Self-discovery

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Griefwork resource: Notes from How to be an Adult by David Richo

A Mourning Resource: How grief is part of growing up

personalabridgements's avatarPersonal Abridgements

I am really enjoying this book.

In the first section, he points out how every hero story starts out with a disaster of some kind– a loss, rejection, mistake, illness, disaster or even attack.

This first part points out how we all have things we needed in the past that we didn’t get–even though it is not necessarily anyone’s fault but of course it could be. These we carry around with us now–as a wound or an unexplainable longing, big feelings, beliefs or attitudes and these affect us now.

So, the first part, surprising to me, is learning how to mourn. It is grief work. Because I recently lost my Dad, I’m more familiar with grief and interested in grief than before. But, accepting what we don’t want is a loss–it is grief. Accepting anything in the past we did not like–is grief. If we can work through it instead…

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Assertiveness Skills from How to be an Adult by David Richo

Assertiveness resource: avoiding aggression and passive victimization

personalabridgements's avatarPersonal Abridgements

Several years ago I noticed that so often we can turn into a victim/martyr vs the bully/needy one battle. This dog eat dog world, I’ve never bought into—consciously, but often I play the role. I read another book that described 3 roles–the victim, the bully, and the hero. But, what if we didn’t play those games?

I realized that another option had to be the right one. What would that look like– to not be the victim, the bully or even the hero? (Of course with only those 3 options, who wouldn’t want to be the hero?)

I wrote it this way:
Plan A–Ate (I am the winner/bully)
Plan B–Bait (I am the victim/martyr)

What could be plan C?
I wrote Charity

I have been personally trying to discover my way out of all those other roles. How can we just be free and let others be free as well?

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Homecoming

The familiar landscapes
Catch my breath
And reel me in
Toward home.

The palm-shadowed
Sky frames my way
And I taste the beauty.
Was it always this sweet?

The house is the same,
But I feel the changes
That distort my memory.
What was I expecting?

That I could come home
To a world frozen in the place
I left it, or that because I
Feel the same, I would be?

Rip Van Winkle’s shadow
Plays tricks on me as I see
That time and family
Went on without me.

Will I have a place?
What will be my role?
I left a child,
But I don’t know yet

Where I belong.
I’m back from Neverland
Impatient to be grown.
But for now, at least,
I’m home.

–2013 dsh

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How can I discover my best use or where I have an “edge”?

Check out the work of Marcus Buckingham. http://standout.tmbc.com He writes fantastic books and they have tests that help you learn a lot about yourself. His mission is to help you reach your potential. Strengthsfinder helps you know your strengths so you can capitalize on them. StandOut takes what you would do in situations and uses that information to help you know how to apply your strengths to best advantage. They are both fabulous if you are seeking either self-knowledge or keys to best directing yourself. I highly recommend this author. Also, not a bad idea for people trying to decide what to major in or what career to pursue.

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VICTORY

Mountain Climber type of guy

Mountain Climber type of guy (Photo credit: HikingArtist.com)

Flying across the finish line,
Floating into tomorrow,
I wonder if my feet will ever
touch the ground again.

How are you?
I’m awesome.
I feel fabulous.
I wish I could share.

It tastes so good,
no one could resist
going after some more.
At least I can’t.

I wish I could give it away,
but I can’t.
This fab fountain erupts
from the inside out.

Hard work, skinned knees,
talking back to
discouragement and,
persevering are SO worth it.

A guttural scream of happiness
escapes me as I reach
for the sky.
EEEEEEEEEEEEAYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!

Gimme some more.
I love to learn.
Love to earn.
Oooh, VICTORY
feels so good on me!

© 2013 DarEll S. Hoskisson

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Drowning in Housework

My back to the ocean,

photo courtesy Carrie Keohane

photo courtesy Carrie Keohane

I didn’t see them coming.

I just kept getting knocked off my feet

and spun upside down in a salty somersault.

The flat spots grew piles,

The floor oozed grit,

The dishes dried on dirty

and all my efforts were always spent

just trying to get my head back in the air

and keep it up, treading water.

In a herculean effort I would jump

to clean with all my might to stay ahead of the next wave.

It would be beautiful

for a glorious moment,

but by the next day, whump.

Back to normal.

Floors sucking on the dirty clothes,

dust bunnies propagating,

hungry children.

I need a shower.

My head down, I’m drowning again

with my feet sprawling overhead.

I knew I couldn’t keep this up.

Desperate, I felt almost dead.

I was smothered in the life

ironically chosen by myself.

It kept pushing me under

over and over again.

I couldn’t catch the pattern.

I didn’t know about the tide.

My great expectations and reality

would constantly collide.

I had to turn and face the waves.

I had to run out to meet them as they’d come.

I had to plan for the surprises, too.

I simply had to find the sun.

By preparing and maintaining,

though I could not stop the tide,

my life got routinely easier than

going along for that ride.

© 2013 DarEll S. Hoskisson

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Homecoming

The familiar landscape
catches my breath
and reels me in
toward home.

When the palms shadow
the sky along my road
I know
I’m almost there.

It is just how I left it.
Yet, somehow
it seems smaller.
I sense the changes.

Rip Van Winkle’s shadow
plays tricks on my memory,
and I wonder,
“What was I expecting?”

That the world would
stand still just because
I was gone? or that
I would be the same,
simply because I feel
that way?

I left a child.
In Neverland,
I found my wings.
I want to fly away.

I never could have guessed
it would take so long to be grown.
But, for now at least,
I’m home.

© 2013 DarEll S. Hoskisson

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Do Not Memorialize Me

When I die,
especially if I die a tragic or violent death,
do not memorialize me.

Do not give permanence to the pain.
Do not give the enemy fame.
Do not spend a dime on me
past what I need.
Do not pass on the painful story
to infect a new generation with worry.
Just let the deed die with me,
and instead, don’t live dead.

If you really want to honor me,
dare to dream and move ahead.
Explore, create, and find a way
to really live up to your best self.

And then, if that is not enough,
I know just what I would ask:
Love someone a little more.
Include someone who feels left out.
Share yourself to relieve the suffering or poor.
To honor me,
just help one more.

© 2012 DarEll S. Hoskisson

Written 9/11/12

Posted today as my thoughts are directed toward the memorial service of the police officer recently gunned down by the bombing suspects.

I wrote this last year in response to the controversial cost of the proposed memorial site of 9/11.  I mean absolutely no disrespect to those who feel that monuments are worth the costs involved.  I also mean no disrespect to anyone violently killed or otherwise who has died.  Of course people need to heal however is best for them.

Also, I understand the purpose of educating people to prevent future disasters.  My children are exposed for an entire month each year to the horrors of  Germany’s concentration camps.  This, to me, is complete overkill.  You don’t have to know every gory detail to make a better choice.

This poem simply expresses how I feel.   If there is to be a monument to me, I hope it would be a living one.  A living legacy, would be, to me, the most useful monument of all and perhaps the most meaningful.

–dsh

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Every little mood I’m in

Dried green paint

Dried green paint (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Every little mood I’m in

Every little mood I’m in
colors every place I’ve been.

Spilling paint and splashing tints
imagination’s subtle hints

of what fortunes soon will come
pretending that it’s already done.

Tomorrows will all be like yesterday
painted in the very same way.

On they’ll go and on and on
drudging on as they’ve begun,

and hope bleeds out like runny ink,
and I won’t notice unless I think.

The paint for tomorrow is in my hand
the canvas white, clear on it’s stand.

The colors will be fresh, the picture new.
It might be green, or pink, or blue.

© 2007 DarEll S. Hoskisson (dsh)