myspokenheart

musings on life, love and laughter from my spoken heart to yours

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Is Your Life Exciting Enough?

myspokenheart:

This. I needed this today :)

Originally posted on T.K. Coleman:

When assessing the value of your daily practices and pursuits, let your own priorities and preferences take precedence over the inclination to evaluate your existence in terms of what others are posting on their social media accounts.

Love your life for what it is and for what you’re capable of making it.

Beware the temptation of resenting your life simply because you’re not included in every instagram photo of a fun party or cool concert.

One of my mother’s earliest lessons to me is apropos here: “there are always exciting stories of exciting people doing exciting things. None of those stories are as exciting as the story of your life purpose. Keep your attention focused on THAT!”

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The no good miserable day… that wasn’t really so bad.

Today has been one bizarre roller-coaster. I woke in a state of overwhelming dread about going into work, and had a horrible sinus headache. Probably the closest I’ve ever had to a migraine. I called in sick and went back to bed… I slept until 10:00. That is a long sleep, I must have been tired. I still had a headache so I took a couple of Advil and had a coffee. I got some stuff done in the quiet.

I looked for work – found nothing overly promising but I actually really looked.

Discovered that the teacher’s strike may be coming to an end! Thank goodness as for one of my girls this is her grade 12 year and she is anxious to get back to school.

I registered my youngest for homeschooling through a fairly new program (Self Design), and then went to set up the new printer as I needed to send copies of her birth certificate and medical card in. I opened the box and ta-da there was stuff missing and the ink cartridges were already in the printer. It was a returned item, and to boot I had thrown away the receipt due to a pen exploding in my purse two days earlier. BUT thankfully my son in law is the one who sold it to me so he printed me a copy of the receipt set another printer aside (the last one in the store) and told me it was ready when I was.

I pulled myself together and headed out the door on a twofold mission. 1) stop by the school and pick up my grade 12 student’s class schedule which was finally available, and 2) exchange my printer. I did 1 with no hiccups. I was heading out to Abbotsford to perform 2 when I felt something hard in my gum. Turns out it was a large hunk of tooth. The tooth that had a root canal done just a few months ago. Awesome!!! OK I won’t panic I’ll deal with that when I get back, I am on a mission, right?

OK so I was half way to the mall and I realized I left the boxed up printer on the floor in the hallway. CRAP! No worries I’ll just turn around, head home and get it. Which is exactly what I did. And from there all went pretty smoothly, with the minor exception of my girls attempting to kill one another this evening, but that is just teenaged sister stuff.

You know what? I realize I could sit and focus on all the shitty stuff that happened, and there was a lot of it. But I’ve decided it’s no big deal. Not really. There was a lot of good in my day too. The new printer works great by the way and I got it for half the price of an ink cartridge for my old one. I got to have a nice drive with my youngest. And I just realized I’m too freaking tired tot let all the bad shit bother me. Life is just way too short.

I guess tomorrow I get to make an appointment with a dentist, I know you’re jealous. ;)

Oh and the icing on my cake, I got a new follower tonite (750 followers! Holy Cow! may I ask why?). This follower is someone I have wanted to check out my blog for a long time now, so it really means a lot to me. It was the best part of my day :)


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Forget Storage… throw that sh*t out!!!

“Yeah but you don’t really forget when you hide it. It’s just…in storage.”

A friend of mine said this to me a few days back and I just can’t seem to shake it. The words dig down so deeply, and resonate with such truth, at least for me they do. I suppose for them to make sense to you, you may need some background information. You see we were talking about past relationships, you know romantic/love relationships. Both of us share sordid pasts, and were discussing how those pasts have affected our relationships. I mentioned that before I had gotten married I had laid all my cards on the table, you know so I could start with a “clean” slate, this is something I am pretty sure I will never do again…

Why would some-one who professes to love you use your own experiences against you to cut so deeply? Why would they take your secrets, deep dark secrets, that you have entrusted them with as a sign of your love and trust for them and use them against you, as a means to control you? As we were discussing this some icky dark words filled with so much hurt, shame and pain came out of the dark recesses of my past… BAM! Like a slap in my face as fresh as the day they were first spewed at me. Once they came forth my heart bled and I cried.

That’s when I confessed that I have taken all the pain, all the hurtful abusive words and experiences wrapped them up and hidden them from view. Pushed it all aside in an attempt to forget about it. I am not really sure who I am trying to protect by hiding it, myself – my pride, my kids, possibly even my ex. And there came her words of wisdom…

“Yeah but you don’t really forget when you hide it. It’s just…in storage.”

In storage… I had to think about that. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was true. The funny thing about burying the past, you pretend it’s been dealt with, but it hasn’t been. Putting it in storage is a way of keeping it, but not necessarily using it. It’s been packed away, never really forgotten, certainly not let go of. But in order to truly move it on it has to be thrown away. Putting it in storage is like saving it just in case you may need it one day. You know that box of keepsakes that is kept in the closet, never opened, but never forgotten, and for some reason we just can’t seem to part with the stuff in the box. But why would I choose to keep painful, heartbreaking, bitter memories that crush my spirit? Perhaps deep down I believe it? Perhaps I feel I have to own it to protect myself from going there again? I am not really sure but I am exploring and trying to understand.

It’s amazing how we can convince ourselves we have dealt with something when in reality we just stored it to be dealt with some other day.

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