Upon reflection

Yesterday’s blog post made me think about the pandemic, and the last sixteen-and-a-halfish months (but who’s counting?). Then I came across a quote this morning, that also made me think: “Forget the mistake. Remember the lesson.”

And it made me realize that out of the catastrophe that was 2020, there are some really valuable lessons we can take with us into whatever comes next; and that I hope we — myself included — do learn them, hang on to them, remember them and live our lives going forward accordingly.

I have had countless conversations this past year — with friends, clients, former colleagues, family, Facebook friends, virtual strangers while I was getting my COVID-19 vaccines and probably a few others I’m forgetting. I don’t think I’ve ever talked so much — or listened to so many other people who also had a lot on their minds — in my life before. Which, in itself tells you something — which is a topic for another day.

Return engagement anyone?

Years ago, in Montreal, I went to an astrologer who told me I was an old soul, that this wasn’t my first life. Although I’m certainly no expert — not even close — and can’t even say I’ve done a lot of reading, or thinking, about reincarnation, it does interest me.

As a subject it came up many times when I was in India — especially in Varanasi — the spiritual capital of India.

It was there I learned that in Buddhism, Hinduism and Jainism,

Will the real (name) please stand up?

Who do you see when you look in the mirror?  No, I’m not trying to be a smart ass; and it’s not a trick question.  I’m being serious.  Because it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s your own true self you’re staring at.  In my experience, at one time or another, we’ve all created a persona we’ve sent out there into the world.

Sometimes it’s who, or what, others — like our parents or spouses or teachers — want us to be.  How many young men and women have become doctors or lawyers or firefighters or teachers or have gotten married or had children in an effort to please their folks — only to end up miserable because they wanted to do something else with their lives?

Sometimes it’s us.  We wish we were like a character we enjoyed in a book or a film.  Or more like a friend or colleague.  Someone we think is more interesting or more intelligent or more successful or more admired or more charming or more memorable.  Someone who seems to have a more exciting, more fulfilling life.  Someone who’s braver than we are.  More daring.  More adventurous.  Naughtier.  Funnier.  More

A reflective state of mind …

I seem to be doing a lot of thinking lately.  Pondering.  Soul-searching.  Reviewing.  Evaluating.  Looking back.  Reflecting.  Not entirely sure why, to be honest.  Maybe it’s in preparation for a change.  I wouldn’t mind.  I like change.  I crave change.

Life would be awfully boring if we just stayed the same, don’t you think?  Frankly, I’m probably due for a biggie.  I think it’s been in the works for a while, you know.  I’ve had that ‘unsettled’ feeling.  In a good way, not a bad way.  Not scary at all.  Sort of like when you know you’re going to sneeze.  It starts suddenly, with a little tickle.  It builds, and builds until it becomes strong.  Uncontrollable.

And then, ready or not, here it comes!  And what a relief it is.

Exciting, actually.  Changes and transitions, not sneezing.

So if anything, I’m impatient for it.

But ‘change’ isn’t what I want to talk about. Regrets are what’s on my mind at the moment.  It’s only natural

Day 125. Opening Up

Little did I know, when I first started this blog, what it would come to mean to me.  What it would do for me.  How it would help me, as a writer.  But while I was having my morning coffee a couple of days ago, I had an epiphany.  I’ll tell you about it in a minute.  First, a quick story.

I’m writing a book.  It’s about my mother, at a time when her health was declining; and she needed my help.  About a year ago I was having lunch with a fellow writer.  One thing led to another.  I won’t bore you with all the details, but she highly recommended her editor.

At the time I was at the half way point. It was a draft, not yet polished.  Still, the editor suggested I send her twenty-five pages.  When she got back to me, she insisted I wasn’t being honest.  “Where’s the resentment?” she asked.  “Don’t tell me you weren’t angry with your mother”. Truth is, I wasn’t.

If she’d asked for more pages she would have found out what had upset me.  There were feelings I shared.  Just not the ones she wanted me to feel.  Turned out she hated her mother; and projected her own feelings on to me.  Clearly we weren’t a good fit.

Since then I’ve done more work on my book.  A few months ago I had a breakthrough.  Important enough to stop writing and