I think it’s very healthy to spend time alone. You need to know how to be alone and not be defined by another person.
--Oscar Wilde (via psych-facts)
All beauty takes time to emerge
At the end of my yoga practice last night the story below was read as the closing meditation.
How fitting and true!
By The Rev. Lucinda S. Duncan
This week I gave Bob a big bowl full of narcissus bulbs to take to his office at the Fenn School. It would be cheery, I thought, for him to have some flowers in February.
In less than two hours after he had placed the bowl on the window side table, five eighth grade boys had stop by to ask him a math or scheduling question. Each one had noticed the bowl. And each one in remarkably similar phraseology, had asked him, “Why are you growing those onions in a bowl of rocks?”
Now I love a good laugh when I hear one—and that one is funny. But I also know that there are times—perhaps even extended periods of month or years – when we look over at what life has give us and see not narcissus bulbs, ready to emerge in all loveliness, but a bunch of unsightly onions in a bowl full of rocks.
If that is where you are, or where someone you love is, I want you to know that all beauty takes time to emerge. All loveliness needs darkness to become formed. All deep roots need rocky terrain to become so firmly established that what they support cannot be toppled. And all of us have times in our lives when it doesn’t matter WHO tells us that we are looking at narcissus bulbs: all we can see, or even meant to see, are those funny looking onions growing in a bowl of rocks.
To live in faith is to believe, even when you cannot justify it, that you are loved, that you are forming anew, and that beauty and right relationships will come forth—like the greening of rock—bound narcissus bulbs—as time goes by. Hang on, keep forming, and oh, by the way, try to have a laugh or two along the way.
BART, Hair and People
The funniest, scariest and most ignorant things always happen on my BART rides. This morning, I got on a crowed train car to head into San Francisco for work.
Once I found a standing spot, I heard someone behind me trying to get my attention.
The voice said, “Excuse me! Excuse me!” So I turned around to look at who was speaking. It was a man, mid twenties, in distress. He said, “Your hair…YOUR HAIR!” While making awkward gestures. Of course, this was not a compliment. So I looked at him like he was crazy.
The man just couldn’t find the words to say, “YOUR HAIR IS IN THE WAY! You have big curly hair that I am unfamiliar with and I can’t seem to position myself so that it doesn’t touch me.”
Of course he didn’t say that. He continued to look and make weird gestures. While everyone on the train looked on.
I finally said “WHAT?!”
And he kept saying, “yourrrrr, yourrrrr.”
I replied, “OK?!!” And turned the fuck back around.
I hope my golden curls continue to make him uncomfortable. My hair isn’t going anywhere.
I refuse, my hair refuses.
You will get there when you are meant to get there and not one moment sooner…so relax, breathe and be patient.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
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Thanks to Arizmendi Bakery & @Postmates I got my King Cake! It’s not Fat Tuesday without a piece of this goodness. #FatTuesday #MardiGras
I’ve been going blonde for a year and a half now. I’ve bleached, blow dried, flat ironed and cut my hair off.
And this is what I’m currently rockin!
We live entirely, especially if we are writers, by the imposition of a narrative line upon disparate images, by the ‘ideas’ with which we have learned to freeze the shifting phantasmagoria which is our actual experience.
Or at least we do for a while.
Joan Didion, The White Album
I just reread this essay, and I think it’s an important one for writers to read—not to be better writers, I think, but to be better humans outside of our writing. I definitely fall victim to the need to narrativize things that happen in my life, to want to say x happened because of y because of z. And yes, life is a series of chain reactions, of “fate” or whatever you want to call it splitting off like branches on a tree because of the decisions we make. But it doesn’t all have to make sense; it doesn’t have to tie up neatly. If there’s a gun on the mantle in the proverbial first act of my life, it doesn’t have to go off in the third.
I’m having a hard time with this concept right now, given how certain negative past actions of mine are resurfacing in what seems like a karmic rage, but we—I—need to remember that life is fucking random. Dwelling on the past events that lead to our current situation is, a lot of the time, useless. I know it can sound trite, but if life is a non-narrative, there’s only moving forward.(via yeahwriters)