Shine your WEIRDO LIGHT bright (A short Soul-Sunday reflection on being YOU)

My HEART had a massage this week.

 

Someone described me by saying “She gets PEOPLE fatigue” (describing my way of engaging fully socially and then clandestinely retreating back to my own space and pace).

 

Game changer. Bloody damn GAME CHANGER!

 

It’s one thing to know something about ourselves. It’s another to know that someone else GETS it!

 

I mean, isn’t that what we all want? A gentle voice mirroring back to us those beautiful words “it’s okay”.

 

Okay to be weird

Okay to different

Okay to go at a pace that isn’t exactly textbook, but a pace that feels right just for us?

 

I must tell you, it’s just lovely.

Just so lovely when one heart bows to another in a simple Namaste-style salute that says “You’re weird. But, gosh, so are all of us!”

 

 

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

Free Upgrade (A story about ceasing opportunity)

The man sitting next to me on the plane threw apple juice into his wine. A good wine. I could have cried.

 

Then he rubbed a strong menthol ointment on his eyelids. Tears were imminent.

 

We were seated together in the emergency exit and as the stewardess was showing us how to help other people in an emergency, the smell from the Vicks Vapour Rub stuff began to burn MY eyes. That shit was strong and I am certain that the manufacturers did not intend that it be used in that way.

 

Next thing, I am being upgraded to a lovely seat in the front of business class.

 

That’s when the “tears” really started to gush! My “fear” was apparently palpable and they were glad I was “feeling better” by the time we landed. I accepted their apology.

 

I waved Mr AJBE (Apple Juice Burny Eyes) well. He had no idea just how grateful I was to have met him. 

 

And, just like that I learnt another important LIFE LESSON:

THINGS TURN OUT BEST FOR THOSE WHO MAKE THE BEST OF THE WAY THINGS TURN OUT. 

 

Aluta continua, as they say.  I urge you to look for those magical opportunities to carpe those damn diems too!

 

© 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.

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.

Wrong Place Right Time

I believe in being well prepared.

So, I arrived early for two reasons. One, I wanted the time to gather my thoughts and jot down some ideas before I lost them. Two, I needed to do my makeup ahead of my presentation.

So, you can imagine how annoyed I was when I arrived at my office 2 hours ahead of the meeting and there was someone waiting outside the door!

I sat in my car and watched him trying the buzzer. I just sat there shaking my head. Two hours early? Who does that? 

I took out my calendar and checked the invite again. I did not have the time wrong. The fool was two hours early.

I waited.

I thought that perhaps HE had gotten the time wrong and if that was the case, surely he would phone me.

So, I waited.

Now I know that a normal person would have walked 100m and talked to the person. But, I have never been a fan of “normal”. The other reason I could not even think of getting out of my car is because I looked (and smelled) homeless.

I was wearing slippers for driving, my hair was wet, I had no makeup on and I had been eating a slice of toast with anchovy paste. If he didn’t die from the shock of seeing someone from Thriller, the smell from my hands would surely have stopped his stupid heart.

So I waited.

He walked away from the door and went to the bathroom. I thought of making a quick dash out of the car but could not take the risk.

So I waited.

One hour later, after my hair had dried, my makeup had set, my slippers were in the boot and my breath was fresh (thanks to some baby-bum wipes and some Listerine which you don’t need to know where I spat), the long waiting game was over.

I walked up to the door and said “Wow, you are early!”

He replied “No, actually I think you are late, but it’s okay. I understand”.

We laughed and I walked ahead of him into the board room.

I said “Please make yourself comfortable”.

He replied “I will try. I am very nervous”.

Nervous? This dude was weirder and weirder. Why would you be nervous about attending a pitch when YOU were not the one doing the presentation?

I gave weirdo his coffee and he said “Will you be the only one interviewing me?”

I thought of replying “No, I think the CEO of the Mental Health Association will be joining me”.

He took out a copy of his CV and gave it to me. Weirdness should come with a forehead tattoo, I thought.

I looked down at the CV. It had a cover note that said “Block D”.

The dude was now 1.5 hours LATE for his dream job and sitting in a board room in Block B.

My heart broke for him.

So, I did what any “normal” person would do.  I asked our secretary to deal with the situation.

© 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 Weird Old Lady with One Globe

She was 8 years old.

She checked her first pocket.  The grocery list was still there.  She checked her other pocket. The money was still there.  Then, she grabbed a trolley and set off.

She was beautiful!  Thick glasses, neatly plaited gold hair.

She bought lots of strange things. Well, they were strange to me.  A big apple tart, 7 avocados, dark chocolate, 2 bottles of mushroom sauce, a Cosmo and frozen berries.

I followed her around the store.  I know!  Creepy, right?  But look, I had shopping to do too.

We got to the till to pay.

She went first.

Until then, she seemed so in control!  I was thinking “surely, this child is our future president!”

She battled to unload the groceries from her trolley.  Some of the things were quite heavy.

The teller was going fast.

The pressure to get the stupid things on to the conveyor belt was mounting.

She was beginning to hurry.

And, she was beginning to make mistakes.

There was a woman between her and I. Some rude tart that squeezed in while I looked away for a minute.  She was getting agitated.

The 8 year old said “I forgot something!  I’ll be back” and ran back into the shop.  She came back 3 seconds later with a toothbrush.  The teller was calm and patient.

Then, just as the girl relaxed again, she realised something else.  She had to pack her own groceries.  Fast!  So, she rushed to the front of the counter and started packing her heart out!  Faster and faster!  She got halfway when she realised something else.  She only had one of her shopping bags.  She had lost the other. 

So, back she went into the store to look for it.  She came back 3 seconds later.  She could not find her bag.  So, she made a decision.  She packed everything into one bag.

She was nearly over the finish line.

She paid for her shopping.

Then, she walked to the door.

The bag was about to break. It was getting dark.  I watched her trying to make a decision.

So, I walked up to her and said “Go find your lost bag. I will wait with your shopping”

She had to make another decision.

And she did. She chose to trust me. 

She ran back into the store and returned 3 seconds later.  She found her lost bag!

She bent down, packed half her stuff into the second bag and had the biggest smile on her face.

Mission accomplished!

It was dark when we left the store.  My heart was breaking for her.  8 years old?  All that stress?  Poor little thing!  I was projecting all MY feelings on to her. She was fine!  Absolutely fine.

That’s when I had to make a decision. 

Don't do it

I wanted to run up to her and tell her that she was brave, amazing, wise beyond her years. I also wanted to tell her that she should watch out for bad guys and that her parents should really NOT be putting all that pressure on an 8 year old.  I wanted her to know that she impressed me so much and that my heart would always remember her.  I wanted to thank her for that beautiful story that I watched unfolding. 

But, I decided.  I knew that she would probably feel scared and freak out and tell her mom about some crazy woman in Adidas sweats with one globe in her hand after “shopping” for 20 minutes!

So, I decided to let her go.