Tag Archives: inspiration

My Rock

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Ok, so I’m kind of silly.

A few months ago, I found this rock in a store.  It was during a time when I felt like nothing – not time, not distance, not space – NOTHING was going to heal my “wounds.”  But yet, ever the secret optimist, I bought it anyway.  And I put it in my pocket.  I’ve carried this little thing around every single day for two months.  (Well, except that week or two where I lost it – but then found it in the bottom of my gym bag where it had been hiding all along, and all was right with the world again.)

I have never been one for superstition.  Never believed in lucky charms or any of that mess.  But this rock is awesome.  Seriously.  Sometimes I’ll just put my hand in my pocket to feel it and know that it’s there.  I know it’s all in my mind – but that rock has worked miracles on me.  No doubt.  It has been my constant reminder that time really does heal.  It really truly does.

But today I had a thought.

I think I’m probably more “healed” right now that I’ve been in years.  I am in the process of making myself a better person.  I have a new outlook on life.  I’ve lost some things that needed losing; I’ve mended some things that needed mending; and I’m charging forward.  Full of life and determination and spunk.  I feel better than I have in a very long time.

So, here’s what I think I’m going to do.

I’m going to pass my rock on to someone who needs it more than I do.  It’s time.  It has served its purpose, and now I’m going to send it on and hope it does the same for the next person.  And when that person heals, which I know they will, then they can do the same for someone else.

Pipe dream?  Maybe.  But I think it just might work.

It’s kind of like this blog.  I write this stuff for me just as much as I do for anyone else.  I write it; I read it; I try to let it sink in and get into my heart – and then I pass it on to someone else, hoping and praying that it somehow touches someone somewhere and they see that everything really does get better.  It does.  You just have to believe it.  Believe it.  That’s it.

So, goodbye little rock.  Go do your thing.  You got this.

***

“He who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones first”
– Chinese proverb

The Gift of Forgiveness

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(This is one from my private archives.  More like a journal entry.  I wrote this years ago when I heard from an old love after not having heard from him in a long period of time.  For some reason, I keep being drawn back to this.  I have re-read it many times over the years when I found myself needing a reminder.  Recently, I’ve shared it with a few friends who have found themselves in the same situation, and they have said that reading it brought them comfort as well.  So, I’ve decided to share it on my blog.  Maybe you might be one that needs to hear it too.)

I got a text tonight from him. He wanted to know if we could talk.

Wow.

So, I had rehearsed what I would do or what I would say when/if this ever happened. Of course, I never really thought it would happen at all. But if it did, the Melissa of my fantasies was gonna be a hard ass. She was either going to (1) not respond at all; or (2) respond with a “not a chance, a$$hole” or something equally witty and clever. But somehow, that’s not exactly how it played out. It was more like a “Really? Well, now is not a great time, but would 10:00 p.m. be ok for me to call you?” Oh yeah, hard ass. Reeeeal hard ass.

So, I called him.

I really have no idea what I was expecting to hear. But what I did hear surprised me. There was no “I’m so sorry I ever let you go.” There was no “I really want you back.” There wasn’t even a “I just thought I’d say hey” or something equally mundane.

Instead, it was “Melissa, I need your forgiveness.”

I need your forgiveness.

The tone of his voice had that phrase behind everything he said. And yes, that phrase – I need your forgiveness – may sound selfish. And I’m sure it was. But there was more to it than that. He desperately needed to know that I was ok. That he didn’t do any lasting damage to me. Maybe it was partly for his own conscience. But that wasn’t all of it. I heard that guy who knows me. Who knew me better than most guys because I let him know me. And that guy that knows me knows that he truly and deeply broke my heart. And he wanted to know if it was healing.

So, you know what I did? I gave him what he wanted. I told him that I forgive him.

But you know what? I don’t.

Now, I will.  I know I will.  One of these days.  But not quite yet.

But he doesn’t need to know that.

Yes, it would have been easy to hurt him like he hurt me. It would have been easy to hang on to the bitterness and the pain and to lash out and remind him of how deep the wound was. But why do that? One little lie won’t kill me. I’m going to feel the same way tomorrow whether I let him off the hook and ease his conscience or whether I make him suffer more by giving him a recount of the past few months and how I cried myself to sleep many, many nights (more than I care to admit. More recently than I care to admit also). I was known for lavishing him with gifts throughout our entire relationship. And in a way, this was just another gift. Maybe my last gift. I gave him the gift of releasing him.

And you know what that said to me? That told me that when you love someone…really love them…one little sacrifice for their benefit is really not that big of a deal. And if I had it to do over again, I’d tell the same lie over and over.

***

“Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.”
-Mark Twain

Tunnel Vision

I see you there.
Are you looking?  Can you see me?
I’m performing.  Don’t you see?
(I act like I don’t see you, but I do.)

I’m moving; I’m swaying; I’m smiling; I’m laughing; I’m staying in the lines; I’m following all the rules.
I’m doing it all for you, my solitary audience member. 

Look at me.

Look at me!

Yes, I’m aware that there are others in the room, but it doesn’t matter.  I don’t see them.  I see you.

I hear the applause…the thunderous applause…but it’s all just noise.  Irritating noise that interferes with hearing you.  What if I missed something you said!?  Are you saying something?  What was that?  I can’t hear you over the crowd…

Yes, yes.  I see that ovation out of the corner of my eye.  Sit down, people!  Can’t they see they’re blocking my view?  Are you still there?  Are you standing? 
Are you impressed?  How did I do?  Are you there?  Did you see? 

Wait! 

Are you leaving?

NO!

But I’m not done.  The show isn’t over.  Come back!  There’s still more performing left to do.  Stop!  You just haven’t seen the best part yet.

LOOK AT ME!

And then – just like that – you’re gone. 
Gone.

Sigh.

Oh well, there’s still an audience left.  Surely they’re still here.  Right?  Right?

Hello?

Silence.

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***

“I was single-minded and I had tunnel vision. 
Now it’s time for a change.”

-Evelyn Ashford

Fear

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I had to do a short TV inteview yesterday morning for our local theatre’s upcoming production of Life With Father.

Holy crap, I was TERRIFIED!

How strange is that?  I’m an actress.  I’m a writer. I post my life on Facebook.  I post my life on this blog.  I tell the world anything they want to know (and plenty more that they don’t).  So, why on Earth would having to sit in front of a TV camera for 5 minutes make me feel like I was going to hyperventilate? 

But, alas.  I survived.

I saw the video clip of the interview this morning.  In fact, I’m going to suck it up and just share it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QgkZoP_f7TU&feature=youtu.be

Yep, that was it.  Five minutes of answering a few easy questions and then it was over. 

And now?

Well…now I think it’s kinda cool. 🙂

All that worry and fear over nothing.  Now I have this clip of this little interview I did on this little show and I can send it to my mom and she can be all proud of her little girl and whatnot.  And that’s it.  It’s all a memory now.

Kind of makes you think about how silly fear usually ends up being in the end after all, doesn’t it? 

You spend all this time psyching yourself out over something and then it turns out to really not be all that bad.  Sometimes it even turns out to be something kinda cool.  In this case, I just sucked it up and overcame the fear and just went ahead and did it.  But it makes me think about all the times that I may not have done that.  All the times in my life that I had the chance to do something that scared me, but I opted out and chose safety instead.  How many “little video clips” do I not have stashed in my memory bank?  Seems a little ridiculous now that I think about it.  How much success did I manage to pass up?

I should probably stop that. 

You should probably stop that.

Let me leave you with some powerful, somewhat prophetic words by Steve Jobs, the co-founder of Apple, Inc., who passed away in October 2011:

“Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important.”

We only get one go-around, people.  Only one.  Make it count.

***

“Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power…
You are free.”
– Jim Morrison

Letter to my Shin. No, seriously.

Dear Shin Splint,

Ok, we need to talk.

I’ve managed to run for almost a year now without ever knowing what the heck you even were.  And I was fine with that.  I heard people talk about you.  Heard a lot about you actually.  Heard you were a troublemaker.  Heard you were hard to beat.  But I hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet.  I guess I figured you were too busy bothering everyone else to have time to visit me.

Ok, so I was wrong.

(That’s happened maybe once before in my life.  Ok, twice.)

But let me explain something to you.  I have no better way of saying this than to borrow some words of wisdom from none other than the great contemporary philosopher, Beyonce:

“You must not know bout me.”

Do you have any idea how important running is to me?  And how intent I am upon continuing to do it?  Psssh, dude, you can’t even touch my level of determination.  Many before you have tried.  My right knee is laughing at you as we speak.  He has been trying to stop me from Day 1, and he knows he doesn’t stand a chance.  My brain?  Whew.  That chick has you beat all day, every day, and twice on Tuesday.  She has told me SO many times that I’m not good enough to do this.  That I’m not strong enough, that I’m not “this” enough, that I’m not “that” enough.  She has absolutely begged me at times not to get out there and run.  But nope.  Even She hasn’t succeeded.

Because I have something that overpowers all of you.

My Heart.

Oh, honey, let me tell you about my Heart.  That girl is fierce.  She has taken a beating, been ripped in two, and has some mornings felt so heavy inside me that I felt like I couldn’t even get out of bed, much less go for a 4-mile run.  But no matter how exhausted, sad, and lonely She may be, She always – without fail – manages to whisper in my ear, “We can do this.”

“Get up.  Get out there.  WE can do this.”

And even with her little whisper, she speaks more loudly than you or any of your other troublemaker friends can even imagine.  She is who I choose to listen to.  She never ever lets me down.  She’s strong.  She’s tough.  She’s unstoppable.

So, I’m going to keep running.  See this?

shinsplintblog

This kind of thing is just too good for me to pass up.  You tag along if you want to, but you’re not going to stop me.  It’s too late for me to turn back now.  I’m in this for the long haul.

Hey – nice try, though.

Sincerely,

Running is Hard Enough Without Your Help, Go Away

***

“Find a place inside where there’s joy,
and the joy will burn out the pain.”

Joseph Campbell

Cemetery

“The only people without problems are those in cemeteries.”
– Anthony Robbins

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(Photo above is taken at one of my favorite places – an old, somewhat abandoned graveyard on Round House Road in Grayson County, Virginia.)

I like cemeteries.

I know.  Weird, right?  But I do.  I always have.  And I got it honest.  I remember my daddy and I going to cemeteries and just walking through them in silence.  Not really saying anything, not even discussing what the heck we were doing there or why, but just walking around, reading the stones.  I’m not really sure what he was thinking (hmmm…maybe I should ask), but I know what I was thinking.  I was inventing lives for the people in my head.  I was looking at the time differences between the deaths of couples and wondering what it was like for the survivor during the interim.  Wondering how often they sat at that very spot visiting the grave where they are now buried themselves.  Wondering if the death of their loved one changed them…made them live life differently after that, with more of a purpose or awareness of how it could all end at any time.

Yep, all that stuff went through my head even as a child.  I’ve always been weird.

Well, this weekend I found myself drawn back to the same abandoned cemetery that I seem to be drawn to a lot lately.  I hadn’t been there in a while because of the winter weather, so it was nice to visit again.  It’s almost like visiting an old friend in a way.  For some reason, no matter how down or low I’m feeling, I find myself feeling better when I’m surrounded by these graves.  How weird is that?  Sitting there, I wondered that very thing – why in the world does being around these seemingly forgotten graves make me feel at peace?  Then, it dawned on me.

I was surrounded by silence.

Hmmm.  Mystery solved.

I’m drawn to this particular spot because I’m forced into silence.  There’s no one to talk to, no one to listen to, no need to put on airs or be someone I’m not.  I can just be me in the stillness.  I can cry if I want.  I can smile.  I can feel nothing.  It’s all accepted.  I’m surrounded by spirits of those who have gone before me.  Those who have felt all of those feelings before and will never have the chance to feel them again.  I’m allowed to just be; to feel whatever I want, and know that I’m blessed to do so, and will not be judged.  I can be reminded that, unlike my unknown companions, I am still alive.  My heart is still beating.  There is still time to say the things that need to be said, time to apologize for any wrongdoings, or, in some cases, to just learn to simply let things be.  In the stillness, surrounded by my silent audience, I can say my goodbyes.  Not for anyone else’s sake, but for my own.  I can let go.

Then, the real world starts tapping on my shoulder, and I realize it’s time to leave.

I pick myself up; dust myself off; bid my silent friends a quiet farewell; and go back to the hustle and bustle that I call my life.

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***

“Cemeteries are full of unfulfilled dreams… countless echoes of ‘could have’ and ‘should have’… countless books unwritten… countless songs unsung… I want to live my life in such a way that when my body is laid to rest, it will be a well needed rest from a life well lived, a song well sung, a book well written, opportunities well explored, and a love well expressed.”
– Steve Maraboli

Stronger

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This is the back of the shirt that my son and I got at a 5k race we ran in this morning in honor of Leigh Cooper Wallace, a local hero who passed away a few months ago from complications resulting from pneumonia.  As the race director described it, this was a race “in memory of her compassion and generosity, her service to this community, her incredible strength, her support of young athletes, and her encouragement for all people to pursue a healthy lifestyle.”  They put together this first annual race to honor the “incredible example she set, so that we may continue to live life as fully as she did.

I didn’t have the pleasure of knowing Leigh Cooper Wallace personally, but I can’t help but be influenced by the example she set.  She went through a lot in her short lifetime (most notably being that she was a kidnap/rape survivor), and she used her story to teach others to become fighters – to not let circumstances defeat you, no matter how tempting it might be to give up.

I couldn’t help but be aware of the timing of this race for me personally.

Although I am doing great and getting tougher every day, I do still have my moments.  I’ve had a rough couple of months.  I’ve lost more than one friend to various circumstances, including my very best friend who I miss every single day, and that’s not something that is very easy to bounce back from.  But I’ve been trying.  And as part of the trying, I’ve been pushing myself harder with my running.  If you’re not a runner, it’s hard to explain to you what running does to you.  I know there’s something chemical to it – endorphins and whatnot.  But it’s more than that.  So much more.  It’s a way to measure your ability to endure.  To teach yourself not to give up just because things start getting a little tough – but to push through.  Push through.  Even when you think you can’t keep going, you can.  Yes, there are going to be tough spots and yes, you may have to allow yourself to slow down a little to make it.  But you will make it. Push through.  Endure. Stay strong.

So, not only did I proudly run today with those thoughts in my mind, but I managed to achieve my own personal record.  I’m not a fast runner, by any stretch of the imagination, but I was a lot faster today than the old me ever was.  I managed to fall under the 30-minute mark and ran the race in 29:42.  It has been my goal for a very long time to break 30 minutes and I did it today – on one of of the toughest 5k courses I’ve ever run.

So, how about that?  Here I am.  My first race in this “new life” and I’m starting off with a bang.

Turns out I really am stronger than I think.   Thank you for the reminder, Leigh.

***

“As I get older I see that running has changed for me.  What used to be about burning calories is now more about burning up what is false.  Lies I used to tell myself about who I was and what I could do, friendships that cannot withstand hills or miles, the approval I no longer need to seek and solidarity that cannot bear silence.  I run to burn up what I don’t need and ignite what I do.”
~ Kristin Armstrong

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*Note: Here’s a link if you’d like to read more about what an amazing woman Leigh Cooper Wallace was: 

http://www2.wataugademocrat.com/News/story/Local-runner-coach-Leigh-Wallace-dies-id-009923

Scars

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I have scars.  A bunch of them.

The most notable one, though, is this one particular disgusting surgery scar on my stomach.  Oh, it’s hideous, let me tell ya.  It never healed correctly – busted open a few times and had to be reattended to and whatnot.  Anyway, the end result was a discolored, 1/2-inch wide, 8-inch long monstrosity that covers my entire torso.  Ewww.

But you know what’s kinda funny about that?  I barely ever remember that it’s there.

Isn’t that weird?  I have this hideous “thing” that is probably the first thing people’s eyes are drawn to if they see my stomach; and yet I, the person who looks at it everyday, hardly see it anymore.

Which, of course, got me to thinking.  (As just about everything seems to do these days…)  Isn’t it strange that I have this glaring obvious scar right there in the mirror that I barely notice, and yet I spend so much time looking at and concentrating on the scars that aren’t so visible?  Those are the ones that I try to “hide.”  The ones that I feel are obvious to the world and that I spend so much senseless time worrying about and trying to gloss over.

But that’s just silly.

“There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature.  A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with.” – Harry Crews

It’s those invisible scars that seem to bother us the most, isn’t it?  But like the above quote says, the hurt is over.  It’s over.  Let yourself ponder that for a second.  Yes, the healing process may still be taking place, but the actual hurt – the actual inflicting of pain – is gone.  That step is behind us.  Isn’t that awesome?

I defeated the cancer that caused all of the scars on the outside of my body, so I will also defeat any and everything that comes along and causes the inner scars.  Scars are proof of victory.  I have been victorious before, and I will be victorious now.

And I have a feeling that someone out there reading this right now might have needed to hear this too.  The pain is over, the scars remain – but we are the champions.  Don’t let yourself forget that.

Fight on, my friend.

***

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls;
the most massive characters are seared with scars.”

– Khalil Gibran

I’m a Brat

“Being raised as a military brat has a way of making things blur together, simply because of how often you have to move. Friends come and go, clothing is packed and unpacked, households are continually purged of unnecessary items, and as a result, not much sticks. It’s hard at times, but it makes a kid strong in ways that most people can’t understand. Teaches them that even though people are left behind, new ones will inevitably take their place; that every place has something good – and bad – to offer. It makes a kid grow up fast.”
– Nicholas Sparks “The Lucky One”

I’m a military brat.

Most people who know me know this about me.  But some of you who have come into my life more recently may not.  (And, oh yeah, all my new blog followers who I don’t know from Adam don’t know that either – Hi Strangers! Sometimes I still forget you’re there.  Thanks for reading!)  My step-dad was in the Army from the time I was 8 years old.  We started moving when I was in the 4th grade and never stopped.  From 4th grade through 12th grade, I attended 8 different schools located in 4 different states and 2 different countries.  I graduated high school in Giessen, Germany with a grand total of 21 other graduates.  (1996, baby. Go Griffins!  Represent!)  Ok, enough of that.

Sometimes I think I forget what a profound effect my childhood had on me.  At the time, I thought it was the worst thing that could happen to a person.  Being dragged from here to there – having to say goodbye to friends and family sometimes at the drop of a hat – never feeling ‘stability’ or ‘roots.’  Yes, if you asked my teenage self, I would have told you that I had the worst parents in the world and no one could have had a worse childhood than mine.

Well, that brat grew up.  And now she knows better.

I have something that most people don’t have.  Rather than having one set of roots in one location – I have roots everywhere.  I’ve seen this comic before and it always makes me chuckle:

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I honestly remember when my answer to that question used to be, “I’m from nowhere.”  But I’ve amended that as I have gotten older.  I’m not from “nowhere.”  I’m from “everywhere!”  I have friends scattered all across this world.  Not just this country – this world.  I have links and ties to so many people from so many races, cultures and walks of life that I feel like a chameleon myself at times.  And that’s awesome.

But where am I now? 

Sigh. 

Now I’m stuck in a military brat’s nightmare.  I live in a tiny small town in the middle of nowhere.  Where everyone here has lived here their whole lives and everyone knows everyone and their business and their momma’s business and their second cousin twice-removed’s business.  It’s tough.  And one day I’ll make my escape.  But in the meantime, even though I may stick out like sore thumb and feel like a fish out of water at times, I am safe in the knowledge that who I am has not changed and has not molded to fit my surroundings.  I may be different, but I’m me.  And that won’t change.  And part of being ‘me’ means that I can handle a lot of crap.  People may come and go, but I remain steady.  I remain me. 

Because of my upbringing and my ability to adapt, I have become a pro at handling change.  You want to leave my life?  Go.  I’ll cry for a while, I’m not heartless.  But I’ll pick myself up, dust myself off, and realize that when one leaves, another takes their place.  I’m not saying that some don’t hold special places in your life.  They do.  Some spots are always reserved for certain special people.  But I always know that I’m not going to be alone, and that that empty spot can be smoothed over with the laughter and love from new friends, new places, new activities, etc.  When one thing leaves, another will take its place.  Always. 

It’s the military brat creed. 

Hooah.

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1,000 Views

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My blog hit 1,000 views today.

1,000 views.  Wow.

(Granted, I could have just one fan out there who has read this stuff 1,000 times.  And if so, thank you, crazy person.)

But seriously, I do want to thank each and every one of you who have taken the time to read this mess.  Like Ernest Hemingway put it, “There is nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”  There’s more truth to that than many people may realize. 

A friend of mine recently passed away.  The last conversation I had with her – in fact the very last thing she ever said to me before she passed – was in relation to my blog.  She said, “I admire that you put yourself out there like you do.  I have trouble showing vulnerability like that.”  That has stayed in my mind and I’ve thought about that many times since she has been gone.  I’ve asked myself if this is something that I really should be doing – should I be writing this stuff?  Should I lay my heart out on my sleeve like I do and show people how flawed, sad, happy, terrified, proud, crazy, and just plain human I really am?

And all I keep coming back to is…yes.  Yes, I should. 

Because one thousand views later, I’m thinking there may be something in here that resonates with others too.  Maybe I’m not so different than other people, after all.  Maybe I’m just more willing to put myself on public display.

And I wonder why that is?  What makes me so darn willing to do that?

Maybe it all just comes down to this.  Georgia O’Keefe said it best, I think, when she said, “I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life, and I’ve never let it stop me from doing a single thing that I’ve wanted to do.” 

That is me.

I’m a risk taker.  I know that I only get one go-around and I figure I might as well live while I’m here.  If you know me, you know I’m also an actress.  I’ve been regularly acting since I was a teenager.  And in all those years, there has still never been one single opening moment in a show that I haven’t had butterflies in my stomach and felt my hands shaking so bad I was afraid the audience would notice.  And hitting the “publish” button on this blog every time I write something evokes that exact same response.  It’s absolutely terrifying to lay yourself out there for the world to see.  To “bleed” as Hemingway put it.  But it’s necessary.  I can’t rest until I do.  I can’t feel like I’m me until I’ve said what I need to say and allowed this creativity inside me to come out in some form of expression – whether it be in a performance or in written word.  It has to escape.  I have no choice.

And I thank each and every one reading this now for your acceptance of that.  Because, really, without an “audience,” why perform?  Thank you for being there.

And I especially want to send a special shout-out to my biggest fan of all: my mom.  She doesn’t have a computer and has never actually seen this site.  But I print out every single one of them and mail them to her.  And she provides me with such positive feedback that it makes me feel like I can do anything I ever wanted to do.

“The whole motivation for any performer is ‘Look at me, Ma.'” – Lenny Bruce

So, thanks for looking, Ma.

Thank you all.  I look forward to watching this blog continue to grow and expand and hope each of you continue to come along for the ride.  It would be awfully lonely without you.