I step inside
And to my surprise
It is spacious here
To shed a tear.
It’s my place to romp
Stand tall and stomp
Or laugh out loud
Sing real proud
I find lots of room
To grab my broom
Sweep away
What should not stay.
And when I dare
Not to share
I can spread my mood
And start to brood.
Without the need
To explain you see
This is my place
To take up space.
What do I owe this pleasure?
To see you
Right here
Again.
I walk now alongside you, admiring your stride,
Your determined gait pushing into your future.
I’d tell you now, as I wished you’d heard then -
Slow down,
You are safe
Always.
I marvel, through shared eyes, together in step,
Divided decades that divinely collide.
Regret of lost youth, disappeared -
Beside you
In this moment
Of time.
Swept forward, transported back, and opened within,
Surprised, yet not by this elusive encounter.
In stride with your untethered stress -
I reach out
Grab your hand
Your heart.
I awe at your determined pace and the awakening ahead,
Where time splits open, forcing the present into full view.
Do you notice your bright light?
Steadfast forged radiance, wavering only slightly
In the brisk wind of chance and uncertainty.
I whisper into your kindred spirit -
We are still
Becoming
Me.
The din of constant otherness, sameness moves
Forward.
While I stand, forced idle
Show me regret and obligation
Mired in mistimed expectations.
Repetitive, monotone warnings bellow from
Above.
Scold me from your shallow box
Hold me to shouldered debris
Discarded parts of wholes remain.
Wait. Wait.
Directionless paths, would’a and could’a
Behind.
Habits carved in your pavement
Point me wayward and away
Refused signs to reconsider.
Buttons pressed, allured sense of control
Below.
Against my nature and notion of place
Hold me on curbed constraint
Mistrusted stand of stillness.
Wait. Wait.
Lanes marked neatly, cornered with lines
Across.
Defy your colored cautions
Urge me to move diagonal
Rather than transverse you twice.
Traffic timed, moving in all directions
Around.
Unease risen from impatience
Catch me between here and there
Considered if life passed by.
Wait. Wait.
I step inside
And to my surprise
It is spacious here
To shed a tear.
It's my place to romp
Stand tall and stomp
Or laugh out loud
Sing real proud
I find lots of room
To grab my broom
Sweep away
What should not stay.
And when I dare
Not to share
I can spread my mood
And start to brood.
Without the need
To explain you see
This is my place
To take up space.
How long has this booger been on my nose? That’s the question I asked myself as I peered into the bathroom mirror at work.
Now mind you, it wasn’t a big booger – rather a small flake. But a form of a booger nonetheless. I was mortified. I hate when things like that happen to me. It ranks right up there with the hem of my skirt tucked into the back of my hose, my eye makeup blown out of whack, bad breath on a bad day or black pepper stuck in my big front teeth.
Let me clarify one thing. I wasn’t picking my nose at work. I only do that in the privacy of my own home … or car. If my memory serves me correctly, it was merely an itch that needed scratching. That was about 9:30 in the morning. Ugh! Now, it was nearly time for lunch.
Still standing in front of the mirror, two questions stared back at me. Who did I see this morning? And why in the world did they not tell me?
I only share this humiliating story with you as a call to action! Let’s all agree – right here, right now – to exercise a little courtesy in times of need.
Do we just hope the situation will take care of itself? Is it really possible to ignore the glaring goof-up?
The more we pretend nothing is wrong, the more focused we get. It’s hard to concentrate on a conversation when all you can think about is that piece of food hanging on the chin of your dining companion … or a small booger sitting delicately outside your colleague’s left nostril.
At best, we try a little non-verbal communication. Instead of opening our mouths, we simply add a few extra twists or ticks to our own behavior as we telepathically communicate with the innocent victim. With our minds completely engaged, we send out silent messages. Please wipe your face. Please scrape that booger off your nose.
Well, I am here to say that my colleagues’ telepathic talents are terrible! I didn’t hear anything. Not a single vibe came my way. I am sure I got a lot of sympathy along my merry way that morning. But I sure as hell didn’t get any help.
My present horror must be some form of cosmic punishment.
Last month, a total stranger bailed me out of another potentially embarrassing situation as I stood in line for coffee. Yes, apparently, I have those often. And on this occasion, I admired this stranger’s direct and genuine approach, devoid of any suggested non-verbal hints. I respected her effortless form.
With a simple touch of my hand and a smile, she quickly and quietly whispered, “Miss, your skirt is not zipped up all the way.”
With a simple touch of my hand and a smile, she quickly and quietly whispered, “Miss, your skirt is not zipped up all the way.”
Hey, it was six o’clock in the morning and I was frantically trying to get to an important breakfast meeting. Suffice it to say, I was very grateful.
At that moment, I promised to replicate her charm and reciprocate the favor. A vow I proceeded to break two days later.
I was at a department store knee-deep in shoes, trudging through final reduction bargains and calculating how many two-for-one pairs I could carry to the counter. And there stood my test. The woman across from me at the sale rack, beautifully dressed, had apparently worked up such an effort that her front button on her blouse had come undone.
But did I say anything? No. Did I help fellow size 7 shoe fanatic? Sadly, no.
Oh, I intend to – really I did. I wasn’t trying to avoid the situation. I was just waiting for the right time to say the right thing.
Pause. Think. Pause again. Then the moment of redemption escaped.
She left, where she – and her bra – could face an untold number of embarrassing moments.
It’s easy to tell close friends or family about stubborn spinach or smudged lipstick. I know my sister would certainly pipe up, no matter who else was nearby, and tell me to wipe that booger off my nose. She’s swift, a little loud, but gets the job done. Where is she when I need her most?
Yet among the unfamiliar and unidentified, we clam up when it really counts. We shy away from speaking up. Put yourself in their shoes (something I apparently need to work on) and say something. After all, those are the moments of greatest need, when we are trying our best to impress.
So all together, let’s agree to exercise some initiative by exercising our mouths. Open you wide and say, “Ah.” Then punctuate with politeness, “Oh, you have something on your nose.” It’s that simple.
Of course, if you fail, you can always start sending out a few good vibes.
Mouth wide open
Noise coming out
Constant chatter
What does it matter?
Phrases, commands
Some boastful braggs
But not one word
Sincere I’ve heard
The seats are filled
This stage to show
He knows it all
The rest of us small.
Bla bla bla
La la la
Heard it all before
Wake me if I snore.
Oh but wait
He takes a pause
Maybe there's hope
He's about to choke.
Takes a gulf of air
Clears his throat
Not I was wrong
He continues his song.
Ego's in charge
Do not disturb
Just nod awhile
Remember to smile!
I remember it vividly.
I was attending an energized women’s leadership conference in Atlanta, and had just finished listening to an engaging keynote luncheon speaker. As I joined the audience in a standing ovation, the event facilitator named Anne stepped up to the podium, wearing a gorgeous pink tailored suit and fantastic flowered heels, with flawless hair and makeup. She made her gracious thank you’s to the guest speaker and reminded us of the packed afternoon schedule. Then, sent us off on a quick 15-minute break with the polite invitation, “As us proper southern ladies say, go tend to yourself!”
I was also entertained by her southern character and charm, though not altogether sure whether it was her true nature or just an act perfected over the years. So, when she made that simple suggestion, I laughed with the others and followed the pilgrimage to the ladies room.
It seemed reasonable and doable in the time allotted. I would stay focused. Stand efficiently in line, pay attention to the door that opens first, whip in as quickly as possible, then whip out to wash and dry the hands, glancing up at the mirror for a 5 second flick of the lip gloss and check for stray hair hanging on my shoulder or chest. Good to go – on to the next session.
Yet on this occasion, my routine was disrupted just long enough to reflect an honest view of my life in a profound way.
It started out innocently enough. While I was waiting in line, I thought about how clever Ann’s phrase was and smiled again.“Go tend to yourself.”
Briefly distracted; my turn was up, a door opened and duty called. Ah, a brief sigh of relief as I realized just how long I’d been ignoring my bladder. Enough time to replay her advice.
“Go tend to yourself.”
Maybe I had nothing better to do as I faced a non-descript wall of steel, or maybe because the habitual multi-tasker that I am couldn’t stand to sit and disengage my mind for one nanosecond.
Something about the phrase nagged at me. Like when you desperately know you should remember something, but can’t quite remember what you’re
supposed to remember, so it sits there buzzing around your sphere of my awareness until the subconscious pops it back into your consciousness in the nick of time.
All that was swirling around me as I exited the stall. The bright and always unflattering fluorescent lights at the sink woke me up from my daze. I was immediately brought back to task. Wash, rinse, dry – then reapply lip gloss.
My feet were half turned toward the exit with my mind locked on the afternoon session … yet something forced me to pause.
In an inexplicable instant, I looked up at the mirror and into the mirror. I caught my own eyes looking back at me. Not my eyes that see the flaws in my face, judge my untamed hair, admonish my faults, or swear at new pimples you thought were long gone after puberty.
It was the eyes within me begging to be seen – desperate to meet me again after years of neglect. These eyes were my inner lens of intuition, trust, and appreciation.
For a split second, those reflective eyes grabbed my own that appeared in the mirror and said quietly “I am still here.”
This sliver of time defied all movement, thought or distraction – revealing in an instant – a deeply ignored question. “Do you still see me?”
I walked slowly out of the bathroom, not quite sure what I just experienced. Was it real? Did I imagine this brief encounter? Was lunch lingering too long?
The answer was swift, clear, and gut wrenching. A realization that I had not “tended” to myself in a very long time.
“Go tend to yourself.”
I was forced to admit my gaze in the mirror has been slightly off for some time. I had been avoiding the gentle knowingness graciously staring back at me.
It was time to tend to my needs, my dreams, and my emotions rather than everyone else’s.
Yes, indeed. It’s time … to tend to myself.
Oh I am so excited, look what I found!
It’s a perfect gift with no wrappings abound.
I was told of special magic hidden behind this mirror
That allows life’s picture to become a bit clearer.
Follow instructions carefully, don’t miss a thing.
If you fail at this task you will cry not sing.
Grab the handle with one hand, hold the mirror upright.
When you see your own face, behold the great sight!
No turning away, not in disgust.
There is nothing wrong with a little self lust.
When you admit without doubt that you like what you see
You will attract others, they will join in with glee!
For it does not stop there, make no objection.
All of your surroundings will share this reflection.
How wonderful the scene if all this is true.
I believe in this magic but do you?
Tie them
Fly them
Watch them wave.
Wiggle
Giggle
Stop and stare.
Up they go
Around they go
Dance and swing.
Catch the air
Chase the air
I'm on a string.
I reach up tugging on a cord
Tension pitch with the sharp creak
My heart pulled slightly open
Do you hear it?
Feel it too?
I step up and through, piercing the dust
Braving the dinge punctuated
Thick air of disappointment
A shard of light crosses the floor
Casting sharply through a small square
That brings itself to greet me
Might that be grace?
Could that be you?
Stale with boxed-up memories
Some treasured, some traumatic
I’ve come to nurture its neglect
To say hello with weathered hands
Offer some compassion through older eyes
A wave of forgiveness on silvered hair
Are you surprised?
Ashamed or shy?
I know you loved me, I know you cared
Despite not able to care for me
Or even yourself
Sitting in crouched consideration
Of your boyhood filled with lack, absence
To the Navy, a degree and favored middle class
Was it bended weakness?
Or an unbreakable past?
On a Father’s Day I was asked
What gratitude was held for you
I came up with five things
Creating a tattered rope I cling to
When hurt crepts in
Your goodness to hang onto
Are you at peace now?
Free from ravaged addition?
Tender hope I send you
As I turn back to life below
Lifting the closure sealed
Until next time I am open
To embrace our paths again
Know all is well and full of wonder
A hundred pairs of shoes are never enough. One pair is always missing. The ultimate dream: a shoe shop with a restaurant
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