Finding Wisdom, Courage and Grace on the road less traveled.
Espresso martinis, veggie burgers, caviar and champagne, in leather diner booths and gold trim tables. The strangest shi-shi, somewhat-Russian, tacky turn, over-priced dining experience ever. Well worth the shock and confusion factor on a cold Friday night.
PS: His baby pink pastel sweater matched perfectly with the pink placemats, pink waiter outfits, pink menus. And then there were the turquoise green leather seats…
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I’ve said before that during times of great pain or great joy, I struggle to find words to write. Extreme emotions just can’t be captured in words. After weeks of roller coaster ups and downs, I’ve finally found a voice again.
In mid October, during a bowling party with work colleagues, my Mom suffered a series of very small strokes. She was rushed to hospital and within days, we found out that she had a tumor in the left atrium of her heart. An atrial myxoma is a congenital tumor that usually goes undetected for decades until a major stroke occurs. We were lucky that her stroke symptoms were minor. For someone so fit, so young, so full of life, the news of a heart tumor came on us like a bomb. We were shocked, devastated, scared, helpless. The world felt like it had changed.
There are moments in time that are etched in memory forever. The kind of moments that people talk about for years. Where were you when the Twin Towers fell? When Barrack Obama was sworn into office? When Canada won hockey gold? This was one of those moments.
Friday, October 8th, 2010. It felt like the world was imploding, the axis of my entire universe was on the brink of total collapse. Like a train wreck about to happen, it’s the kind of fear that you don’t dare stare in the face. It’s there, it’s all encompassing and it has the power to destroy you. Most of the last month was spent trying not to look at the train wreck, trying to hold on to any semblance of sanity and normalcy that I could.
Within days of her diagnosis, Mom was scheduled to undergo open heart surgery. Open breastbone. Heart-lung machine. Risks. Recovery. Prayers. Oh. My. Gosh. Is. This. Really. Happening. I couldn’t believe it. My mom, the energizer bunny, superwoman, friend and sunshine of our lives, suddenly left helpless and vulnerable because of a heart too big. The most loving woman I know with a dangerous condition of a heart too big. It was humorous, heartbreaking, ironic. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I did both. I did whatever it took to survive those weeks of total uncertainty. Mostly, I prayed and project-managed a house in survival mode.
Though I had dealt with tragedies before, none ever came so close to home. You just never think anything bad could ever happen to you or your loved ones. And when it does, the perspective that everyone talks about, the kind that makes you see life in a completely different way, slaps you in the face like cold water. Wake up call.
Each day is precious. Each moment a gift. The things that seem to matter so much like work, errands, and being right, all of a sudden don’t anymore. Nothing seems to matter in that moment of clarity. Nothing. Nothing, except Love. Pure, simple, all encompassing love.
The love found in the overwhelming fear of possibly losing someone. The love in a strained smile given to mask the pain. The love in patience and understanding when nothing seems to go right. The love in phone calls made to people across the globe, a call for prayer and hope and support. The love in tears.
If love were water, we were drowning in it.
Love gives us wings, but it also has the power to destroy us. So you’re forced to choose between the two. And the only choice is to fly. You rise above the fear and you choose faith. You rise above all the petty things and choose to invest in the things that matter. You believe, you declare, you let go and you let God. You choose to fly with powers beyond your understanding. You choose the healing powers of love. You surrender to it.
It’s been a few weeks since Mom was discharged from hospital. I’m thankful to say that she’s home and recovering well. I still struggle to come to terms with the ups and downs of the last month. Sometimes I feel numb to the whole experience. So much learned, so much to be grateful for. Hopefully in the next few weeks, the words will come easier and I’ll be able to tell a fuller story of the amazing journey that we’ve gone through. Until then, I’m thankful that we’re in a place now where I can write to tell the tale. Where I can write of my gratitude to God and the universe for giving Mom her second life here in earth.
Hug your Mom today. Hug everyone you love. Today is all we have.
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Sometimes, there are moments I wish I could take back and do-over. Press life’s Rewind button.
Today, we went to the hospital to get the Boy’s stitches removed (he had minor surgery a few weeks ago and was in for a routine screen). I hate hospitals. Especially urgent care (emergency) rooms. They are creepy. A symbol of pain, heartbreak, stress. I’m one of those people who can walk into a room and instantly feel the emotion of the place. Emergency rooms are not zen, no matter how nicely they’re decorated or how many fun magazines there are on the tables. They make me instantly anxious, so much so that I feel nauseous.
There was a lady in front of us at check-in who was being helped out of a wheelchair. She must have been in her mid thirties and clearly in a lot of pain. Tears rolling down her eyes, she shuffled slowly into a room out of sight. My imagination started running wild with possibilities. What could have happened to her? Why is she here alone? Did someone hurt her? A few minutes later, she was asked to sit in the waiting room across from me (the Boy had gone in to see someone at this point and it was just me and her, with the TV blasting in the background). She looked away, ensuring I wouldn’t see her face and she sat there hunched over, clutching her stomach. I could hear her sobbing.
So much of me wanted to reach out to her and ask what was wrong. I was in agony for her. I could feel her pain from across the bright, lifeless room and I wanted so badly to touch her and give her whatever comfort I could provide. But another part of me feared getting too close. I feared that I was intruding on her privacy, I feared the possibility of being exposed to a world and life much less innocent and different from my own, I feared her pain. My heart was breaking. For her. And because I was so disappointed in myself for my own cowardice.
A few moments later, a nurse came by to give her some medicine and the Boy came out with a happy smile on his face. We could go now. Everything was fine.
Except that it was not.
The moment had passed.
Compassion and love could have been exchanged in that moment, in a time and place when they were needed most, but now the chance will be lost forever. It’s been a few hours now and I am still feeling ill from the experience. Terrible. I couldn’t find the courage to risk my own fears so that I could relieve the pain of another.
I hope the next time, I will be different. =(
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If you haven’t already read Umair Haque’s The Betterness Manifesto, I would suggest you take a quick look. I bookmarked it weeks ago but have read it over and over again since, and after each pass-through, something new moves me. There are powerful messages here.
Work. You’re worth something. Stop giving your talent away to organizations that misallocate it, underutilize it, and possibly even abuse it. If you’re doing something meaningless, quit… Find a company that’s better. Better yet, start one.
Live. If you’re living somewhere meaningless, move… Move somewhere where there’s a local community made up of passionate, talented people, a community you can nurture and that nurtures you. It just might be good for your soul.
Civilize. Join civic society. Become a volunteer. Mentor someone. Get involved with a local non-profit. Do something that has, in the parlance of economists, positive externalities: an activity that benefits others more than it benefits you. The basis of civilization is not naked self-interest, it’s shared interest.
Reflect. Take time out, no matter what. Pick a favorite place, a café, a restaurant, park or avenue. Hang out and reflect. What would betterness mean in your life? How are you helping betterness happen? How could you help betterness happen?
Betterness doesn’t just happen. It starts with a spark, with effort, with a daily conscious choice to give, to think positive, to live with openness. Here are my personal additions, less macro, more personal, and do-able on a daily basis.
Think Small. A random text message. A phone call hello. A pause to hold the door open for a stranger. Small things can make a big difference in someone’s day. My favourite memories with important people in my life don’t consist of grandiose trips or gifts. I hold dear the daily rituals, the nicknames, the inside jokes, the random acts of love and affection that happen a dozen times a day. They hold the weight of the world.
Act counter-intuitive. Choose love. We are all ruled by the ego (whose need is to be recognized, to feel bigger, stronger and better than others). When you are inclined to withdraw, to hoard, to protect yourself from others – pause. Think counter-intuitive. Be open, be generous, act with humility. Our first instincts aren’t always of love. Choose love.
Give. Of your time, your patience, your prayers. When I am in need, when I’m stressed, when I’m down, I make it a point to let go of my own qualms for a while and reach out to others. It’s not a natural thing to do but I try hard to turn my own Need into Generosity and somehow, at the end of the day, I go to bed with an incredible feeling of abundance.
Pray. To God, to the universe, to the cosmos. Be expectant. Ask. Receive it in your mind and heart now and watch it all unfold. Know that thinking well for yourself (and others) manifests real-world results. The universe is listening.
Touch. Kiss often. Hug. Connect with another human being at the most basic level. It is in our instinct to touch, but along the way we learned instead to be modest, to protect, to shy away. Touch is healing, reduces pain, contributes to positive attachment relationships (especially between mother and baby) and decreases physical and psychological pain. It’s free, it’s basic and has become so rare in western society these days that it makes me wonder how many number of ailments we can cure by fostering a culture of affection. Greet someone with a hug today. Kiss your mom.
Gratitude. Practice it, keep it top of mind, be thankful. Count your blessings. Live with a perspective of abundance and never will you feel poor, no matter the amount in your bank account. When we spent the Christmas holidays in the Philippines with family, this attitude of abundance present in the lives of my poor relatives knocked me off my feet. With so very little in terms of material resources, they manage to be the most joyful, generous, loving people I know.
Living better daily starts a little at a time but maybe, just maybe, it can make a bigger difference than we can imagine.
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… about What Matters Most (from The Purpose Driven Life)
Learning to love unselfishly is not an easy task. It runs counter to our self-centered nature. That’s why we’re given a lifetime to learn it. Relationships, not achievements or the acquisition of things, are what matters most in life. Love leaves a legacy. How you treated other people, not your wealth or accomplishments, is the most enduring impact you can leave on earth.
I have been at the bedside of many people in their final moments, when they stand on the edge of eternity, and I have never heard anyone say, “Bring me my diplomas! I want to look at them one more time. Show me my awards, my medals, that gold watch I was given.” When life on earth is ending, people don’t surround themselves with objects. What we want around us is people – people we love and have relationships with.
In our final moments we all realize that relationships are what life is all about. One of the ways God measures spiritual maturity is by the quality of your relationships. In heaven God won’t say, “tell me about your career, your bank account, and your hobbies.” Instead he will review how you treated other people, particularly those in need. When you transfer into eternity, you will leave everything else behind. All you’re taking with you is your character.
The importance of things can be measured by how much time we are willing to invest in them. The more time you give to something, the more you reveal its importance and value to you. If you want to know a person’s priorities, just look at how they use their time.
Time is your most precious gift because you only have a set amount of it. You can make more money, but you can’t make more time. When you give someone your time, you are giving them a portion of your life that you’ll never get back. Your time is your life. That is why the greatest gift you can give someone is your time. The essence of love is not what we think or do or provide for others, but how much we give of ourselves. It is focused attention. Love concentrates so intently on another that you forget yourself at that moment. Attention says, “I value you enough to give you my most precious asset – my time.” Whenever you give your time, you are making a sacrifice, and sacrifice is the essence of love. You can give without loving, but you can’t love without giving.
The Bible stresses repeatedly, it says, “whenever we have the opportunity, we should do good to everyone. Use every chance you have for doing good. Whenever you possibly can, do good to those who need it. Never tell your neighbor to wait until tomorrow if you can help them now.”
Why is now the best time to express love? Because you don’t know how long you will have the opportunity. Circumstances change. People die. Children grow up. You have no guarantee of tomorrow. If you want to express love, you had better do it now.
The best use of life is love. The best expression of love is time. The best time to love is now.
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We spent two nights in Verona to meet up with some friends for an evening of opera (Aida) at the Roman arena. It was beautiful. Long, but beautiful. And though admittedly I’m not an avid opera fan, the experience of Aida in Verona in the dead heat of the August summer in an ancient Roman arena is pretty incredible. A crescent moon, open air, zero microphones and a live orchestra. It felt like traveling back in time. The raw heat and juxtaposition between ancient and modern times was unforgetable. The marble was still emanating the day’s heat by the time the show finished at 1am.
Verona is flambuoyantly beautiful. The architecture is much the same of that in other Italian cities, like Florence, but with a grandeur and flirtatiousness that can’t easily be described. Balconies are ornate and adorned with hanging vines and flowers. Frescoes hundreds of years old cover apartment blocks. Smooth marble streets wind through the old squares and shopping districts. There is on overwhelming romance and sensuality to the place that is only apparent after you leave.
At Juliet’s house (yes, Shakespeare’s Juliet), there are walls covered in love notes. It seemed so corny when we were there, especially because the place was packed with tourists, but in hindsight it really was quite beautiful. Love’s hopes and dreams plastered on the walls – in sticky notes, pencil, paint, pen, or marker. And in every language and colour imaginable. It was the best user-generated art I’ve seen – inspired by Cupid’s arrow. So magical.
All of Italy can be described as sensual – warmly colourful, so delicious in its tastes and textures, beautiful just for the sake of being beautiful. Traveling through it is like falling in love – you just have no idea how hopelessly enraptured you are until it’s too late. And really, isn’t that the only way to live our days?
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LS and I were watching Meet Joe Black last night in the living room. Soup, movie and a warm summer night. Really beautiful.
I’d forgotten how gorgeous the dialog is in this movie. Moving and heavy. It gives you pause. Makes you feel butterflies in your stomach. William Parrish’s dialog with Claire in the helicopter is my favourite:
Love is passion, obsession, someone you can’t live without. If you don’t start with that, what are you going to end up with? Fall head over heels. I say find someone you can love like crazy and who’ll love you the same way back. And how do you find him? Forget your head and listen to your heart. I’m not hearing any heart. Run the risk, if you get hurt, you’ll come back. Because, the truth is there is no sense living your life without this. To make the journey and not fall deeply in love – well, you haven’t lived a life at all. You have to try. Because if you haven’t tried, you haven’t lived.
This is true of all things: work, play, love, friendship and family.
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Today, I'm craving quiet nights in, lounging on my own furniture, in an apartment that I can call my own. I crave candles and music and wine with old friends. I want a closet that houses the clothes I love, not the clothes I managed to fit into two suitcases. I want photographs on my walls, a happy dog by my feet and flowers in my yard.
Mom has been visiting for the past week and with her has brought the family love that only mothers can bring. Her proximity has made me think of home. Of building a home. Of finding a place to call my own. For years, I've lived in flats that aren't mine, sat on furniture I didn't pick out, sorted through boxes and clothes that have been scattered across three countries. I don't have a proper GP or Dentist. I have a cell phone in California and one in the UK. My permanent address changes depending on the landing card I'm filling out. Life has been a series of airports, airplanes, 1 year leases, weekend trips, assignments, projects and temporary plans. There hasn't been a long-term anything in my vocabulary for nearly two years now.
It has been a marvelous adventure.
But these days, I've been thinking more and more about building a nest. And finding a love that even time will stand still for.
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Sea salt from Peloponese Greece. Pulvoron from Goldilocks California. Crackers from Korea. Ingredients from home that somehow make us feel a little less far away from the smells and flavors of the kitchens we grew up in.
Last week, a sudden burst of gratitude came over me while Maria and I were making dinner in her flat. We were making baked salmon and broccoli. She opened a plastic coke bottle full of olive oil and started pouring it over the fish. It was olive oil from Greece that she brought back with her over Christmas. Then she opened a cardboard box full of sea salt, dried and hand picked by her dad off the beaches of Peloponese, and sprinkled it over the salmon. Just as food cooked by a loved one tastes so much better than food you cook on your own, so does food made with ingredients from home. Even though I haven’t met Maria’s parents, somehow our meal that night felt like it was made with their love. It reminded me of warm nights in my Mom’s kitchen, the stove bursting with steam and flavors, the room noisy with conversation.
Food is such an enabler of love and togetherness in families and between friends. It is the bedrock of social interaction in many cultures and an instant ice breaker between guests. It’s an expression of love unique to all others – food takes time, it takes care, it takes meticulous planning and work. The best meals can’t be bought in stores or restaurants – recipes must be perfected over time, passed down from grandmothers and mothers, mastered over many rainy Sundays in small family kitchens.
The Dalai Lama once said, “Approach love and cooking with reckless abandon”. They’re one in the same. =)
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Hi there! I'm Denise. I share my name with Dionysia, the Greek god of wine, pleasure and joy. I'm a photographer, writer, marketer vagabond. I take photographs of enchanted places and the people seduced by them. This blog is an account of the wisdom, joy and grace that I've encountered along the way, and a place where I showcase some of my favourite photographs.
If you have similar stories to share, have questions about purchasing prints or just want to say hello, I'd love to hear from you!
