Radical Religion

One of the things I am so struck by when people ask me about my faith is that they seem to think that it is boring. Over the past 2000 years, Christianity has been made dull. We have made it seem common place. The most interesting thing about the beginning of Christianity was that it was radical. It was entirely unexpected and completely unaccepted.

When it was accepted, somehow it lost its radicality. The radical tenents of the gospels were set aside in order to make the world seem easier. Women were once again placed on the outside, priests were placed between man and God and charity was held for only those who were worthy. We once again decided that there was only one group of chosen people who were good enough for God.

For all the faults of Hollywood, anyone who has watched Chocolat has heard a great sermon. At the end of the film the young priest who is beginning to come into the small village speaks on Easter Sunday. He says that we should be known for the people we include, not the ones we exclude. That's what is radical. We are called to include those who live on the fringes, the ones who society doesn't see or chooses not to.

That idea is shockingly radical. When we accept those who aren't accepted, we leave ourselves open to criticism. We seem to fear that, but I'm not sure why. We don't want to be ostracized because we think that Christ was accepted. He wasn't. And we don't have to be.

I live on the outskirts of the public eye most of the time. I'm a strange person and I'm ok with that. The job I choose to live in is a community that is accepting of all. Many people don't understand what I do here, or why it is so incredible. The most comforting thing that when there is acceptance of all, it also means acceptance of me. I don't necessarily wear bright red pumps, or run a chocolaterie or something else otherwise subversive, but I can be hard to accept some days. It is the radicality of my choices some days that leads to exclusion, but it is the same radicality that leads to my inclusion so I think I'm making the right ones.

Missing Something

I saw the tentative schedule for the orchestra at Western next year and I want to go back so badly. I want to be able to wish away the pain and the hurt I felt when I stopped playing my instrument, also referred to as my child at some points. I've made the choice to not take lessons next year and that's something I'm not going to back off of. I can't go back to working the way lessons require because it will eventually lead to my inability to use my arms. I do miss the orchestra already though. That is work that I will miss.

It's strange for some people to think that something so frivolous as music can be easy to leave behind. I really wish it was. I wish it was easy to walk away from something that gets underneath your skin and into your heart. I miss the orchestras I play in so much. Next year I will be travelling to Sydney, Australia with one group and I'm already terrified. Not so much about the performance, but the moving my harp that far. I miss the rehearsals, the jokes and the teasing as much as it drives me crazy. I miss the feeling I get in my stomach right before I step on stage although not the tears that happened last time.

I didn't think I would miss this at all. Most of the rehearsals last year stressed me out and have caused half of my grey hair. The ones that didn't stress me out made me cry. I didn't know most of the people in my university orchestra and I never felt particularly close to them. For some reason, that group is still important to me and I miss it.

I have found so much where I'm at. I work in the best environment anyone could ever ask for, but I'm still missing something. I'm missing the feeling that comes from making music with a group of people regardless of how well you know them. There is a great feeling when you have a musical moment with such a large group. I miss that. There isn't a feeling of family and there is very little support there, but what is there is worth missing. And I do.

Perfect Prayer

The reason that some people choose not to pray, especially to not pray out loud, is because they don't think it will be good enough. Something I have learned, most especially here at L'arche, is that the perfection of prayer can be found most often in its imperfections.

The worship services here are loud. Coming from a Presbyterian church were loud children are taken out, I wasn't really used to that when I arrived. I got used to it really quickly though, and I have to say that I prefer it. When I head to different churches, I'm constantly surprised by the lack of noise and how empty worship feels without it.

Prayer tends to be remarkably vocal around here, be it loudly praising or something that resembles screaming or laughing. I'm never really sure where that falls into the scheme of clarifications. For those who aren't used to it, it can be mildly frightening. Most of the times when we pray with each other, we don't have to use words. In fact, it is when we don't use words that we say even more.

Non-verbal is a governmental term (which I largely refer to the most bullshit thing the government can use to brand people) that is applied to many people in this community. There is no term that can be used to generalize more and give a less exact understanding of the people here. This term leads people to think that there is no degree of communication. Nothing could be less accurate. It is those who speak the least who are able to teach me the most, whether we realize it or not. I think that one of the most fascinating thing about this place is that those who use no words are able to bring us so close to God.

We have prayer every night after dinner in our homes. Some nights are more interesting than others. Somedays there are rambling prayers and others are very precise. Regardless of how many words we use, or don't use, we still get heard. There are so many things about these prayers that are less than perfect. Sometimes the words aren't there, sometimes they are simply not vocalized, but they are still there.

I got the chance to pray with a friend here on Sunday night. Right now it ranks as the highlight of my week. There were so many things missing from that prayer, so many things that I was afraid to say. We prayed simply in saying what we were most thankful for and what we were least thankful for. I didn't say that I was least thankful for the fact that my mom had to have surgery and is still recovering or that I don't really know what to do with my life next year. I gave thanks for so many things, but I didn't tell him how thankful I was to see him safely back in the community when I walked through the door, or how much it meant to me that we got a chance to talk. I never said that I was thankful to have a friend like him in my life. There were so many imperfections, so many things I wanted to say, but found that I couldn't. What I said was not perfect, although what I wanted to say was. Regardless of how small and insignificant what I had to say was, in offering it, it became perfect. It became prayer because that was the spirit it was offered in and it became perfect because of all it, and I, were and are lacking. Because of all it's imperfections, it became perfect in God's eyes.

Do You Know Me?

When two members were confirmed in the community in which I live, one of them told a story of travelling back to his home country with one of the men that I live with. He said the most profound moment for him was when he was sitting at the table with his family, natural and adopted, and realized that there was someone there who really knew him.

I think that is something we all look for, someone who really knows us. We look for that in so many ways and not all of them good. Many of them lead to empty relationships when we really only want to find something that answers us, answers the deepest part of our hearts. We want someone to know us even when we run away from that possibility.

We walk away from so many people and choose to not learn their stories or see the reason why they hurt. To truly know someone is harder than what we want it to be. If it were easy, it would happen more often, but it would also be worth so much less.

Someone I know relatively well told me a few weeks ago that he knows me and he thinks that I know him. I chose not to argue the point at the time, but I disagree. As close as we can be, we're not. There are some people who know me, but I haven't lived long enough to have someone know my heart, or claim it. I move around a lot and meet so many people which can make it difficult to let anyone get close to me. There is also the chance that those who are close to me will leave as they are in the same points in their lives as mine.

To take the chance to meet someone and get to know them a little bit is something that needs to be done more often. We walk past so many people in the world who need to be loved and listened to. We should take the time to acknowledge that.

The next challenge we have is to really get to know someone, a process that takes years and much patience. In truth, I have found the people I work with to be the easiest to let know me and also the easiest to know. They don't put up barriers and they never have to work very hard to take down the barriers of those around them. There are very few boundaries around here, which makes relationships both easier and harder. You love more, but only somedays hurt less. Regardless of how much it hurts, it was what we all want on the deepest level of our hearts. We need to be able to claim that and be open to the fact that someone will answer the call of our hearts.

The Welcome Man

The Emily Carr exhibit at the AGO was a fascinating trip in the society and culture of the Native Canadians of British Columbia. The most interesting part of the culture that I still find to be a part of my life is the concept of the welcome man. This is a statue that was left on the edges of the body of water near the village to let others know they would be welcomed there.

I have my own welcome man in my life. He is also my time keeper and the one who allows me to see the face of God. Every day when I walk through the door he is there to meet me. Sometimes I don't even make it past the driveway before he's running out to shake me hand with a big smile on his face. On the days I go home, he watches me leave. He always asks me when I'm going to come back, almost as though he's worried that I won't and he likes having me around.

Everyone should have these people in their lives. The ones who let us know that we are loved and will be missed when we are gone. I don't think there are enough people like that in the world. When we do think these things about people, we don't talk about them. We keep the doors of our homes closed and locked most of the time and rarely choose to open them. There are a small number of people that we allow into our lives and welcome whole heartedly.

We should put out some more welcome men in our lives. The ones who let people know that they are allowed to come into our lives. We should be open to change and to love those around us. When we do, we are able to see how much we gain from. We gain friends and the love of those around us, so lets become welcome people.

The Face of God

At Dayspring on Friday, two confirmed members were welcomed into the community I live in. It was one of the most touching ceremonies that I have ever witnessed. It reminded me of how I am involved in this community and how important it is in my life.

There was a part of the ceremony that nearly made me cry. Both of the members who officially joined after many years of living in communities and they were able to tell stories that have formed their life here and changed them. The story that touched me in a familiar way was one that Wendy told. She spoke about waking up in the morning in the house where I now live to come up the stairs to see the face of God.

In the past years the face of God has changed between her experience and mine. The core member who welcomed her in the mornings has since passed away. The one who greets me in the morning still shows me the face of God.

I wasn't a morning person before moving to L'arche last summer. I really hated them most of the time actually. I dreaded the process of waking up because I usually collapsed into bed only a few hours earlier. And I was a teenager. Technically I still am now, but I feel as though I have aged at least ten years in the past one, so I'm really not anymore. It has also been a process of waking up to see someone who completely loves me whatever my faults are. When I walk down the stairs in the morning, I see some who smiles and welcomes me. I see the love, the completely unconditional love, that I am offered by God every day. I get reminded of how much I am loved most especially when I'm not perfect, like the mornings when my hair is in about twelve thousand different places and all I want is a shot of caffeine.

I get so lucky in the job that I hold. I get the chance to see the face of God every day. I'm not always able to recognize it, but sometimes I am. I get to bask in love that is unconditional and perfect for all its imperfections. Life is not always easy here, but there is no better place to be.

Embracing Woes

I heard in a sermon a few weeks ago that taught me Buddhism says the man who has five hundred loves has five hundred woes and the man with no loves has no woes. It's true. The more you love, the more woe you leave yourself open to experience. Christianity calls to love all, regardless of how much it costs us.

I wonder if it is worth it to not love in order to not feel any pain. It would be easier to not care about others to the point of changing our own lives. It would be easier to not have to feel the pain when we lose those we love, or when they change, or when we change for that matter. Itwould be simpler to not have the woes that acconmpany the loves.

The interesting part of giving up the loves because of fear of the woe is that we never get the love. We never get the incredible feelings that come along with concept of woe in love. We don't get the flying, the mystery and the chance. We shut off a lot of our hearts in order to not hurt. We shut off such a huge part of our hearts because we are afraid of what might come after that. It's not worth it at all. When we reach for love, we have to be aware that great love also comes with great sorrow. That doesn't mean we shouldn't love. It means that we should.

Dancing

I love to dance. I love get dressed up to go out dancing or just dancing around in my kitchen while I do dishes. I love the romance of dance and the intricacy of the steps. I really love dancing when I know the steps. When I don't (and haven't had enough to drink) I tend to feel lost.

Relationships, especially at the beginning of them, are a lot like learning how to dance. You are never entirely sure of where you are supposed to go and sometimes you step on a few toes. You get to know your partner well and you also get to know yourself better than you did before you started to dance. You learn to work with your partner, or to find a new one. In the course of the dance, sometimes you move apart and sometimes you move back together. The steps are sometimes complicated and sometimes simple. Somedays it feels easy to take the steps and sometimes it's harder.

The ability to dance is something incredible. The motion and the passion behind the simplicty of dance is so full of expression. We can sometimes be afraid to start to dance because of what people might think, that we don't know the steps, or that we might step on some toes. When we are able to let go of the fear that stops us and begin to take our own first steps, alone or with someone, it is easy to understand the passion behind the motion and to find our own.

Red Wine and a Rooftop

I had underestimated how much value is in a glass of wine and a rooftop talk. I haven't really had the time to sit and talk about things unrelated to school. I got some of that back tonight.

I remembered the value of having a roof that I can walk out onto. I remembered the value of having someone to drink some wine with, someone who doesn't want to climb down the side wall after having more than one glass. I remembered the value in spending time with someone I work with, sort of outside of work.

It's amazing how simple things mean so much to us. Watching a sunrise (for some), sitting with a glass of wine and getting the chance to talk (or not talk), playing in the park. These are the things we underestimate in importance. We think they are things we can throw off, or put off and forget that we once felt them to be important. We get so caught up in our busy schedules that we miss the flowers the grow by the side of the road, the laughter that we don't have, the rooftops we don't sit on.

We should take more time to look at the simple things that we don't take the time for. The rooftops, the wine, the flowers and the sunrises. It's worth it.

Priceless Work of Art

North American society has become an air brushed society. Our idea of beauty is something based on what we see in magazines and what we are told looks good. If you ask most women what they would like to change about themselves, the first response is usually "I would lose x pounds." We are taught to see ourselves as less than perfect, less than right because we are human and not airbrushed in magazines.

When I went to the AGO last week, I saw many beautiful, priceless works of art. The detail in all of them blew my mind. As a musician, I understand the work that goes into creating something like that. Every brush stroke counts and every colour is carefully chosen. The reason why these paintings still exist is that they were held to be perfection by the standards set by so many people and more than a few that weren't. Some of the exhibits are more than a little interesting and confusing. They are still beautiful, regardless of how little I understand them.

One of my favourite songs is Fingerprints of God by Steven Curtis Chapman. There is a line in that says "You're a living, breathing priceless work of art." I think that's something that needs to be remembered on more of a regular basis. The care that is taken with the works of art we have preserved for many years, sometimes centuries, in incredible. When I think of how much care we treat ourselves with, we should try and use some of the care we use for paintings. We abuse our bodies so badly, with what we put into them, how long we go in between sleeping and how much we try and force our bodies to lose more weight. We care about those around us, but we cease to really care for ourselves.

We are priceless works of art, created to be exactly as we are. We need to learn to love the art that we are. We have all the perfectly placed brush strokes, the carefully selected colours. We are perfect as ourselves. And we can't put a price tag on that.

I AM

The most powerful words in the world are I am. With two small words, you can claim something for yourself, something that may follow you around for the rest of your life, an identity that you are seeking to create. For one, I AM are the only two words needed as an identity.

I've been thinking more recently about who I am and what I claim to be. I'm trying to figure out which identity I have forged and which one I want to keep. I realize that who I am is not entirely formed and will continue to change throughout my life. Without the change, I would get bored and cease to be remotely intriguing. I do want to decide who I am right now though. Without knowing that, I may lose some part of myself I want to hang on to. I still might, but at least I'm giving this a shot.

I AM spiritual. I dislike the term religious because I find it limiting. My faith is one of the largest parts of my life and it defines me more than anything else. This is I will never lose.

I AM a musician. This is I will also never be able to lose as it as much a part of me as the blood that flows through my veins. There is a melody inside of me that has to be voiced and I will continue to voice it throughout my life.

I AM a writer. The thrill of words appearing on a blank page never seems diminish. The joy I find in words themselves will also remain.

I AM a dreamer. That is a skill that I have sought hard to develop throughout my life. Although it does make me seem a little spacy at times, it makes life a whole lot easier.

I AM an idealist. Trust me on that. I will get mocked on a regular basis at school for always assuming that people really are as good as they were created to be, especially when experience has proven they are not. I also think the world can really be a better place.

I AM Irish. This is so much more than just my heritage. It defines a part of who I am, centers me and gives me a history. It also means I have very pale skin.

I AM a child of God. That gives my life meaning.

I AM settled. I don't move around a lot and I like to stay in mostly one place that I have gotten comfortable in.

I AM a homemaker. Wherever I am will become home, regardless of how short of a time I am there.

I AM a child. There is so much that I don't know and still need to learn. I still need the support I used to need and sometimes even more.

I AM a L'arche assistant. This is the part of my identity that I am most comfortable with. This is what I love the most.

I AM a student. Even when I'm not in school, I'm always learning more. Each new day comes with new discoveries to be made.

I AM a traveller. I love seeing new places and having new experiences. I just need a home to come back to.

I AM who I am. It may be confusing, intriguing, annoying, frustrating or boring, but it is who I am. I will change because to stay the same would be boring, but I know who I am and that's more than enough for me.

Campfire Contentment

I am a cottage girl. I have no qualms about admitting that. I love nature, I love being outside and I love being in the dark. I was missing my cottage and the quiet that comes when I'm there last night. I got lucky though and a friend had a campfire. I hadn't entirely been expecting it, but it was the nicest surprise in the entire world.

While I am not a pyromaniac or addicted to fire as my housemate is, I really do love fires (in confined places). There is something so relaxing about the changing nature of the fire. It never stays still or allows itself to be forced in one direction. Other than the properties of fire itself, there is something about gathering around an open fire with good friends, good beer and a lot of laughter. It's calming and peaceful and energizing all at the same time.

I was sitting, just staring into the fire around one in the morning thinking that I should head home soon because I had to work in the morning, but I couldn't leave. Even when we were just sitting by the fire, without saying a word, we were still sharing something that we wouldn't otherwise without a fire. We were all more content because of where we were. And it was perfect.

It's almost like sitting by a waterfall or canoeing on a lake. There's a peace and contentment that comes from being with those who care about you and want to get to know you. The only other place I am able to find such a deep contentment is where I work. And there are only sometimes sparks around here.

What's In A Name?

"What's in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet." Shakespeare

Famous words from Romeo and Juliet, the most romantic and idiotic teenage love story that has ever been written. They are probably also the best known words from Shakespeare along with "Et tu, Brute" and "To be or not to be." The question then comes of how much is really in a name.

Baby name books sell really well because parents are terribly concerned about what they are going to name their children. We look at the nicknames that can come out of the names we give as well as how names will sound with the last names the children have very little choice of. The name that children are given is also something they have to live with for the rest of their lives. It will either shape their personality or they will shape their name. It's mostly a give and take.

I have a strong name. I got lucky when my parents looked through the books. My name has years of history behind it as well as some modern examples that I seem to fit well into. I am the server, the mother and the one who takes care of things. I don't know if that is why my parents chose the name for me, or if they had any idea I would turn out like this. I kind of think they may have had some kind of idea.

It is possible that we place a higher value on our names than we should. Our names do not define us, they do not limit our possibilities and they do not define our character. They are what people call us, but not how we are recognized. We are recognized for our hearts and how much we care, or don't. We can put more value in our names to help define ourselves, but the ultimate power to do that rests within ourselves. We just need to find the courage to claim that power.

Helpless or Hopeless

There was a hymn sing at the church I occasionally go to this morning. It was a lot of fun, since I love singing so much. One of the lines that stuck in my mind is that God calls to the helpless and hopeless.

I spend most of my days with people who are considered by the world to be helpless. They can't always care for themselves and can't always verbalize what they are trying to say. Some of them can't walk and some can barely move. What they give to society cannot be measured on dollar signs and is not seen by most people. They will never make a top 100 most successful list, but what they give to those around them cannot measured. Its worth cannot be named because its worth is so far beyond monetarial value. There are days when I feel they are so much more aware that God cares for them. The love they are given they reflect. They love those around them, which is incredible. They have more hope than the people who don't have the same limitations they are under.

While many of us are not helpless, we are more hopeless than we think we are. Hope is a precious commodity that is in scarce supply. The option of being hopeful tends to lead to disappointment. We hope for so many things that haven't come true (such as world peace) that we have ceased to hope. We are the hopeless that are loved. We don't see ourselves as helpless, but we are more than willing to belong to the hopeless, even if we don't realize it.

Regardless of whether we are helpless or hopeless, we are loved and we are cared for.

Community Life

I went to see the Emily Carr exhibit on Thursday night and there was one thing that struck me other than the beauty of the paintings. So many of the paintings showed community life for the native people from British Columbia, which really got to my heart. It's such a simple thing when you think about it, but so important for our survival.

In North American society, we have lost the idea of community. We all live in nuclear families with little or no connection to those around us. We choose to drive separate cars, live isolated lives, but we miss so much. We miss the support that comes from having family close by, the support of surviving together. We have stopped caring about each other.

The great thing about living in community is that you know people care about you. There are people who worry about you, people who support you. When you want to be alone, it can be hard to, but that's not the worst thing in the world. There is the biggest support system when you need and even when you don't. When you live in the same house, eat together and send nights together, community just tends to form and we end up living a life that we don't really expect to.

As much as we want to ignore the need for community, there is still a desire for it. We want to have people around when we need support, when we need someone to talk to, when we need someone to share a meal wth. We can try and survive on our own, without the community that we can have, but it never really works. We always seek those who will become our community, our family. And that's when we begin to have a much fuller life.

Different Perspectives

I went to the AGO last night to see the Emily Carr exhibit and it was fantastic! It was interesting to see the construction that was going on and how small the gallery has become because of it. There are very few rooms open and about six paintings on exhibit other than Emily Carr. There was one other painting I really wanted to see when I went to the gallery and it was there. It's a Monet, I believe the Charing Cross Bridge. I've waited for almost two years to go back and see it again. Maybe longer than that. The last time I saw it, I was so struck by the other world quality of the painting.

The friend I went to the gallery was much less impressed when he first saw the painting. I said there was a castle or building in it, and somehow he didn't see it. It wasn't until we were leaving the gallery and walked past the painting in another direction that he saw what I was able to see what I was able to see. He also lamented never taking an art history class because then he wasn't able to deeply appreciate the paintings. I remarked that art history is much like music history, all in the perspective of it. And it's true.

Both strands of history are focused on the details. In music, we trace small sections of three notes through a piece and that is all we hear. In art, all we can look at is the brush strokes. In both cases we fail to hear the whole piece and see the bigger picture. We see the beautiful details that effort does go into, but fail to appreciate what the final effect is supposed to be. It all really depends on how we see things.

In life we can choose to look at the details. That's not always a bad thing either. Life runs on the details, but they don't demand complete focus. We can also choose to see the big picture. Beyond those perspectives, there are our individual ones. We see the world how we were raised to see the world and how our unqiue experiences have led us to see the world. Some of us are disillusioned, others are still idealist. Neither are bad, simply different and unqiue perspectives. It can sometimes be difficult to see the perspectives of someone else, but it is worth it to try.

WANTED: Life Partner

I scared my father recently in a way that was a lot of fun. I told him I met a guy who would make a great husband. And I have. Maybe not for me, but he will make some woman very lucky.

A few months ago, a friend of mine was worried because all of his friends were beginning to get engaged. He's a few years older than me, but I have to admit that I'm getting to that point in my life as well. While I still do date some of the time, there is more of a point behind going out. I'm at the point in my life where I enjoy going out, but I want to settle down. I don't want to spend all my time looking for something. I want to find it.

There are so many years of our lives that we use in ways that we sometimes regret. We waste our time in meaningless relationships and we fail to recognize the gifts we have in time to keep them. The only problem is that when we begin to look for the thing it is that we want, we find that it has suddenly disappeared. The people we find have either found what they are looking for or aren't looking at all.

It's about the time of the quarter life crisis many university students the desire for someone to spend the rest of our lives with becomes more evident. Sometimes we're not so aware of it and seek many empty relationships to fill a hole in ourselves. Other times we get to the point of desperation that we place ads to find the person we want. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

The one thing that many people won't look for to fill the hole we begin to feel is to faith. It's interesting because in a society with a divorce rate of 1 in 3, sometimes a faith relationship is the only guarantee of a lasting one. It doesn't always relieve the desire for a physical relationship in your life, but it does give the most lasting life partner anyone could ask for.

Forcibly Reminded

Those of you who have met me recently know that I am injured. I have been for the past three years. I am injured because I am a musician and I have chosen to pursue something that I love. I decided to take this summer off of playing and performing in order to heal my arms and allow me full use of them for the rest of my life. This was working very well until tonight.

I played a concert tonight with my high school. It was a great concert and I was glad I was able to be there. Prior to rehearsal today, I hadn't played in three weeks and I didn't really miss it. I had the chance to fill my days with something other than music for the first time in years. My arms also feel a lot better which was the main goal. I didn't miss playing because I never really thought about playing. Out of sight, out of mind. That worked until I touched the strings again. I was reminded very strongly about why I play. It is one of the only things that allows me to feel totally free and comfortable in my own body and I missed that. I just don't want to miss it.

Perhaps that was the cosmic reason for my returning to my high school, to tell me that I did make the right choice years ago, and I need to continue making the same one. Perhaps it was just because my teacher knew he could get me to do it. I'm not really sure. All I do know is that three inch stilettos are a very bad idea for me!

Separation Lines

I love notebooks. I love the fresh clean pages that are in each one and I love how neat and separate they keep things. That may explain why I have so many of them. I can be fairly neurotic about putting only one thing each notebook be it research, quotes, dreams, journalling or blogging. And yes, the last two are two different things. It wasn't until this year that I realized I do the same thing with my life.

When I'm at school, I clearly have my school friends and my school activities. My church life is separate from that and my family life even farther removed. I like it that way. It keeps things simpler for me. Separating things in my life draws clear lines between what I allow in certain areas and what I don't.

I've found the one place in my life where all the lines do blur and all areas of my life come together. That is where I work. Living here helps with that. My family is here, both the one I have created and the one I was born into. My friends are here, or close enough to find when I need them. Any relationships I form for the summer are formed here. All the lines I once had blur and begin to fade. I think I love it here more because I feel my life come together. The only problem at this point in my life is that there is no separation at all.

I can no longer see the clear lines between all the areas of my life. I can't look over all of them and see the space between them. I'm not sure how I feel about that right now. It's easy when pieces of your life look like puzzle pieces and you can make them fit together. The only problem is when they become more like a broken mirror, when the pieces don't really seem to fit back together and the image is distorted. I think I'm more in the position of the puzzle. I'm beginning to see what the big picture really is, even on the days I don't like it. I know it's there. I'm seeing more than the little pieces.

Swinging

I'm finding my inner child. The great thing about me finding my inner child is that it eventually begins to become my outer child. And I kind of like it.

For the most part, I am a serious person. Or at least that's how many people have come to know me. I'm the grown up most of the time. My nickname is Mom. I make sure the assignments get handed in on time, the meals get eaten and made and that people go to bed at a decent time for the most part. The role fits me better than most others I adapt when I'm at school. I tried being the party girl, but I'm really not. A few other things were tried and found they all left something lacking in my life. It's the feeling I get when I'm swinging.

I remember when I was younger and I loved to get people to push me higher and higher on swings. I tried to hook my knees around a cloud so that I could be carried off to more entertaining places than the one I was in. That's the closest feeling that I get to truly flying (airplanes don't count) and I never feel more free.

There is something so childish about swinging that makes me embrace it with all of my heart. I don't feel like a grown up with responsibilities when I'm on a swing. I feel like I'm seven again and the worst thing that can happen to me is a scraped knee and not a broken heart. The more time I spend on swings, the more my inner child gets a chance to shine. The more often that happens, the more the outer me begins to look like the inner me.

It's amazing what such a simple thing like swinging can do in your life. It can be childish, I will admit to that, but it can also be so exhilarating, passionate, freeing and mind clearing. So go find a swing at some point. It's just as good as flying a kite!

Bound by Convention

I'm not very conventional. I tend to walk to my own beat, along with a few others. I don't really feel that bound by convention in many ways, and in other ways I am. When I'm at work though, there is very little convention here. There are no limits on what we can do and there are especially no limits on who we love.

When we talk about love in society, the focus we put on love, the boundaries we want to hold it to, are the bounds of a romantic relationship. We speak of loving one other person and that's where our love begins and ends. The lucky ones will speak of loving their family, but there isn't much more than that for anyone in the public mind at least.

It's simpler to love that way. We close our hearts in most of the ways that we can in order to stop our hearts from hurting more than they have to. That works on some levels, but never works on others. For those of us who don't have romantic relationships, or lack family, that doesn't take away our desire to love, be loved or our capacity to be hurt or inflict hurt on those who love us. Convention states that we love our family and usually one other person. When we violate those rules, we are seen as different, odd in many ways.

At l'Arche, the most major lesson I have learned is to not be bound by convention. It merely serves to get in the way of what I do here. And what I do is love to the depth and breadth that my heart can handle. Not necessarily in romantic relationships either. I have loved only once in a romantic way in this community. The rest of my time is spent loving those who I live with and that is so easy when we are not bound by convention.

The people I live with are not the typical family. Few have developed intellectually and many have rapidly deteriorating bodies. Some days it's harder to love when we fight or get into arguments about small things, but we still do, not because that's what convention dictates, but because it doesn't. Our hearts are not supposed to be open to everyone around us. We are only supposed to love those who can offer us something that we don't already have. When all that can be offered to us is love, we tend to be more wary of that. When we ignore convention and love anyways, we find how much more love can bind us, not apart from each other, but to each other. We are not able to leave as easily and we care so much more. We leave the bounds of convention and enter into the much more fulfilling bounds of love.

The Ex Factor

It's interesting every time I begin a new relationship. That's one of the most exciting parts of any romantic relationship. You never really know where it is going and there is constantly a touch of breathlessness. You constantly feel off balance and just get to learn more about the person you are with and yourself. None of the boundaries you have are established yet. It's free and trusting.

When the boundaries are established in a relationship, there is always one that is more difficult than others. And that has to do with the exs. Most of the people I know have been in one or more previous relationships in their lives. They have had their hearts broken or broken hearts. And most of them will wonder sometimes about the one that got away or they let go. That's normal. We like the possibilities in our lives and we want to be able to pursue them all. When we can't, we wonder.

I've been blessed in my relationships. I'm still on good terms with all the men I've dated and I never cease to be thankful for that. Some of the men I've been in relationships with are my best friends. That's never an issue until I begin something new. How are you supposed to react to the fact your significant other is close to someone who used to be their significant other? What kind of boundaries do we get to set?

Maybe it comes down to how much you trust the person you are in a relationship with. Maybe it's all about knowing they will come back to you. I'm not really sure. There have been times I haven't confided in my current boyfriend on the basis he might be mad I still care about someone else. In my life, every person I get involved with has to be ok with the fact that there will always be others calling to my heart and I will always answer. I'm one of the difficult ones though and I know it.

The Ex is not always the only factor that can wreak havoc in relationships. At one point I thought relationships could really be something simple between two people and that was it. Sadly, it's not. There is always family lurking around the corners, and friends who may not approve. There are the choices you make about jobs and living situations. There can be politics, religion and sometimes war. When we begin to structure our relationships, we may try to keep it simple like we are always told to. Life would be easier that way. We don't get easy though. There will always be things to act as support or dead weight around whatever we try and build. Sometimes we will succeed and sometimes it will come crashing down around our ears. But we know that.

We are not perfect and neither are the relationships we create. We will make mistakes, we will push boundaries and in the right circumstances, we will make it through. And so will our relationships.

Seeing the Flowers

I fell in love yesterday. With dandelions. This will sound very strange to you who do battle with these annoying yellow flowers that threaten to consume lawns every spring. I understand that feeling as I am one who has been sent to do battle on numerous occasions by my head of house. In fact, weeding is one of the few things she knows I will do well becuase I tend to kill all the flowers I'm involved with. It's just not a good situation.

After spending part of the morning in the sun and eliminating all the yellow that threatened the green on Wednesday, I was so upset to see the next morning that there was more yellow than there had been when I started the day before. This may have been because my back and legs still hurt from beheading all the small flowers. I noticed that there was more yellow in the park than there had been the day before as well. I voiced some complaint to a friend while sitting in the park and he replied that the yellow makes it more colorful and pretty. I hadn't noticed that before.

Dandelions are actually flowers. The only reason we consider them to be weeds is that they appear where we don't want them to be. That is actually fairly close to the definition of a weed. I love watching little children picking dandelions and putting them into a bouquet for their mothers. They haven't yet been taught that dandelions are bad and should be avoided. They think they are pretty and make wishes on the seeds. I still make wishes too. That's one of the great things about dandelions for me. Just another chance to wish.

I looked out into the backyard yesterday and saw yellow. Not as much as the lawn had just been cut, but enough. The park has even more. And it looked pretty. I know that they aren't supposed to be there, but they are. And as many times we battle them, they never really seem to go away. I don't even think that's such a bad thing anymore. If they did, what would we make wishes on? What flowers would we be able to pick without fear of reprisal? Where would the color with the green come from?

We can see the weeds when we look at the lawn, or we can see the possibilities, the random chance that led to more beauty. We can see them as something that has to be removed or a blessing that we are lucky to have been given. For me, I'm going to stop looking for the weeds and start seeing the flowers. They are much more beautiful.

The Keeper of the Time

I don't wear watches. I don't like having things around my wrists simply because they get in the way. During the year I use my cell phone to make sure that I keep to my schedule. I always have my cell phone on my hip, which is good for keeping in touch and knowing the time. Once the weather turns warmer and I head back to L'arche, time is much less important. I never bother to carry a cell phone because it simply annoys me. I also have a long distance number.

With my lack of knowledge of the time for four months, and also the lack of caring I have for that fact, there is one person who constantly reminds me of the time. One of the core members at my house is always checking his watch. I have no idea if the watch even works, but he will always check it. His checking of the time is a great reminder for me.

Here at L'arche we really operate on a different schedule than the rest of the world. Whenever someone new comes and asks what time something is supposed to start, a response from one of my housemates is "Two o'clock, L'arche time." It is like living in a different time zone. We are so much less concerned with when things get done or when things begin. We don't really seem to care that much so long as we can do them with the people we care about.

The Keeper of the Time here doesn't really serve to remind us of the actual time. That's a completely irrelevant point in our lives. He does constantly serve to remind me how unbelievably precious every moment is and how blessed I am to have the time that I have. He keeps the time for me with all the precious moments that make up my life. So I will stop paying attention to the minutes and look at the moments that my keeper will keep track of.

"Good Grief, Charlie Brown!"

There seems to be something occurring at my house right now. Something about Cheez Whiz. I haven't really been able to figure it out. My response to this is generally "Good grief, Charlie Brown!" The strange thing about that, is the more I repeat the saying, but more I begin to feel like Charlie Brown.

The manner in which I mostly feel like Charlie Brown is the football that is constantly yanked out from under his feet. When I'm not ready for something, it is right there in front of me, taunting that I'm not good enough yet. I can see it, and I ignore it because it's not what I wanted then. The second I am ready for something, such as the right education, a relationship, a job, it is taken away the second I begin to run towards it. Perhaps this is merely a fact of life. I have a friend who had a similar thing happen to her when it came to her education. She's taking it in stride. But she has the relationship, which I admit, I'm rather jealous of.

I wonder how many things have become the footballs in our lives. The things we run after, but never really seem to be able to obtain. I wish it was only the things that other people have control over that we have found to be the things we lose, but it's not. Sometimes it's also the things we control that we are unable to really get at. Maybe it's easier to always see things we lose as footballs in other hands. It's easier for us to accept the fact that we have no control as opposed to accepting the fact we can change what has happened to us.

It would be so much easier to have our choices made for us, the ball pulled away before we get the chance to try. Sadly, life is only partially like that. Sometimes our choices are made for us. The chances we thought we had are taken away before we really have the chance to to make them. I wish that didn't happen so often, and yet sometimes I wish it happened more. It is the other times when we are forced to try and kick at the ball that are most terrifying. Those are the times when we have to try something and face the chance of failing. We can kick and miss, especially when we most want to make the right choice and succeed in the goals that we set.

The days when we get the choice, the chance, should we run at the ball, or simply wait until it is taken away? It's easier when the choice is not ours, but it is so much more worth it to take the chance. Even when we miss, we know that we have tried. We can miss, but we can also succeed. Sometimes in ways more extraordinary than we had ever imagined.

The 'What If' Game

I don't play sports. Ever. Please don't ask me to try. It never really ends well. That being said, there are a few games I could easily earn gold medals in should they ever be made Olympic sports. One is the worrying game. I am a first class worrier. The category of worrying that I exceed at is the 'What If' game.

We live in a world of possibilities. Every new day comes with new joys and new sorrows and it is always up to us how we react to them.

I can't recall exactly when I began to play this game. Given how I look at the world, it was probably early. I think the most vivid memories of questions I have in my life are the ones that develop from school and school related things. The biggest question for me has always been what if people don't like me? It's interesting to see what questions change and which ones don't. That one never goes away regardless of where I am. It's a stupid worry, and I think I'm getting that idea slowly, but it still never goes away. It's astonishing that no matter how much we grow up that our worries never change. No matter how accomplished we are, how successful we are, we still worry that no one will want to be with us.

The what-ifs have begun to take over my life at this point. And they have changed so much from the what-ifs I used to have. I used to worry what would happen if I never found someone who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Now I worry about what will happen if I do. What will I be willing to give up and what will I not be able to do? I wondered what would happen if I never had a career and now I want to know what will happen if I ever do. I don't think I want a career. I want a life. I also want my worrying to stop. Seriously, it has to stop.

I've become frozen in my life because I want to know what happens next. I also want to go back and have the chance to make the other choice. I don't get to do that though. I don't get to go back and I also don't get to see ahead. I get to live now. And it doesn't matter how much I play the game. The game doesn't change my life. All it does is worry me and never changes the outcome of anything.

Worry is not something that is healthy. It is something that we need to control in our lives. Maybe that means stop playing this game and perhaps it should. It's hard to let go of something that we have held onto for our whole lives and use as a crutch in order to avoid making other plans. We want to be able to see both sides of the story and we don't get to. So we play our games and we continue to worry, but it doesn't help. We only get one chance to live our lives and we do the best we can.

Turning My Ring

For those of you who have known me for a long time, if you have seen me recently, you will have noticed that I've begun to wear a ring on a regular basis. This is something that hasn't occurred in my life in a long time. I don't wear jewellery on my hands because it means that I have to take it off in order to practice. That has been my practice for a long time until I got this ring. It's a claddagh, an Irish wedding ring that signifies a lot in my life from my heritage to my independence. Shockingly enough, this tiny piece of jewellery has become so important in my life that I can't really leave the house without it.

When I got the ring, I faced a choice about the direction of the ring which I have previously written about. Since making the choice, I have shown clearly that I am single. There is no dominant relationship in my life despite the fact that I have many in my life. Perhaps that is why I'm able to keep so many relationships alive in my life because I don't allow one to dominate. It may be something noble to think like that, but it doesn't feel like that. It feels like I'm missing something the longer I avoid a romantic relationship.

I guess what this really comes down to is that I want to turn my ring around. I want someone to give me a reason to. I want someone to show up in my life and make me smile when I feel sad. I want a cuddle partner when I watch movies late at night. I want someone to dress up for and make myself look good for, someone I long to see at the end of the day. I want someone to read with, someone to laugh with and someone to love. I want someone I can take to my cottage without hesitation. I want a love that doesn't match something I already have. I want something that makes my world stop and my head spin. And no matter how much I want to, nothing less than that is going to make me turn my ring around.

An Open Heart

One of the best and the worst parts of my job is how open your heart has to be. I'm actually good with having an open heart. I try to have the most open kind of heart I can when I'm at university during the year, but the expectations of people there are very different from the attitudes of L'arche. People don't expect to be open in all areas of your life. It's so different here. You share more than just a house with the people you live with. You share every part of your life. Every joy, every sorrow is there to be shared whether you want it to or not.

It is fantastic to see how much more I invest in relationships when my heart can be this open. It really is. All of my relationships benefit from this. It's not just the relationships that I form here. I'm more open and I'm deeper with all the people who are in my life. And it feels fantastic. I can support more relationships that I was able to prior to getting back to L'arche. The ability to support more relationships is great. It lets me develop friendships with the people I work with. The only problem is that it also makes me want the one relationship I don't have right now.

When your heart is so open, it's hard to not want someone to match that in you. To accept the fact that you want someone to answer the call you feel throughout your entire being is terrifying. To acknowledge the fact that you want someone to be there when you have a bad day, to cuddle and watch movies with, to make weekend plans with on a regular basis. That might be the most terrifying part of having an open heart. It's the wanting of something you don't have.

Having an open heart means that you let people into your heart, but it also means that you have to have the ability to let them out of it. And that's where the strength of relationships is truly required. In the ability to let those you love go.

Choosing Lonely

This morning I decided I wanted to go to a church where I didn't know anyone so that I could have a quiet service left alone with my own thoughts. Why is it that I can never seem to manage a simple task like that? I ended up at the Presbyterian church in Richmondhill where people know me. Lesson for finding a church people don't know you: If you have sung there, performed there, participated in a service, or have friends who might be home from university, it's probably not a place you will go without being recognized. The really nice thing about this Sunday was that I wasn't annoyed with people recognizing me. And I got to meet a very nice woman who sat down beside me and talked. It seems that no matter how hard we attempt to isolate ourselves at times, it just doesn't work.

So many people complain about being lonely in society. I know that I have on occassion when I feel that there is no one else around. The interesting part about this is how often we choose loneliness as opposed to reaching out. We don't always realize or recognize what we are doing, but we do. We isolate ourselves when we choose to shut our doors to each other, when we don't smile at someone on the street. We isolate when we don't pick up the phone to call someone, or let the answering machine answer for us. We choose to be lonely and then we complain about it. Maybe that makes it more manageable for us to place the blame else where as opposed to looking at ourselves for the answer. We make the choice to be lonely and then we forget how to fix it.

Once we have made the choice to be lonely, we think it's so hard to go back to not being lonely. We fear that when we open ourselves up to feeling and caring that it will be hard. And it is. It is hard to let people into your life and feel as though you have lost all concept of personal time and space. And sometimes that happen. But when we remember what it feels like to be so heart achingly lonely then it is entirely worth it.

At the same time, somedays we need to choose to lonely. We need to choose to have time and space back to ourselves to think and remember who we are. In making the choice to be alone, we allow ourselves to regenerate. We weren't built to stay that way forever though. We need people in our lives, the people who love us and the ones that hate us. No man is an island and we can't act like that. Who we are makes a difference. It effects those around us, whether we want it to or not and we don't get to avoid that reality.

Summer Goals

I'm the type that sets goals. The annoying type who always has to have something to go towards to even when she is supposed to be relaxing. I've come to terms with that. So I've decided to set some highly achievable and some less the achievable goals for the summer.

• I will drink at least three glasses of water a day this summer. I will be hydrated by the time I return to university even if it kills me.
• I will do sit-ups every night no matter how tired I am.
• I will spend at least an hour outside every day enjoying the beautiful weather that I get. Even rain is beautiful.
• I will read books that I want to and also books that are good for my brain.
• I will not spend all my days off at home.
• I will get to know more assistants at work this summer, especially the ones from other countries who I may never see again.
• I will have at least two alcoholic drinks a week. This may qualify as an addiction, but it is relaxing.
• I will get out of the house at least two nights a week.
• I will figure out if I really want to do a Masters degree for me or for another reason. I'm not sure which way that's going to fall yet.
• I will read all the books I brought to work for the summer. That doesn't cover the books that I'm sure I will buy.
• I will write something everyday, no matter how mundane it is.
• I will fall in love with someone or something every day. It's what makes the mornings worth it.
• I will smell the flowers that grow so gloriously in the backyard. They are not something I have control over and they are so much more beautiful because of it.
• I will accept the fact that I don't control a great deal of things that happen in my life. I will!
• I will feel pretty every day, no matter how terrible I actually look. That is irrelevant. I know that I am beautiful and I need to realize that.
• I will get more than six hours of sleep at least five nights a week.
• When I get back to school in September, I will be relaxed and I will be ready to finish my degree.

This may seem ridiculous to set goals for a time when I'm supposed to be relaxing, but it's one of the few things that may help me relax. I don't know how many of these I will keep, or how many will fall through the cracks. I do know that telling more people about these goals will help keep me to them. That's the running theory at least!

The Band-Aid Effect

It's strange how effective Band-Aids are for blocking out pain. When you put a Band-Aid on a cut, no matter how much it hurts, it will feel better. Even if it is just a little bit better. It gets better so that you can ignore it. The only problem with putting a Band-Aid over something that hurts is that eventually, someday, it will get torn off. Mostly when you least expect and when you least feel able to deal with it.

Tonight I had one of my Band-Aids ripped off. Someone I wasn't expecting to see for a long time reappeared in my life. Reappeared at one of the services at work and I felt as though I was going to pass out. Seriously. The blood drained from my face and all of the air left my lungs. I hate taking Band-Aids off. Anyone who has watched me do so will attest to the fact, but I would much rather have had to rip off twenty than go through that again.

It's strange that sticking a Band-Aid over a hurt can help so much of it. Maybe it's because when you don't see it, you can't feel it enough for it to hurt. At least that's my theory. When I ignore something I don't want to see I tend to be able to ignore it. Or at least push it to a place that I don't feel the hurt I feel. Maybe that is something that happens to more people than just me. When we are able to push away what we think we don't feel we really only set ourselves up to hurt more in the future. We may not realize it at the time though. Mostly we don't.

I wish that putting a Band-Aid over something would make everything feel better. I really do. My life would be so much easier if that would work. But it doesn't. It might make it feel better for a little while, but it doesn't heal it and it doesn't make it go away. It's still there, just under the surface, waiting for something to happen to make you feel all over again.

Summer Smells

It's beginning to smell like summer and I love it! I walked out of the main house this morning and I could smell cherry tomatoes, what is smells like when they are so ripe that they are about to burst. It's one of my favourite smells in the entire world.

More than just that I can smell the hyacinths. Soon there will be lilacs. The tulips are all out with beautiful colours. I want there to be roses, but they aren't out yet. There will be pollen everywhere in about a week and I will be crying all the time because of it.

I can hear the birds from my bedroom window and it is the most beautiful wake up call in the morning. This is what I love about the summer. It means I get to come home for a few months and not read text books at night, but head out and have a good time.

It's incredible how much simple smells trigger in my brain. When I can smell corn, I'm back at my cottage peeling corn on the steps with the BBQ going with great thick steaks. When I smell certain flowers I come back to the house I live at for the summer. I'm not good with flowers so I know that when I smell any sort of garden, it's not mine.

I know that summer is coming because of all the things that I can smell. And it feels great. Winter has been long and hard and emotionally exhausting. Now I get to relax and enjoy the summer. With all the smells of summer, I know more than that the summer is coming. I also know that I get to be home and get to be me again.

Lessons Learned: Second Year of University

I like country music. That is one my guilty secrets. One of the good things about listening to country music is that some of the songs make me think. One of the songs that has been running through my head is "Lessons Learned" by Carrie Underwood. It's interesting to think that as much as some things hurt, we still learn a lot from them. At the completion of my second year of university, I think I learned a lot. And most of it didn't come from my text books or the lectures I had to attend. It came from the crazy life that I most often lead. Over the past year or two I have learned:

Never date someone who is your conductor. It just never really ends well.

Sleep is good. Really good. Somedays it is the only thing that will save your sanity.

Taking time for youself is more important than anything else. Taking care of everyone else is admirable, but it means nothing if you aren't in any shape to do that.

Music is important. It will always be important in my life, but it is not everything. And there are things that are more important. Like people.

It is worth it every day to do something that frightens you.

Friends are incredible and will come through when you least expect them to be there. Sometimes they are the only thing that will be there when you feel the need to fall.

The most important things that you learn in university are not what you read in text books. The most important things you learn is what you learn from the experiences you have when you are not in class.

As important as it is do get work done for class, it is just as important to take time to spend with friends.

Home is not just one place. Home is where there are people who love you and worry about you.

I'm sure there are other things that I have learned, but I can't seem to remember them right now. I'm sure I'll post more later when I can think more clearly!

"I'm Here!"

I got exceedingly sick last night. Sicker than I think I've been in the past ten years. It kind of scared me. The other people in my house were fantastic and let me rest. The fact that they were understanding and wanting me to stay in bed was great because I don't stay in bed myself. I don't like slowing down and will rarely do it myself unless I'm pushed to it. This was kind of my wake up call.

My actual wake up call came when people came home. One of the people who I live with came up stairs and stood outside my door saying loudly "Martha. Martha, my friend. I'm here." It woke me up, but it was so worth it. It reminded me that there was someone there when I felt that I was alone.

It's a great feeling to come home even when home isn't where my immediate family is. Home is where a large number of people love me and miss me when I'm not there. They worry about me when I get sick.

It was hard for me to realize that I have come home as well. I'm accustomed to being independent. Perhaps more than accustomed. I am independent. I'm not used to people worrying about me. My housemate will help me when I get sick, but I definitely don't get any sympathy there. I know that someone is there, even when I don't get reminded of it. It was just a great reminder to hear that someone is there. I'm not alone.

If You Can't Say Something Nice . . .

This is something I heard a lot growing up. If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. I was most reminded of this saying when a friend of mine was hurt by comments left on his blog. When he mentioned this to me, I went and read the comments that had been left over the past few days. I was shocked by what people had left on what is a personal account of someone's life. I realize that it is easy sometimes to say something thoughtless and very hurtful to someone. It happens to me more often than I would like it to.

I wonder what it would be like to not say anything if it wasn't nice. A book a read has the premise for elves that they can not say anything unless it is true. I'm not entirely sure how much I would like a world like that. There can always be a difference between being truthful and blunt and truthful and kind. Sometimes the easiest way to be kind is to lie though. I don't do it often, but it can be useful, more often than someone just asking if you think their hair looks nice. I wonder if that makes it right though. By making something nice, by making something less hurtful, we are capable of making a truth into a lie. When we make something nice, something we think is easier for someone else to understand or deal with, we begin to lie to them. Perhaps to both ourselves and them. We deceive ourselves into thinking that what we do is for the best, when it can be just the opposite. What we see as the best at the moment, is not always what is right.

Maybe lying is alright, so long as it's nice. Maybe it's not. That's not something I've been able to figure out yet. I have in the past changed the truth to make it sound nice. I have also been totally blunt, a habit I have adopted from my housemate. She tends to be very blunt, even when it hurts the person she is talking to. I admire that in her, but I can't emulate it. I will willingly lie if I think it saves hurting someone else. It's easiest to say something nice somedays when a lie is appropriate.

How far is ok to take always saying something nice? And why don't we choose to more often when it's so easy? Instead of reacting to what someone says with anger or judgement, we should try to say something nice. Even when it means choking back our intial reaction and not saying what we want to say until we can find a way to say it nicely.