I frequently hear the question: if you could talk to your younger self, what would you say? Intriguing, but why ask this question or for that matter, why give it much thought?
After all, we can’t do it — never.
The allure of the question lies in the supposition that we are now wiser; if we could just have a moment back, say from twenty or thirty years ago, we would be able to share our new found wisdom with our younger selves and we would benefit from it. I get it, really I do. Yep, I’d love to be able to do it.
But after some thought I realize it’s just never goning to happen. So I’ve come up with my own twist on this notion.
Photo by Europeana
If you were able to speak to your OLDER self, what would you say? That’s something we can do…well in time.
We all have valuable experiences that we can share, however, not many folks don’t want unsolicited advice no matter how wonderful we think we are. However, we probably don’t, and won’t, mind listening to ourselves so let’s share it with ourselves a little down the road.
No matter how old we are, we have had experiences — both good and bad. Events in our lives have shaped us, bothered us, have even played with us, and at times, questioned our very being.
If we ever reflect and allow for even a modest amount of introversion in our lives, we learn.
We may learn, but we don’t always remember or practice what we learn, as it may be crowded out by the everyday and mundane activities that can overtake the best of us. So, write it down! Keep it tucked away and pull it out and share it with our older self. Your older self will appreciate it as we know it comes from a special place deep within and meant to make our lives more fulfilling down the road.
We Don’t Know When
You’re in the present for goodness sake, and your future may or may not come, but be ready for it as your older self wants to hear from you.
Since the past is gone, I say don’t waste your brain power on what you’d tell your ghost of the past.
What would I say to myself when I’m 67 or 75 or 85 or…? You may be younger than I and may wonder what you might say to the 25, 30, 45, or older you. Whatever you end up saying, it is relevant and important as it meant something to you “back when”. It shows how you thought and how your mind worked. It is a memory that is just yours and it’s worth remembering and repeating, especially to yourself.
Here’s what I’ll say, at least for now
Not only do I want to think of what I “might” say to my older self, I already know some ideas to share. By the way, when I use the word “you” it means “me”.
You were always hard on yourself and if you still are, stop it. Ease up old fella.
You always said that if you had the time, you’d travel the world, so do it–now.
You wondered if your life’s work helped anyone. Hell ya, you spent your work life in a field with a mission to better life for others, and the modest paycheck you brought home, you gave it to your family so that they could have what they needed, and then some, at the time.
So, what if you didn’t write the “great American novel” you sure have hell tried. Who else do you know even attempted writing a book much less finished writing one?
Bucket list or no bucket list, if you haven’t done everything you wanted, don’t worry about it but keep going.
The regrets that are floating around in your head aren’t worth spending time on. Don’t bog yourself down with stuff that could’ve been or might have happened if you had only done this or that.
Thank God you are not a perfectionist and did not live a perfect life. Have you seen those who are and how they lived? Sheesh!
Be who you are even if you couldn’t do it when you were my age.
Chill out, smile through it. I think older folks could smile a bit more–even you.
You ain’t in the 80’s anymore and that’s a good thing wheter you think so or not. It wasn’t as wonderful as you may remember. I know from personal experience even if you think otherwise.
How fortunate you are to have experienced love of and for another and for so long.
Your kids loved you then and still do so don’t even think about it.
You met a lot of people along the way, befriended some and they embraced it or not. They missed out.
The decisions you made along the way were the best for that moment in time so that means THEY WERE the best decsions. so don’t do all that second-guessing.
Hey, I’m telling you these things because I love you AND I know what I’m talking about as I’m talking to you and your me—just my older me.
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
Ah, the gloaming. Twilight…the moment when the day dims its brilliance and welcomes the early shadows of its friendly rival, of sorts, the night.
It’s far more than twilight, dusk, or the setting sun. There’s something more mystical about the moment known as the gloaming. I would say that this peaceful transition of power in nature is even magical. I’ve experienced it, have you?
Photo by Tetyana Kovyrina
Experiencing The Gloaming
First you must be outside and it can be just about anywhere. I prefer where you can observe nature. It costs nothing, but if you’re willing, it just might open a door—a magical door.
First, clear your mind, or the door of enchantment remains closed. Be open to what your internal voice tells you. Your imagination will become heightened. You may even feel “as one” with your surroundings. As we grow older, we lose our natural sense of wonder.
The Gloaming Begins…
When does the gloaming begin or end? Pinpointing those exact moments isn’t easy. I would say that when the day’s clarity becomes muted and loses its luster, and displays for only a few moments blends of blues, purples, and reds, you know it’s the gloaming. It’s a feeling, too, and not a calculated moment that can be recorded.
I love when the sun’s rays lose their intensity, and its light melts into the earth. This is the moment when only what we imagine comes alive. It is a magical moment, that is, if you permit it to be.
After all, that’s what magic is…if you believe in it, you will be part of it.
The magic of the gloaming is poetic…it is lyrical. The moment is enchanting as the fading light dances on the rocks, trees, or a pond, it stirs a sense of awe. The “what ifs” freely enter your mind.
The moment teems with the spirit we all possess as it tugs us into introspection. What we long for comes to mind as we look back on the path the day had to offer. Like that very day, we now loosen our hold of both the good and the bad that the day detailed and eases us into a smooth wholeness of the evening, where the once sharp edges are now softened.
Lightening Bugs
Where I am, in June and only during this month, I am joined by lightning bugs. Just think of their existence. I heard they have been around for 100 million years. It’s really pretty cool. Their flickering presence is unique, and it is dreamlike. Theyare a welcome guest as they are nothing less than magical.
To their potential mate their luminescence is clear and attractive and is the door to future generations. To their predators, however, their light is a signal that if eaten, it will not fare well for the aggressor. Nature is wonderful.
Our Thoughts are the Magic
The gloaming sparks possibilities—some mundane and sensible, while others may be wild and untamed. Our thoughts are the magic. Our feelings float like a mystical aura, and we know there is much we cannot explain, and we are reassured that this is a good thing.
In this vast universe, our knowledge is but a small sliver of what life is all about. As the years progress, we learn more, but we have a long road to travel before us if our goal as humans is to unravel every mystery.
There’s still time to enjoy the magic and mystery in each of us. I hesitate to attempt to dispel all that is magical in our lives and encourage others to consider the same. We just need to slow down and allow our minds to wander. We need the clarity of our future like the lightning bug, and subtly let it be known to our detractors that we are not to be messed with.
I do write fiction, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.
Note: An Old English word, gloaming, originated with the Scottish and has been used since the Middle Ages in English and Scottish literature.
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
Although many folks express their love for their mothers on Mother’s Day, I think it should be a daily occurrence in some way. That’s not always easy to do as we get wrapped up in our own world, but we should aspire to do more…always. Something I did as a kid many years ago reminds me of doing this. I thought I’d share it with readers on this Mother’s Day.
Several years after my mom passed away, I uncovered this note and drawing. I would never have remembered writing it or drawing the picture had I not been lucky enough to find this perfectly preserved loose-leaf page. When I first laid eyes on it, memories gushed forward.
I was nine years old when I drew this picture and wrote this note—that was in 1969 some 56 years ago!
A Simple Act
It was infrequent that my mom and dad went out to dinner, but I now vividly recall this particular evening. I am the youngest of four children, and so there were MANY babysitters that night. It was an April evening. Without prompting, I did a chore for my mom. Moments after, I rummaged to find a piece of paper and a pen. For a kid my age, using a pen was new, and I wanted to use one any chance I had. I sat at the kitchen table, pulled my thoughts together, and put pen to paper. I wanted to share my picture of our home, tell her I loved her, and let her know the picture and note were hers to keep.
The Feeling
When this memory had become fresh not long ago, it came with the feelings that I had at that very moment in 1969. Feelings of a little, skinny, and shy kid. Yes, this was very weird! It was not “like” going back in time, it was more like I only knew that time as there was no other.
She Saved It
As I thought more about it, it was clear my mom cherished this gift and what it meant to her as she tucked it away and saved it. Why did she save it? I am not sure, but I have a few guesses. Looking at it today, I am warm with delight, joy, and love. Not because of anything I did, but because she saved it. Our connection was seamless—one.
Maybe she saved it for me to find many years later, when she was gone. Yes, I am certain of that. I was meant to find it these many years later. The thing is, she has never been gone from my life.
So, what about these symbols? The drawing is one thing, but the action of tucking it away is symbolic. As a parent of four myself, I know the value of such a gift. Life would be meaningless without symbols and our actions that express ourselves and our enduring love.
Not Just on Mother’s Day
The sentiments of my 9-year-old self and those of my “mommy” symbolize something powerful that cannot be touched, but it can be held as it has a place in my heart. This treasure represents goodness, life, and light. It’s a symbol of love. It’s for everyday and Mother’s Day.
What Does Love Mean?
Many folks have tried to define “love” but there is no one clear definition. For me, love lasts an eternity as its vibrations that began years ago, or at this moment, continue to move outward and forever. These vibrations trample over the ills it may find on its path. These vibrations are warm and tell us so much if we are open to listening.
It’s not about data, analytics, AI, algorithms, technology and other soulless distractions, but love is about being a part of something spectacular, wonderful and beautifully human.
Love’s Not Perfect
Interestingly, I found the rough draft of this note on the back of another picture I drew so I attached it to the back of this picture and placed it in a frame. Even after my nine-year-old self “practiced” what I wanted to write, in the version I gave my mom, I still made an error. Even after I have practiced, when the curtain goes up, and I step in front of the limelight, I do so in all my vulnerable ways—I like that about me. Never used to, though… I’m sure she knew this about me. This, too, is symbolic as I am imperfect and always have been. Love really isn’t perfect either. It is organic—it’s living, growing, and changing. As we change with it, love never ends. I miss her.
“Our House”, the chore I did without being asked, my imperfections, but most of all, the care she gave this gift and me is, indeed, a symbol that gives my life—and hers—a profound and cherished meaning.
Happy Mother’s Day Mom!
About E.G. Kardos
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
We’ve all met new people and wondered what might happen next. Will we become friends, or will we remain acquaintances? We may not think about it at the moment, but we have all meet people who will mean nothing to us, or worse, they may become our enemy; that’s life. Like in “real life” self-discovery books explore much more than the character’s relationship with “self” but their relationship with others and society.
I love the chapter I’m sharing below. It’s when Eli meets Aiden. Even when I re-read it, I pick up something new.
Like the characters we meet and journey with them, many times we just don’t have any idea where a relationship is going until it organically unfolds. There have been times that I wished I could check my proverbial crystal ball. Sometimes I have thought “why now” or “why this person”?
We carry baggage to every introduction of every new person we meet and so do they. In good fiction, so do the characters we come to love.
Fate?
Is it fate? I mean who we meet and who we don’t? If we showed up early, late, or not at all what may have we missed out on without even knowing it?
If you’re like me you’ve asked more than once, “what if?”. Do people enter our lives for a reason? Is all this fate?
If you enjoy books that explore the complexities of relationships and the journey of self-discovery, Cutting of Harp Strings should be your next read. Well, at least I hope you to read the excerpt I included below.
First, a little about the story…
Eli’s life is in limbo. He’s searching for a sense of peace but can’t seem to find it. That all changes when he returns many years later to the place where he first met Aiden.
Back those many years ago, Eli and Aiden were polar opposites, but despite their differences, a rare friendship blossoms. A friendship that neither had ever experienced before—or since. Caught off guard, their relationship deepens but like a gut punch, a promise that Aiden made to himself changes everything. Eli is left to pick up the pieces.
In Cutting of Harp Strings Eli artfully weaves together a narrative of friendship, living in the moment, and love.
Self-Discovery Books
It’s a story of self-discovery and will take you on an emotional rollercoaster of joy, heartbreak, and ultimately, utter bliss that, I think, is sure to stay with you long after turning the last page.
Why?
Readers have told me that the story is full of engaging characters and has an evocative and visual plot. They have shared with me that Cutting of Harp Strings is an unforgettable coming-of-age self discovery book that leaves them reflecting on the beauty of true friendship and the power of love.
I’m happy with that…so please read….and let me know what you think.
TWO
August 1973
I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I was sure that Father Meinrad told me this room number. Double-checking, I pulled out of my pocket a small crumpled-up piece of paper where I had written the room number.
“Yep,” I said, aloud.
Turning the knob, I didn’t know what to expect or whom I would find. With hesitation, I wrapped my head around the unwieldy oak door to take a look. No one was there. Creeping in, I dropped my duffel bag and knapsack on the bare tile floor and took a deep breath. Thinking I was intruding, I just then considered going down to the TV room to wait a while but, with a rare moment of certainty, I thought otherwise. After all, this was my room too.
In both oversized windows were two enormous box fans buzzing and gusting winds in different directions. I turned them down one notch and began looking around but disturbing nothing. I began to size up this guy, after all, I would be living with him in this space for the next two school terms. Tacked up on the wall behind his dresser were pictures from magazines of sports stars. I saw Jerry West and Wilt Chamberlain among the collage. Tucked partly behind his mirror was a recent news clipping of Mark Spitz highlighting his seventh Olympic gold medal. Fluttering to one side was an obscure obituary of someone named Sir Francis Chichester who at sixty-five, I found by scanning the clipping, sailed around the world alone in his ketch called Gipsy Moth IV.
“Hmmm. How odd,” I mumbled to myself.
I didn’t want to disturb anything, but I wanted to know everything. On his stereo was a new album. “Aerosmith—Dream On…he can’t be too bad—maybe.”
Mountains of books were everywhere except the bookcase in this twelve-by-something room. Zen, art history, and architectural design,
you name it, he had books for all his interests. Unusual bookmarks poked out from the pages. Spoons, Popsicle sticks, and a sock accounted for a few. A tee-shirt, gym shorts, and an assortment of tennis shoes were scattered and strewn about. His knotted school necktie hung from a lamp, and his blue blazer and khaki pants draped from an ancient gray radiator under the windows—I could only wonder what he kept in his closet.
At first glance, the cell, as the monks called them, was a whirlwind of chaotic prep school life, but I sensed there was a kind of order to things. It was an order that, perhaps, only the caretaker might know the code. I wasn’t going to lose sleep over it. Maybe I would care some other day.
On a stack of books on his desk, was his journal. Peeking behind me at the door and then back at the notebook, I laid my hand on its cover. Flipping it open, a sinking feeling came over me and closed it with a slap. Peering back at the door, I shook my head letting out a puff of air. Beginning to act a bit like a voyeur made me feel strange and didn’t like the feeling. Even so, I was intrigued with him and speculated if we would get along. If what he collects, and what he reads, and how he keeps his space was any indication, it would seem this year would be dreadfully long.
Among the mayhem, much to my surprise, he had both beds impeccably made, so I had no clues as to which bunk was his. Feeling like a stranger heightened my anxiety. Wasn’t so sure I wanted to deal with a new way of living, considering I would be spending this year working my ass off to get into Georgetown next fall. Maybe weird, but not knowing where I would lay my head tonight was bothersome. Sleeping was important. With confidence, I chose one and sat down. I slowly leaned back on my elbows just thinking about this hiccup in my life.
BAM!
Without warning, the door flew open nearly blowing off the hinges. I sprang forward. My uneasiness escalated and my heart raced faster than Spitz’s Olympic record times. Like the hinges on the door, I sensed things were not going to be secure the way I was used to, like it or not. I didn’t know why, but my gut told me that I had better take my steps cautiously.
He was dripping with sweat and wearing cutoff jeans and black Chuck Taylor sneakers. Without uttering a word, but with a glance, he shot past me to one of the fans to cool himself. As they were before, he cranked up both fans to their highest setting. With his side and back toward me and with his hands on his hips, I had to notice his chiseled definition. Through the skewed windowpane and the flickering fan blades, strange patterns made by the sun played on his torso. He didn’t seem real. He was about my height of six feet, and that was where the similarities ended. His brown hair was thick with a luster and accents of the summer sun. Seemingly molded with a sculptor’s plan, he had a natural outline of long lashes that framed his blue eyes. I later learned the girls at our sister school loved his eyes and thought he was so adorable. His jaw and cheekbones rolled together in absolute harmony. If there was ever a classic nose, it was his. He, of course, had an even tan. As we all have flaws, his were not visible—that’s enough to piss off anyone.
Rolling his head in fluid rotation, his actions shifted from his self-focus to that of me. As he guided his neck from side to side, he said something that I could not make out.
“What did you say? The fans are too loud, I – didn’t – hear – you,” I said drawing out each word and cupping my ear with my hand.
In a single motion, he switched off one fan and turned toward me. Poking fun, he said, “My – name – is – Aiden. You’re late. The semester started ten days ago. I thought the place was all mine until Father Meinrad stopped me five minutes ago. What a bombshell.” He shook his head.
His choice of words aggravated me, and I responded the way I felt. “Oh, yeah, I’m Eli, and sorry if I’m spoiling your little plans, but are you always an ass?”
“Geez, hold on. Get a grip. I didn’t mean anything by it. I figured it was just too good to be true—that’s all. If you want to know the truth, I was hoping they’d move someone in here.” He totally switched gears and looked at me with a smile. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. Let’s start over—hey roomie. I’m Aiden.”
I couldn’t change my mood that fast and muttered with disinterest something like. “Yeah, yeah—hi I’m Eli, whatever.”
“Okay, that’s a lot better wouldn’t you say?” Aiden asked.
“Yeah, I’m all for fresh starts anyway. I’m here, aren’t I? So, if I may ask, what happened to your last roommate?” I asked with raised eyebrows.
“Absolutely, you may ask. Go ahead and ask,” he said crossing his arms.
“All right already,” I let out a sigh.
“Okay, okay, just trying to add some levity.”
“Uh-huh,” I said rolling my eyes.
“So, anyway, my last roommate was this guy named Brody. He’s still around. He flunked a few classes, and the monks didn’t like that. He went ballistic, but that didn’t have anything to do with his grades because he hates me anyway. He’s got issues and he made me the reason.”
“Oh really—issues?”
“Yeah—issues. I’m over all that and don’t care one way or another,” he said with a flicker of a smile. “Hey, I hope you get good grades—and don’t have issues. I don’t want you, the monks, or your mom or dad coming after me.”
Aiden began to tidy the room and nonchalantly said, “Looks like I did take over the place, but I just didn’t figure on a new kid coming in…anyway, what’s mine is yours. Yep, I know how hard it is to be thrown into strange situations.”
“Don’t worry about it. So, tell me more about Brody.”
“Huh? Nothing more to tell.” He stiffened up and looked away, so I knew he wasn’t going to budge. He changed the subject. “So, Eli, what’s your story? I mean, why are you just getting here now?”
“My mom, well, my mom passed away a few years back…”
“Oh man—didn’t have any idea. Sorry for the crack about irate moms and dads.”
“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, Dad had this thought that to better prepare me for college, I needed to spend my senior year away from home. Literally a week ago we, I mean he, settled on St. Augustine’s. In the last year, he’s hardly been at home, so I think that’s the real reason.
“Cool. It’s all good. You’re here now.”
“Dad says I should be away from distractions. He presumes coming here would help me, you know, with the Fathers watching out for me. He says it would give me an edge getting into college. Yep, he thinks this is my ticket to Georgetown.”
“Well, it sounds like he’s got it all figured out,” Aiden said.
“Yeah, well, you don’t know my whole situation.”
“Oh?”
“They appointed him ambassador to Belgium, and he is going to spend a lot of time out of the country. When he is here, he’s going to be pretty busy—even busier than before. He decided that it would be best if I went to a school like this one. I always wanted to be a lawyer—like him. So, if this place helps me to get into Georgetown, then this is a good place for me to be.”
“Yeah, a boarding school,” Aiden interrupted. “But old Father Meinrad may have put you in the wrong room. I mean, I’m a distraction and I know it. I look for distractions. Like, distraction is my middle name. To me, that’s a good thing. Anyway—you’re here now.”
There was a long and awkward silence. I ran my fingers through my hair and felt myself tense up starting with my toes shooting upward.
“Well, I’m not planning to be around much on the weekends. We’re
only a couple of hours from D.C. so I plan to go home on the weekends when Dad’s there.”
“Hmmm. I think you’ll be here most weekends…anyway,” Aiden said. “There are some cool things to do around here. Lots to explore…and the Shenandoah River is pretty excellent this time of year. That’s where I just came from.”
“No—no. Thanks, but I’m not here for that. I’m here to get my diploma and move on.”
“Yeah, yeah yeah—I hear ya. You’re not some kind of a dork, are you? If we’re going to live together, we may as well try to hang out and have a good time. There will be plenty of time for studying. Didn’t mean to scare you with all that distraction talk.”
I was getting aggravated, and a sigh seeped out. “Hey Aiden, I just don’t need all this right now. Okay?”
“Yeah, man. I hear you. I gave you your first distraction,” Aiden said sarcastically. “You should know, Eli, the Robes might not say it, but they want us to have some distractions. Saturdays are made for distractions. That’s the way they want it. That’s the way we want it too. We don’t see them, and they don’t see us. Today is Saturday and I’m making the most out of it.”
Aiden was more interested in thinking of other things and offered his own perspective. “You may never want to go home on the weekends—or ever.”
“Oh really?”
“Let me tell you…Saturdays…it’s our day. Everyone needs a day off. Even the Robes.”
“You keep saying Robes, what’s a Robe?”
“They’re a who not a what. They’re the good Fathers, you know, the monks—the guys wearing black robes who run this place.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. But you don’t call them that to their face, do you? I mean you say, Father, right?”
“Eli, yes call them Father—for a smart dude, you may be a bit slow on the uptake. The kids here have called them Robes forever, you know, behind their backs. Sometimes they overhear us, and they really
hate it. So, watch out when you use the word because some of them have a fierce backhand slap.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks for the tip,” I said facing my palms out his way and shaking my head.
“Anyway, what I was trying to say was that the coaches, who are not Robes, rotate to keep track of us on the weekends. It’s like one coach per class and we have seventy or so in each class so it’s loose, very loose. I spend time running in the woods. It’s much better than on the track or on campus somewhere. It’s just better.”
I didn’t think he would ever shut up. When he did, I wasn’t sure what to do, but at least now, I knew the slang for priests. Yep, I didn’t think this arrangement was going to work out.
“Well, that sounds great and all, but I think I’ll pass. I’ve never been much for hiking or exploring, so count me out.”
“Once I get you off-campus, you’ll see.”
“No, I don’t think so. Don’t think it’s going to happen. Being close to the dorm is fine by me, and anyway I think I’ll be spending time in the library getting ready for college.”
“Sounds like your dad, I mean you have a plan, but I don’t know… the Robes won’t just let you study all the time. I’m telling you.”
Aiden seemed to have an answer for everything, so I thought I should change the subject. “Well, I’m going to try out for the basketball team.”
“Cool. All right. We do have something in common. Yeah, b-ball—cool.”
Somehow, we managed a moment of quiet. Thank God. Aiden leaped backward onto a bed. He landed squarely in the middle of the mattress while clasping his hands behind his head. Finally, I got my answer and now knew which bed was mine. So, I began to collect my
duffel and knapsack, threw them on my bed, and unzipped all the compartments. Out of the corner of my right eye, I could tell he was interested in what I was doing. Using my body to shield my belongings, not that I had anything to hide, I unpacked. Just wasn’t ready to offer the same courtesy Aiden had extended to me earlier.
Seeing all I needed to see, I decided that this arrangement was awful and was ready to talk to Father Meinrad. He told me earlier in the day that if I didn’t think my roommate would work out, switching rooms was not a problem. He said that several students were without a roommate. A guy named Luis, I remembered him telling me, who lived right down the hall didn’t have one. Yep, Father and I needed to talk.
After a few minutes of uneasy silence, Aiden lost interest in what I was doing and blurted out, “Okay, didn’t mean any harm. Sorry to intrude.”
He bolted up from his bed, yanked off his worn sneakers, and peeled off his shorts. He grabbed a towel hanging from a closet doorknob, sniffed it, and he left the same way he entered. He headed down the long hall to the bathroom for a shower. Just in time, as I was ready to punch someone.
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
“Love is a strange thing, and I yearn for it once more. I don’t need to give it much thought, I just need to give it sunlight and space to grow–to run in a field of tall grass and be free.”
Photo by Victoria Prymak
This is a quote from my novel, Cutting of Harp Strings. It is perhaps my favorite quote from all my books. Apparently, it is appreciated by others too.
As a writer, it’s incredibly rewarding when others share a quote or excerpt from my book. They, of course, cite where they found the quote and name me as the author. Sometimes people will mention this in a discussion or post it on their social media. This shows me that others, and not just me, appreciate the quote. Among the throngs of authors, I see this as a major “win.”
Quite frankly, it’s exhilarating.
A few weeks ago, however, I discovered that this quote was used on a social media account, and not only did they not cite my book or me, but they used it as a personal quote – verbatim. Sure, I know this wrongfully goes on all the time, but it was a real shocker for me—at least give me some credit I thought. I was steamed.
I mean this is my work and it depicts the soul of my novel—my soul.
It felt like someone reached into my chest and pulled out my heart. Was I overreacting? Maybe. But I don’t think so because a writer chooses their words carefully. Words matter as does their arrangement. It’s like the notes of music. This novel, too, was thirty years in the making.
I politely contacted the person and asked them to credit me with the quote. I didn’t ask them to remove it but to merely cite me. That was about four weeks ago, and it is still up as if it is their quote.
But you know what?
The very day I contacted the person, I decided to think differently. I decided that it was okay— not that I wanted to continually encounter this situation, but because this person was so captivated by my words that they wanted to use them for themselves.
Because of this shift in perspective, I immediately felt good. It was weird – like magic and I felt a surprisingly warm feeling wash over me. I imagined they might have read the book, and this passage had landed in a spot in their heart where they wanted it to remain close. They wanted it to be part of who they were. Then I thought…
Doesn’t every writer love when their readers become one with their story? I do.
In a way when I read the quote in light of this event, it grew a hundredfold. It became my elixir – and the reader’s as well.
Here is the full quote found in my novel. If you use it in some way, and I hope you do, please let folks know where you found it.
“It’s a maze—life that is. Sometimes, for moments here and there, it appears otherwise with clean lines and crystal facets. Not often. Life is more than what I thought. And I knew this all along but wasn’t willing to believe in myself—to believe me. Aiden showed me, but it was for me to act. Love is a strange thing, and I yearn for it once more. I don’t need to give it much thought, I just need to give it sunlight and space to grow—to run in a field of tall grass and be free.”
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
Over thousands of years, many of the greatest minds have grappled with the meaning of life. Questions abound regarding life’s origin, reason, purpose, and value. Still other questions persist, such as why we exist or what is life’s significance.
So Many Questions
We’re here already, so why the question of origin? All the “greats” over the millennia haven’t provided an answer to this or any of the questions that have plagued humanity about the meaning of life.
Why do we exist? Again, I’ll take the easy way out and say, does it matter? If we knew would we be doing things differently? Would we think differently? Maybe, but probably not. A brief history lesson will show that humans haven’t changed much over the years in this regard.
Photo by sander traa
We develop new tools – from a slingshot to automatic weapons or a printing press to a PC, but a slug moves faster than our progression of thinking and feeling about things how we treat others and ourselves.
What would we do if we knew?
Say we find out that we exist to help others of our species live a better life. Knowing that would we automatically do it? I’m talking about everyone since this is “why we exist”. We eat and drink to sustain life and everyone will do that, but wold everyone be in sync to do other things? I’m thinking no.
As far as life’s significance, well this seems arbitrary. That’s like wondering why we desire love. I’m not sure we need to analyze the significance of life or love. How about we just explore it? Life and love deserve it.
What about the many questions about life’s reason, purpose, and value? Well this is up to us. S this leads me to a far better question for each of us to ponder and that is:
So what is the meaning of OUR life?
With the question I pose, perhaps we can look at our past for clues, but spend most of our time looking at our present. Our present may then, in turn, inform our future.
“The unexamined life is not worth living.” – Socrates
We learn about ourselves through our experiences and attempt to find meaning. We are reflective by nature, but we often overlook or are unwilling to find meaning in our introspection. Just look at history and how we, humankind, seldom heed its message. We seem to like our olpitical existence.
We Decide
Like the skin of an onion, if we peel back the layers of man’s interpretation of how others should live, we may see ourselves as we truly are. It is up to us to do this as no one will do it for us. We shouldn’t expect anyone else to give us OUR answers, nor should we accept their decrees of other that tell us what’s meaningful to us individually.
What I find meaningful to me should be celebrated and not fit into some ancient scheme or blueprint.
Acceptance, affirmation, and intimacy are all strong needs we all have. Our existence is about the many connections we all experience. As an example, we have memories that are unique to us. Seldom does another soul value, or even remember, certain memories that we hold dear. They are ours and live in our very core. They are a record of our life. Among other aspects of our life, memories help create meaning in our life.
The moments of our lives, when collected and strung together like the choice words of a poem tell the tale of our lives and give it meaning. It’s not just the big moments but the tiny ones to
You Naturally Smile
Think of what you value, and an experience attached to that value. You naturally smile. We are made up of fun, somber, intimate, scary, insightful, bizarre, and mystical moments that all enliven who we are. That’s where we derive our own meaning.
Some folks think we must engage in some noble purpose, and this gives our life meaning. I like to keep in mind that, again, I decide what is “noble” and do not need others to judge the way I decide to give meaning to my life.
I am the only person who I have been with for every second of my life from the moment I was born until the moment I die. No one knows me or you better than me and and no one knows you better than you.
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo. “So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
The Time We Have
If you have read any of the books or watched any of the movies, you may agree that The Lord of The Rings is a powerful saga. Yes, I said it—saga. Tolkien was masterful with the entirety of the story but what I find wondrous is that all the bits and pieces along the way are full of flavor and are stories in themselves. They are powerful all on their own.
The quote above is part of a brief conversation between Gandalf and Frodo. If you haven’t read the books or watched the movies, you may still appreciate its depth as it is rich with meaning whether in or out of the story.
These fifty-one words are all about humanity’s age old divide between those who seek power and those who seek to live the life they were meant to live.
The powerful, many times, feed off the destruction of their own making only to disrupt humanity to, well, gain more power. I’m in the camp that power based in love, compaaion and insight lifts humanity.
Each sentence in this quote is revealing. this is how I look at it.
Frodo says… I wish it need not have happened in my time
Although Frodo is a Hobbit, he expresses a very human feeling we all, at some time feel. Every so often this feeling results from a natural phenomenon like an earthquake or a hurricane, but most of the time, it results from man and his intentional actions. War would be a big one as would dehumanizing those who are not like us.
History is full of men who overreach to claim power and control. By doing so, those who seek to live their lives the best they can and how they see fit are whipped into colossal, turbulent waves. They get caught in the wake of the murky froth of the power-hungry and their dark and self-serving decisions.
Humanity and everything about how we live is dualistic. We have good, so there is bad; we have love, so there is hate; we have the rich, so we must have the poor, and so on. Power without love, compasion or insight exists to prey on the weak…the poor…or those deemed as unworthy.
What is imagined in the mind can become a reality.
The above neutral statement is easily corrupted when the cunning manipulator is searching for a “treasure” that benefits the few. If only those who sought power also sought good.
Gandalf follows his statement and says…So do I
These three words show empathy. The experienced and wise wizard has seen much in his long life, but it is with his experience that his empathy flows naturally. More importantly, it is soothing—it is healing.
He is reafirming in these three words. He offers, as all good teachers do, a broder view with what he says next.
…and so do all who live to see such times.
We search for answers — for perspective. As long as humans have roamed the planet they have, from time to time, created devatation. The wise teacher reminds young Frodo (and us too) that we are not alone.
But Gandalf goes on to say…But that is not for them to decide.
When we realize that most of us feel the same way, our imagination, too, may shape what is next. With the hard truth, Gandalf moves Frodo away from taking a turn into self-despair as self-despair is exactly what the powerful want from those they wish to control.
He helps Frodo to focus when he says,
…All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.
When outside forces suffocate us, will we find the spark within us to take charge of our next step…and then the second step… and then…
Simply, we are not alone. We always have help. We always have hope. And with that, it is us who decide what to do with the time that is given us.
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
