Inspiration
Articles to inspire authentic living on the topics of resilience, spirituality, and self-growth with touches of storytelling, depth, and humor.
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The Waiting Room
It was scheduled to be a routine visit, a yearly check-up that fortunately proved that things were clear and well. I could not shook the mild anxiety that always invades me when having to go back. You would think that having grown between hospitals while following my workaholic-doctor parents would make it easier. It has not. I never liked hospitals.
This one, although beautiful and full of cheerful, kind staff, had been by far the hardest to visit. Seating in the waiting room, seeing kids battling cancer, some without a leg, without hair, in wheelchairs or walking with their chemo medicine hanging from a stand makes my stomach hurt. Then there are the parents, who have to remain calm for their kids, pretending life goes on as usual despite scary diagnosis. Nothing makes me suffer more that a hurting child and a broken-hearted parent that swallows their suffering for the sake of their kid’s hope. I can be a rock for so many things, but not for that.
Building memories, one song and one fire at a time
It might have been the melancholic tone of a snowy day by the fireplace with my three kids, quite a rarity these days that the older ones have tons of commitments, but while I was at the piano a thought hit me. I was thinking of songs to play and I remembered one that I really like but have not heard in years. I still remembered when I first was introduced to it by my dad. From all the memories I have of him, all the things we shared and all the things we didn’t, music was never at the top of my list. However today when I thought of that song so many of the songs and genres I learned about from him started cascading. From classical records, new age music, flamenco, ballads, opera and instrumental songs, his style was so varied and he loved his extensive music collection that everyone borrowed from. He challenged me to hear whatever was out of my comfort zone and learned from new musicians. I felt immense gratitude for the love for music he inspired in me and for all the memories we got to share even when it seems that we did not have that much time together between his demanding career, me leaving Venezuela young and he passing ten years after. But those sweet memories prevail in my heart.
The trail of kisses
How many books, podcast, retreats, meditations, therapy sessions, friends advice do we need in order to find ourselves? It seems we are always searching for who we really are, what is our soul’s maximum potential and what makes us unique and special.
Recently, it took a child’s drawing to enlighten my path on where to keep looking. I should provide a small disclaimer to explain that this certain child tends to find witty, quick solutions to problems he may have caused. And so, I am still trying to evaluate if his intention was to melt my heart or offer some spontaneous, important insight.
Of Hiding and Seeking and Finding Our Inner Voices
HIde-and-seek: the universal game where getting lost is only half the fun.
Recently, my almost four-years old wanted to play hide-and-seek and of course, I obliged. We spent some time in the backyard, taking turns between counting to ten and finding good hiding places. Listening to his infectious laugh when he was either hiding or trying to find me was so adorable! The beauty of playing this game with a toddler is that there is no discretion on what constitutes a good hiding place. Anything would do, even if half your body is exposed. And then, his laugh is so loud that even if he found the perfect camouflage, the giggles would give him away. To make it even cuter, if I asked “where could Leo be?” he would scream “here!” The innocence of children!
The importance of hide-and-seek is that is teaches kids the concept of object permanence. When they first discover the game, babies think that when they put their hands or a blanket over their eyes, things stop existing. By their toddler years, they learn that things or people still exist even when they cannot see them.
But I am not a teacher or a psychologist. I am not as concerned with this game’s developmental advantages other than those that interest me as a mother. However, yesterday in the midst of my son’s giggles and us practicing counting numbers and seeing how fast I could find a spot to hide I realize there is a big lesson for my spirit in this game.
The art of setting free
Recently, I had a very interesting conversation with a woman from India. She is a very lively, entertaining person and the conversation, besides offering lots of opportunities for a good laugh, was filled with interesting and thought-provoking topics. At one point, she mentioned how her father died a couple of years ago from a chronic illness. I immediately said I was sorry, and I was, I am kind of familiar with that feeling. But she interrupted me with her incredible candor to say a word that was new for me but it resonated in my brain and my chest with the echo that important words carry…
“Moksha.”
Although my daughter makes fun of me because according to her I am buddhist-wannabe and for being a yoga aficionado, I had never heard that word.
The woman, with the same lightness she used when mentioning her kids’ anecdotes, explained the concept. She mentioned that her dad had moved on and in doing so he had been set free from his disease. At the same time, he had liberated his family of the responsibility of taking care of him while he carried the chronic illness, something they did out of the immense love they professed him. They were bound to his disease because of love. He was set free, emancipated from pain and that was a good thing. Moksha…what a beautiful, complex and selfless concept.
Threading the path to our North Star
There are women whose dream is to have a shoe closet like the one Mr. Big built for Carry Bradshaw: the shoe displays, the lights, an universe of heels and colors and tons of accessories that are more decorative than functional. Although I would not oppose to a closet like that (as long as shoes are arranged by color), there are other places that provoque my soul to vibrate at a much higher frequency.
A bookstore and its sister, the old-book section at a library; an art supply store with tons of items to play with and create the mountain of work I will never get to actually produce. Lastly, and the strange thing is that this one does not connect with my career choices: a fabric store.
My heart always jumps when I see the rolls of fabric. As a kid in a candy store, the awe accumulates in my stomach and comes out in a sigh. Maybe it is that sense of not knowing where to start, the physical need to rejoice in the different textures that caress the tips of my fingers, or perhaps the sensation of getting drunk on color overload and creative patterns. My soul gets greedy, I want them all! So like in a labyrinth I get lost comparing all the textiles, imagining what I would do with each of them: beautiful gowns that I don’t have an occasion to wear, summer dresses, swimsuits, handbags, upholstery for that piece of junk I found at a tag sale.