Live. On. Purpose.

“Life is full of intention.”

I overheard this admonition from a co-worker the other morning. Life is full of intention.

How very true!

boots-in-concrete It was humorous to eavesdrop on the conversation a bit longer – between the newly-hired receptionist and one of the business owners who, truth-be-told, is favoring the thoughts of retirement yet dragging his feet through every day of existence as if wading through wet cement. “You’re one of those” he accused her, as she practically danced from the copy room to the front lobby of the office.

Most would assume that an age difference between the two individuals played a large part in creating such a chasm, but they would be mistaken in this case; it’s purely a difference in attitude. And an attitude difference by choice! The business owner, whether intentionally or unbeknownst to even himself, chooses to go through his days with the most curmudgeon perspective while the receptionist looks forward to new opportunities, seeks out adventures, and views adversities as fortuitous contingencies for learning and growth. There is purpose and intent in the perspective chosen by each individual – in the simplest of terms: glass-half-full, or glass-half-empty.

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Personally, I know there are days when the screech of the alarm ripping me from slumber and the peace I so treasure in the few blissful hours of rest I actually obtain each night sends me into a “wading through wet cement” state of mind, and I have to stop myself even before my toes touch the floor, petitioning for peace and grace, and I breathe in a prayer for the patience necessary to make it through whatever I may face once I’ve left the bed. But, then, I know there are also those days that I fail to recognize my inner curmudgeon, and burst into the storms of the day, a hurricane of emotion myself – ready to ravage peaceful villages and destroy whole communities with gale-force torrents! Where, on those days, do I place my intent?
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Is there ever a situation when a drop in a still (not frozen!) pond does not create a ripple? Can purposefulness be left in the closet and only reached for when occasion calls for it, such as a rain coat, an umbrella, or a pair of sunglasses? Can intention be turned on and off like a light switch to suit a mood or circumstance? Or it is a fully-on, wholly-in commitment?

 

Life is full of intention.

I will have to “tattoo” this somewhere where I will see it and be reminded (by literal, visual sight, or merely by striking, uncomfortable metaphorical and/or physical pain…) that what I do, and how I act – and react – is a deliberate and intentional choice I make… Or rather, it should be!

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Night and Day (100 word challenge)

As has become the Wednesday tradition, I am participating in @Bikurgurl‘s 100-word challenge (Week 6). Thank you for stopping by! (image credit: Bikurgurl 2016 )

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derucaketimestwo

Opposite sides of the same coin – created equal, yet so vastly different! Insomuch as the night without the morning’s sunrise would be incomplete, the day without the rejuvenation of the night would be unbearable. Sweet and bittersweet in a lover’s dance, separated by circumstance, with the fire of temptation still burning between them. Walls built up of bygone encounters – emotions that once fed the soul are now boxed up and spirits that quenched the thirst for adventure, seemingly held captive in fragile glass bottles, as if the past could so easily be discarded. They say dark cannot exist without light…

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CELEBRATING A MILESTONE!

I just wanted to take a quick moment to sayImage result for polar bear hugs imagesImage result for thank you hugs

THANK YOU

THANK YOU

THANK YOU

to those that have taken the time to read and subscribe to this humble blog!

Today, the 50th Subscriber has clicked that lovely lil’ COME FOLLOW ME button,

and for that, I’m dropping balloons, tossing confetti, and shooting off the fireworks!

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Why? WHY NOT?!

Life is more enjoyable if you find things to celebrate!

So, again, THANK YOU, and I hope you continue to enjoy your visits!

Untold Story (30-word Thursday challenge)

I nearly stepped on this fragile egg shell in my haste to get off to work… It blended in with the gravel of the driveway, especially with the showers overnight bringing a uniform gloss to everything. It set my mind reeling for the entire drive (2016).

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So delicate and almost unnoticeable. Was this the start of a beautiful beginning, or a tragic demise? The untold story resting silently amid the shallow pools of the rocky driveway.

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Curiosity and the Kit

For a while (I’m almost embarrassed to mention how long), I’ve been working on a “children’s” story – inasmuch as the Chronicles of Narnia are children’s stories, but you get the intent. Because of school demands, outrageous work hours, and a cavalcade of health setbacks, this story line took a back seat to, well, life, and its trouble-making hoodlum buddies. It has been this particular story, though, that has been tugging at my ‘novelistic’ heartstrings, begging that I return to my innermost passion, picking up the pieces that I had left scattered across my multiple flash drives as well as what I can recall from memory, having lost nearly the full beginning chapter to a virus-ridden hard drive. I was recently struck with a bolt of inspiration, almost audibly hearing one of the young characters in a conversation with her wise, gentle mother. I seized the opportunity to share an intimate moment with Mademoiselle Muse while she decided to grace me with her presence, despite the ungodly hour on the clock – sleep, be damned! – and such progression is always high-potency fuel on the fire! I’m hoping over the course of the next few weeks, this creative awakening takes up residence without fail and I’m able to continue developing this particular story line; I would love to see these characters come to life and be enjoyed by others!

For now, a tidbit to share with you all:

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heavy-fog-and-closeup-leaves

Willow was coaxed from the comfort of the den, the silken fur tipping her ears swayed by the melodious fog that caressed the timbers as it rolled up from deep within the valley. Against her nature, she sat quietly, watching the wispy air finger its way up and through nearby trees, convincing stubborn leaves to twirl and tremble, wave and waltz with a commanding gentleness. A shimmer of brilliant light shone from around the high back root of the Borealis tree, drawing Willow’s attention. Where the light was coming from was a mystery, as the fog still rested in the canopy overhead. The young fox crawled toward the illuminated root, battling curiosity and trepidation.

“What is it, young one?” the soft, tender voice of Sequoiasong patiently beckoned from just outside the den’s opening.

“A light…” Willowwood stammered, refusing to turn her gaze from the mysterious spectacle. “A brilliant light, like nothing I’ve ever seen before, Mother! I don’t know where it’s coming from; but I don’t want to lose it! ”

“And what is your plan for this light, Willowwood?” Sequoiasong needled. “Will you snatch it up in your jaws and drag it off somewhere, burying it as a prize for yourself?”

“I just want to see where it’s coming from and where it leads.”

“Are you sure you want to know that much about something so mysterious?”

“Of course I want to know!” The petite fox hopped up and down on all four of her dusty paws in a dance of wild impertinence. “And I want to know why the fog sings.”

“You hear the fog singing? What is it saying to you, my young one?”

Willowwood’s frolicking halted and she tilted her right ear toward the sky. “I don’t understand what it’s saying, Mother.” She pinched her eyes tight as if shutting out all light helped with auditory senses. “I’m not even sure there are words… Just a haunting song… A haunting song – so beautiful – my heart, Mother…”

“Breathe, Willow…”
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Midnight Rendezvous (100-Word Challenge)

@bikurgurl‘s weekly “100 Word Challenge” – Week 4 – with the accompanying image (photo credit: Andreas P., Unsplash) as inspiration (pinging back to @bikurgurl blog page)!

…and on we go!

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xn_crzwxgdm-andreas-pGirl, did you get a glimpse of Naomi? Word throughout the glen is that she was seen crossing the meadow just before sunrise, her lips stained deep, her breath heavy and hot, mixing with the crisp morning air – she looked like a derailed iron horse, heading straight for the water! By the time I made it through the trees and down the hill to see her emerge from the brook, all evidence of her midnight escapades were dripping from her coat in tiny, silent droplets. That doe can’t seem to keep herself away from those wild blackberries, thorns or not!

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Buoy-ful Meal Presentation (30-word Thursday Challenge)

This photo was taken in Favorite Channel near Juneau, Alaska, while on a whale-watching expedition (2015). The island in the background  – Shelter Island – is locally known for having a significant number of bear per square mile.

. . . .

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Set adrift with no hope; for the water is teeming with leviathan, nudging their calves through the art of the hunt and thick, grizzled bruins gnash their teeth just beyond the timberline.

. . . .

SECRETS (100-word challenge)

This week’s 100-word challenge, as hosted by @bikurgurl , includes the photo above – one of her very own (photo credit: @bikurgurl 2015)!

Here’s my submission – “SECRETS”

. . . .

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul; however, I am both in awe and perplexed at how you, my fiendish friend, with your steely glare and triumphantly narrow myopic view, manage to possess a world of wonder and beauty beyond a stare of such cold, hard permanence. Light escapes in fragments – shards and offcasts of what once was whole – only to demonstrate your unwillingness to set free any true components of measurable majesty. Why do you lock such azure brilliance away? What tortures you so, deep within your troubled soul, my fiendish friend, that you imprison the heavens?

. . . .

Unique Boutique

I inquisitively peered beyond the façade today, and for a moment, felt my heart sink. Despite a presentable (at least I have been under the impression it was pleasing) storefront, I was awakened to disturbing details. Statistics… purely unhuman and infallibly cold calculations that do not consider ever being considerate, and stare back at the consumer, stone-faced but seemingly without malice or weapon, shattering dreams, hopes, aspirations, and tender hearts.

Twenty blog posts over the course of roughly twenty-two weeks (not counting this one). Over thirty followers now (and a most humble and sincere “thank you” to you all!!). But, in looking at my readership ratings, a most obvious and truly disheartening steady decline… My posting average still remains about 4 new blog posts per month; however, interest in what I am writing seems to have waned drastically. And I ponder if such significant lack of interest should predicate the captain’s call to abandon ship.

1425_3Now, of course, I could invoke the trusty ostrich philosophy, and bury my head in the sand, choosing to ignore the deafening silence played out in the melodic realism of the statistical evidence, as crystal clear and undisputable as any such findings. Conversely, I can fabricate rationalizations that support the finite statistics while leaving a glimmer of hope, such as: people have been busy with the timeliness of the holidays and all the effort, planning, preparation, and participation they entail, and leave blog-reading by the wayside. Another possibility is that some folks out there in the blogosphere, and beyond, suffer from the same two syndromes I too am burdened with: a reading disability that makes reading both incredibly difficult and time consuming (and after 10- to 12-hour workdays, eyes that just don’t want to focus anymore!), and simply, lack of free time to devote to pleasure reading! (I’ve been told that throughout the far reaches of the world, both ‘free time’ and ‘reading for pleasure’ are true events, and not merely works of fiction. I myself remain a skeptic; however, there is always opportunity for growth and a broadening of our understanding, right?)

Or, I can very well dim the illuminated open beckoning call, roll up the awning, shake the dust off the “welcome” mat, drop the window shades, and latch the doors secure amid a darkened dwelling place. Close up shop and proceed forward, or at least onward whatever the direction…

detour

A possible detour (as is often the case in my life)? 

I’ve been visited time and again (translation: haunted) by this quickly-spoken inspirational gem of wisdom, thinking it merely a bobble of whimsy, refusing to consciously allow it to penetrate to the inner depths of my consciousness. Why? Because it tore at my desire to be a people-pleaser, confounded my need for justification, and dispelled fallacies that acknowledgment and edification from others were the only signs of success. I was raised to believe without the praises of others, the conjoined trumpeting of the masses, one was nothing short of invisible; I’ve spent my entire life being invisible, and I was hoping that through my writing, at least one wayward beam of light would rest upon me – not fame and fortune, per se, but a hiatus from utter invisibility.

Specialty stores. (Hang on; this is the same post – I didn’t get lost!) Specialty stores: those small retailers that cater to specific needs and individualistic clientele. A vendor that specializes in offering men a wonderful shaving experience. The clothier that caters to infants and toddlers. Proprietors of anime collectibles. Comic book stores. A vegan bakery and café. A boutique that celebrates the craftsmanship and one-of-a-kind handmade goods of local artisans near high-traffic tourist venues.

I think you’ve got the idea.

But, truly, what is the point, and how does it all relate? Good question. Excellent question!

Let me explain:
One thing that these specialty shops have in common is their disregard for total and complete domination. Yes, they may strive for market position priority (that’s the three business degrees talking…); however, they are intuitive enough to not waste time and resources entertaining the masses while facilitating focused niche markets and boutiques that cater to a select clientele. They, instead, revel in those customers that enter, admire, and welcome with genuine interest the findings that adorn the shelves, baskets, racks, and display cases behind unassuming doors, foregoing the over-commercialized, mass-marketed branding that befalls the majority of retail reality. And those proprietors, those purveyors of fine-found treasures treasure those that have found them! They greet their guests, not worried about those other hurried shoppers looking for items that simply don’t exist within their havens – the vegan baker really isn’t concerned with flagging down a brood of motley teens, snacking on corn dogs and soft pretzels, because she understands her energy is better utilized baking delectable treats for her clientele, and pleasing their palates, nor will the children’s clothier aspire to make those same teenagers frequent visitors to his shop, as they, without need for children’s clothing, will be more of a distraction for the shop owner, whose attention, and heart, are with those who have come to partake in the boutique’s uniqueness, with intent.

summer-sea-glass2Point being (listen, dear inner self!): understand that I am unique. Understand that what I offer is unique. Do not waste my energy and resources (translation: my emotions) trying to please the masses, when knowing full-well it is genuinely more rewarding to celebrate and treasure those that have found me to be a treasure without any benefit of over-commercialized, mass-marketed branding.

This is all a learning process – seeing myself as good enough, without outward confirmation – that is nowhere near its completion. I hope that by sharing my heart and my thoughts, some others may come to the same conclusion about themselves (even if it may only reach 30+ wonderful, caring individuals – nay, cherished guests! – gracious enough to be following this ‘specialty blog’).

Here’s to heart-satisfying and thought-provoking “retail therapy”!