teacher’s pet, always wondering how I can change/ tone down/conform.

 

And her for daring to stand out.

 

As for my daughter, the blush still needs to mature to a deep red, I’m afraid. I mean, what’s a childhood if not filled with cringe worthy moments unwittingly created by our parents? That’s karma right?

 

Hopefully by the time my sweet girl becomes an adult, her reflections and experience of the “blush”, will guide her to a place where she too can just BE. You know, just be herself, with the full appreciation that we are all different, all the same….and that’s wonderful.

 

Now shhhh, don’t tell her this BUT if she leans a little more towards the nature of her rebel of a gran, then that means my work is done.

 

That will be karma too. A fate I will gladly accept.

 

 

© 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.