Category Archives: Ponderings

Note To Self

What would you say to your past self?

I don’t know my answer.  Perhaps, I would say “Be more confident” or “Live in the present moment – not the future.”

For as much as the question is posed, people fail to flip it around.

What would you say to your future self?

For me, it’s simple.  I wouldn’t ask for any knowledge.  I don’t want to know how my life turned out or who I ended up marrying or how many children I possibly have.  Instead, I would say the following:

“You’ve finally made it!  I’m so proud of who you’ve become.  Look at all that you’ve accomplished.  Don’t worry about me because I’m still finding my way.  Have fun!  No regrets.  Be proud of who you are.”

Although I don’t know the future, I have faith in myself.

One thing I sometimes struggle with is looking back and realizing how much I had to deal with.  It hurts as though it were still in occurrence.

What is the purpose of feeling pain for a tragedy that has already occurred?  We do it every day, but why?  In remembrance – in honor of those who have passed.  But other than that, why rehash all the pain?

I remember things and view myself as another person – a child.  I have to remind myself that it was actually me.  That I felt these things.  It’s much easier to sympathize with this “child figure.”

Is there a benefit of pain other than growth and healing?  I doubt it.  Too often it welds bitterness into one’s soul.

And yet I wonder…

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Flat Tire

The other day I stopped at the car shop to get my car fixed – something minor.  The owner and his wife were there.

“So I hear you’re moving home,” the owner said.  It was more of a question than a statement.

“I am,” I replied and assumed he would leave it at that.  Instead, he stood and stared, knowing there was more to the story.  The room was quiet with anticipation.

It wasn’t like I was hiding anything.  I told them about my anxiety, how the tension in my muscles would lead to throwing up and lack of eating.

Instantly the atmosphere changed.  His wife put her hands over her mouth and made soft gasps at my explanation.  I learned she also suffered from anxiety – an awful fate for anyone.

We sympathized with one another.  Within minutes my car was fixed, and I made my journey to my old apartment to pack.  Who would have known that I would break down on the way there. . .

I was alone in my vehicle on the highway, halfway to my destination when suddenly the car started making sounds.  I pulled over to check everything, but nothing seemed to be out of order.  Nonetheless, I couldn’t move the car at all without a terrifying bumping in the tires.  Thank God I was right at an exit.

I slowly edged my car up the ramp and to the gas station at the corner.  I had been on this exit before – a nice little country town.

Turned out I had a flat tire.  Who would have known?  And I’m not just talking about a little hole in a tire, I mean that thing was slashed.  I have no idea how that happened.

But once again, God pulled through.  Two nice gentleman offered to change the tire for me and put on the spare.  Their names were Ron and Don.  They were so nice and didn’t ask for anything in return.  They just wanted to help.

Within an hour or so I was back at the car shop, showing my bad tire to the owner.

“Oh, you poor thing,” his wife said.  “No wonder you have anxiety.”

Why share this story?  I wanted to show how bad this situation could have been.  A young defenseless girl alone on a highway with a flat she doesn’t know how to fix.  Just happens to be near a familiar town; just happens to find nice people to help her.  Doesn’t feel threatened or scared.  Doesn’t experience a panic attack.  All is well in the end.

I want to thank God for taking care of me.  He always takes care of me.  So much could have been different about this day, but I’m safe.

What the wife said really made me think.  “No wonder you have anxiety.”  I don’t choose to have anxiety, but it has really humbled me in so many areas.  I’m thankful for the little things that I never affected me before.  I’m thankful for kind people.  I’m thankful for the days I live without panic.  I’m thankful for my safety.  I’m thankful for life.

Whose Lives REALLY MATTER?

“The girl with the brown skin. . .”

That’s how I described my third-grade best friend to my mom – before I knew about racism, before I knew about slavery.  To me it was as simple as describing someone’s hair color.  I loved my best friend, and I didn’t see her any different from myself.  We played together every day at recess, and I even shared with her the secret of my crush from second grade. Continue reading Whose Lives REALLY MATTER?