Yesterday

I can't go back to yesterday

because I was a different person then.

from Alice in Wonderland

We all know that we can't reach back. Even if those moments have been captured in a favourite image that hangs on our wall, the attachment we have is based on our emotion of that event. A daughter's dance recital, a son's new job, the feelings that are wrapped around that memory.

Yesterday

We may sigh with the satisfaction of knowing how it felt but the warmth of the sun, the quiet hum of the distant lawnmower, the joy (or fear) on your child's face as they made their way into a new chapter of their lives, well, they're gone. They are quickly replaced by new events, new treasured moments, new books, new movies, a new something else.

Yesterday no matter how much it swelled or broke our heart lies behind us. (Tweet This) It might have built us into something better or left us stranded on an island of isolation. What we do with yesterday is up to us.

It was our teacher and if we were listening it gave us a chance.

to forgive

to reach out

to question

to love

to appreciate
to learn

to throw away anger

to pay attention

to repeat or not to repeat

Because today's yesterday has served its purpose if it was done well. (Tweet This)

Now leave a comment and tell me, which lesson do you wish you'd have learned a long ago yesterday?

Keep looking. When you find it, make it better.  ©

The Doors We Walk Through - Retirement Memories

on my retirement...

Have you ever thought about how many doors you walk through?

Doors that open to your future and doors you slam behind you. Doors that bring great promise and others best left untouched.

Tomorrow, I walk through a new door. A door that allowed me to create a safe haven when life was not going well, a door that gave me the means to build a life that I wanted.

Within those many doors, I met the most dedicated and diligent people. Folks who gave more with their patience and belief that they could inspire. Many held their lives together by threads as they too went through the unimaginable. And yet they continued to show up each day and be the best that they could be. They often offered to others what they themselves did not receive.

So it is with some bittersweet memories that I walk through my door tomorrow, as I hang up a career and hand it off to those who can be responsible to honour the promise we all made at some point to ourselves. Our futures are untold, but we can make a difference. I believe it and I hope that you do too.

Do you know that feeling of forgetting what was distinctly clear a minute ago? A word at the tip of your tongue? Something sort of important you wanted to share with a family member? Then, poof, it vanishes! They say that walking back through a doorway can help you remember.

As I face my doorway tomorrow, I have re-lived the many others I have walked through during my career. I have suddenly recalled long-forgotten incidents and heard the laughter of working late nights and eating pizza at our desks. Of fumbled new protocols and crashing websites that held us hostage for hours. Of small things that seemed so drastic then eventually waned in importance. Silly things, big changes, chilling hours, all marched along, lined up, then disappeared.

I will hold on to the smiles, the sharing, and hope that some of my words created an idea in someone. Believe in a good world but question when you doubt. Stay strong, with practice it gets easier. Work hard for your dream, you are the only one who can do it.

Make each day count.

Walking through a doorway to retirement. (Tweet This)

Each doorway you walk through brings you life. (Tweet This)

A Basket of Words to Remember

A basket of words. Of memories. Words I cherish each year and add to with joy.

Each  year I look forward to pulling out this basket.It holds stories of my  life. Words from life-long friendships and those which have ended, words  penned with the truth of the moment.

Hugs and kisses  sent from loved ones from across the country, and hohoho's on postcards  from relatives enjoying the sand and beach instead of snow.

Chapters  of lives, announcements of new babies, graduations, and one year even a  pending divorce (they were never a good match). Crayon-drawn cards and  handmade layered snowflakes. Each one sharing something of themselves,  each one treasured.

With a quickening of my heart, I  see the handwriting of those who are gone. Laugh at their cheerful words  and give thanks that I can still hear their voices as I read. I  remember being loved by old friends who are no longer a part of my life,  and I send them a silent wish for their happiness. Because no matter  what has happened, at one time we journeyed through life together. They  will always be a part of my story.

We all get caught up  in our everyday lives, we think and behave like we have forever. Our  words have so much power, let's not forget to use them properly.

If  you have the chance, send your thoughts to someone in the coming weeks.  Tell them of the ways that they are important to you, how knowing them  has changed your life, how you miss them. Because they too may have a  basket of words to remember.

It could be the most important gift they receive.

What's in your basket of words to remember? (Tweet This)

Celebrating the chapters of our lives with words. (Tweet This)

Is this the story of You?

They say there is a novel in each of us. Let’s just start with the most obvious one, the story of you. 

This should be the easiest one to write, don’t you think? But for any of us who stay away from delving into our souls, touching those creepy places we’ve hidden away our deepest fears and secrets this could be the scariest story to write of all.

Who knows what might reveal itself, who knows what else has been buried so deeply that it can only be found with my keyboard as my shovel. To dig or not, that is the question.

Building a life had a start. But like most of us, I don’t have any memories before the age of five or so. I do remember a gang of dogs locked behind a gate barking loudly and  baring their teeth. I also know that I was only about five and maybe there was only two dogs, although they growled loudly, I was only little at five and I suspect everything seemed big. This is of course, set me on a path of being fearful of dogs, crossing the street and going out of my way back when dogs could roam free. It ended when my family added a dog to our home.

St. Thomas High

Funny how we continue to see our lives through the eyes of our youth. Even as an adult returning some thirty years later, with some friends spread throughout the country to our old high school, things seemed to have shrunk. 

 The high school which had been robed in fear of authority, following the rules and being an A student seemed small and squat compared to what I had planted in my mind. Of course in retrospect, that high school building was probably the biggest building I’d ever been in at the time except the local shopping mall which was a happy place for a suburban teenager.

Seeing that old school as a grown-up brought up a flood of memories. So solid, so dull, not quite as grand as I remembered. The "catwalk" not miles long as it seemed at the time. The classroom, in Mr. Alt's English class (did teacher's have first names back then?) where he prod me to keep writing. 

St. T. catwalk - not miles long

How I loved that school! The promise of cute boys, playing guitar in the Winter Carnival, leaving messages on lockers, hearing my shy voice boom in the public speaking club. I learned so many things during those years that were not related to Latin or Biology. I heard the power of words.

I learned about people, about why someone was popular and who was determined (and eventually worked for CBC as a correspondent), watching and listening and pouring my teenage angst, and pain into volumes of poetry, some published but most often stuff that was just nonsense but still wonderful to put on paper.

That's how it started. The words were just there. They started my story. These are the paragraphs I choose to remember.

How do our memories hold up our stories? (Click to Tweet)

Which parts of your life do you choose to write your story? (Click to Tweet)