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Archive for January, 2012

So, I posted a tweet today.  And read some others.  It made me think about what I could have told you guys the past 7 (or 8) days.  So, in no particular order, here are the relatively mundane, very real things I did in silence:

  • I cooked a meal.  More than once.  And neither doctors nor firefighters were consulted.
  • I fought with and made up with loved ones.  Both healthy, but the latter feels so much better.
  • I listened to the State of the Union, without tweeting to mock those in the gallery or virtually high-five the President.
  • I read two (2!) real books.  With words, and, oddly enough, since they were for adults, a few pictures…  My book club should be proud that I actually read the book I chose for them to read.
  • I walked my dog.  This doesn’t happen nearly enough for either of our health.
  • I celebrated a milestone.
  • I learned that my iPhone makes calls. And that people sound so clear on the other end.
  • I was productive and focused at work, and relaxed and content at home.

It was a good week. One in which I missed my online community, but relished my real one.

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The Present

No, not a gift. No shiny strings and bountiful bows. The present. The here and now.

I realize I’m not always present in the present. I’ll wait for that to sink in (for me too)… I was asked this week how long I’d survive without my phone. I laughed, but it made me think. And I didn’t expect or like my answer. When dining, I often find my phone on the table. While watching a movie (at home, of course), I mindlessly refresh Twitter and Pinterest. I’m Pavlovian to my tri-tone text alert. And I don’t think I like it.

So, I’m unplugging. I’m planning a week-long Twitter, Pinterest, and Facebook break. What will I miss? An ultrasound or engagement ring photo? A recipe for one more variation on spinach dip? I’ll survive. But what I don’t want to miss anymore is being present. And that’s maybe the best gift I can give myself.

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“Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; They are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.” – Marcel Proust

I’ve often been told that in any two-sided relationship, platonic or romantic, there is a flower and a gardener.  The flower is the pretty face; the one who needs to be coddled, cultivated, grown.  The gardener is the keeper, the sower, the nurturer.  Neither of these has a negative connotation, and I think that the roles can interchange as time passes.

I feel that I’m typically the flower.  For as independent as I strive to be, I really like being cared for.  I try not to take advantage of the very sweet gardeners I have, however, when roles reverse, I wonder if I often do just that.

So, today, as I’m playing the role of gardener (one I’ve grown to enjoy the last few days, in fact), I thank those who have tended my fields.  The truth of the matter is, the flower cannot reach its full potential for loveliness without a gardener, and without a resulting flower, the gardener’s work goes unnoticed.  We’re all important in this chaotic, symbiotic, beautiful process.

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