Success

THE SKY’S THE LIMIT

Mention the word success and certain images come to mind. Images of good-looking people with high paying jobs in powerful positions with big houses, big bank accounts and big lives.

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We are taught by our Western culture that one’s whole self-worth is dependent on what we have, not on what we are. You are special and you are better than most others. One can tell this by the stuff you own, the things that you do and the places you go.

We are constantly bombarded with messages, especially by the media such as this from day one and it isn’t surprising when we develop impossibly high expectations that most of us cannot live up to. When this happens people lose confidence. They feel that they don’t measure up. Even people whom society deems as successful surprisingly also have this problem; this fear of not measuring up; of not being all that you can be.

This can cause depression. It can cause people to try to escape reality via denial and self-destructive behavior. Sometimes this dissatisfaction turns outward in anger toward the very society that sets the bar so very high.

The American dream is yours for the taking and all that. What happens if this dream doesn’t pan out or even becomes a nightmare; not all of us can win this rat race we have set up. This sort of set up requires losers and an awful lot of losers to support the winners.  No one wants to be on the bottom and will avoid even the appearance of THAT at all costs. We are taught that it means we are defective. We are worthless. Worth less than someone else.  We seek approval from each other and from ourselves on a constant basis. It’s human nature. Our society views those on the bottom of the economic ladder in a bad light.

Poverty is seen as some sort of disease that one catches by the act of laziness. It is such an anathema that people have this urge to keep assuring themselves, their peers and society that they themselves are not infected by this awful disease.  Many will go into debt to prove this point.  It takes a wad of cash to keep up with the Joneses. Little do we realise that in our quest to keep up with the Joneses, the Joneses are struggling to keep up with us.

We are a shopping culture and in all honesty if we all decided to stop buying if only for a day it would send our global economy into a tailspin.  It’s quite a sticky situation we have gotten ourselves into.  All this wanton greed and fervid consumerism. It’s taking its toll on the environment.  It has a mind of its own…it’s a monster of our own creation and it could spell our undoing.

We in the West are starting to see the errors of the past creep back up and bite us. We still continue on with our ways like there is no tomorrow and we criticise other countries, especially third world countries who are just trying to catch up to us…who doesn’t want a big middle class, who doesn’t want prosperity for all?  In the past other countries have looked to The United States as an example of what to strive for. It is we who have set the bar so damn high and it is we who complain when somebody can play our game better than us…and they are….and as time goes by more and more of us will be on the bottom.

There is only so much land, water, natural resources and there are more and more people everyday. This strikes me as dangerously unsustainable. Something’s got to give and it is starting to.

A Successful person

I think many of us may need to rethink some of these notions that have been sold to us…maybe reconsider just what being successful really means. Does a measure of a man or woman depend on the content of one’s pocketbook or the content of one’s character?

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I also believe we should reconsider our idea of happiness…Is happiness mean having stuff? Or is happiness a certain satisfaction with life and oneself. Knowing that life has its ups and downs and riding those with grace, compassion and hopefully a bit of humor. Happiness does not have to be exclusive.  True happiness is inclusive. It is something to be shared. Happiness is an attitude. We decide to be happy and having more stuff than everyone else around you doesn’t do it in the end.

In the end it is those intangibles as love, friendship and respect that really matter. It is fulfilling a dream. It is striving to be better, not better than anyone else but better than your previous self. It is the satisfaction of doing the right thing and the giving of yourself to others. That is success.

I am reminded of a quote:

“Having given all he has to others, he is richer still.”

- Lao Tzu

Wishing you all the success in the world,

Strawberryindigo.

Occupy The Hilton

I must confess that I have a strong streak of justice running through me coupled with some liberal leanings and a twist of rebellion. I guess I’m just wired that way and at times I am strangely compelled to engage in highly compassionate acts. I am also compelled to “give it to the man” from time to time, so when these pastimes collide,  I reach a sort of nirvana that can stay with me for weeks.

Keeping this in mind, I know it will be of no surprise to you that I have recently joined the occupy movement. Well not actually the occupy movement per se… frankly all those occupyists scare me a bit but they do inspire me. I have taken it upon myself to engage in my own impromptu occupation.

Remember those 1% people, those horrible rich people; the ones who are responsible for all the evil in the world?  Those nameless, faceless masses of corporate conglomeration…

I think they need to be sent a lesson that we the 99% are not taking it anymore and that we are fighting back until the playing field is more level.  And we, well, I will be occupying a symbol of their opulence and greed… and what better place to occupy that than the penthouse suite of the Hilton?

I know you are thinking this plan may be a wee bit on the radical side. I agree but I cannot see any other way to bring attention to my, our cause.  I feel that I could become an inspiration to all the overworked and overlooked huddled masses yearning to breathe free. (Isn’t America great!)

I will have to make the sacrifice and live among those nasty one percenters and I will do so until all my comrades on the street, all the neglected, the poor, the tired and rejected and the rest of humanity (plus some select cats) get to live in the same luxury as we Hilton dwellers.

I will point out at this point that I am willing to make further sacrifices and I am an easy sell-out and not above blatant bribery. Any nicer hotel in the Portland area will do. (imagine the great publicity this hotel would get…hint, hint)

I’m planning on staging a sort of John Lennonish bed-in with signs and reporters minus the Ono (sorry Yoko)  and Amsterdam (sorry me) to protest all the unfairness in the world. I will sing songs of love and peace and do it all in my P.J’s and take naps on the side. (I hear the beds are super comfy)

Of course it won’t be easy. I will have to live off room service and will have to find somewhere to go each day while my suite is being cleaned.  I suppose I will have to use the spa and the pool and watch some pay per view movies…I am prepared for these eventual sacrifices..very prepared.

My list of demands are as follows:

• 24 hour room service
• Maid service with nightly tuck down and Andes mints on my pillow.
• A nice white terry plush robe.
• Ritzy rich people stuff from the gift shop
• Giant fruit baskets and exotic root beers from all over he world
• A wireless connection
• A superb view of the city
• Jacuzzi
• Free coffee and baby soaps
• Decedent chocolate desserts
• Complementary newspapers
• Free domestic calls
• Laundry service
• And most importantly; a breakfast buffet with a yummy omelet station……No I mean equality for all and omelets too!

Unlike other protests and protestors, there will be no drum circle, or mobs of angry people blocking the street. There will be a minimum of noise, perhaps some light jazz or classical music playing in the background. There will be no damage inflicted anywhere or mess to clean up; just a few damp towels, empty bottles of bubble bath and the traces of many chocloate desserts left behind.

I do not think I am being unreasonable here. It will be a win-win situation for us all.

Frankly and honestly…At this point I don’t care if it’s a Motel 6 with a private bath and a vending machine outside the door.  What really matters is the principle of the thing.

I need a vacation..I mean, we the people need a vaction and equality too and all that good stuff.

And so this very weekend I will showing up at the Hilton, bags in hand, ready for my protest.  You may join my protest..just show up at the nicest hotel in town with your demands..tell them Strawberryindigo sent you and have your visa card ready…

HAPPY PROTESTING!!!

Strawberryindigo.

Angry

For the past week or so I have been blocked. An idea has run rampant in my writing mind but it is more than an idea. It’s a feeling, an emotion. It’s basic, it’s primal and it’s powerful.

Every time as of late when I sit down to write, it has been extremely difficult for me. 
 I start with a certain tone that feels right at the time; I’m tap, tap, tapping along and then…Wham, it all turns oh so negative and very angry.

I try to put a positive spin on what I write for the most part. Sure, my indigo bleeds through once in a while but it seems my moody indigo has turned a dark angry red.

I am not the angry type.  I don’t typically hang on to emotional “baggage” or hold grudges. I am a mild-mannered even-tempered peaceful person. Anger hurts. I am  sensitive, probably more than I should be but I do have a conscious and a strong streak of justice runs deep in me. This is how my inward leaning and quiet nature can sometimes flip on a dime on a perceived injustice and suddenly this little kitten can rage with the roar of a thousand lions.

Right now that roar is in an uproar. I don’t want to feel this way and it probably would be wiser to just keep silent on my feelings and thoughts on the subject of my ire. But there is something in me that won’t or can’t keep silent. I guess this is why I write.

I must speak, or write the truth as I see it and the truth is; I’m angry, damned angry.  I feel cheated and duped…and afraid.

Afraid of how my country is evolving or devolving, afraid of what the world is becoming. Afraid for the planet and the people and what’s to become of us all.  I ask myself what kind of world we are going to leave our children and future generations?

How will this all be explained? What could be possibly said? That greed controlled the world and money meant more than people. That our government was weak and the economy went south as we all sat back like good little citizens; distracted by the puppet show. Spending and getting into an endless cycle of debt to feed the banks, paying our taxes to fund wars and the killing of innocent people, falling for sound bites, clever ad schemes and catch phrases.

I fell for it all: the American Dream bullshit just as many others.  Being a child of immigrants I perhaps took this a bit more seriously, this American thing.  This once true story of people working hard, learning and growing, making a life for themselves and their children. Saving money, buying a house, sending their kids off to college;  the next generation having a better life than the one before it.

It seems this dream is dying, some would say it’s already half dead. It’s hard not to be discouraged sometimes, angry sometimes. I admit I’ve been lucky in life and have lived a bit isolated from reality, sheltered from true hardship. It’s easy to pontificate and elaborate and say I’m with you, you 99%!  And watch from the comfort of my nice mortgaged home and see all these people lose their homes and life savings.

I think it becomes easier to be angry when it hits close to your home.

It is easy to become bewildered and lost a bit. This I know.  I know a little more now and I understand how the 99% feels, especially the vocal minority of which I guess, I’ve just joined the ranks of.

My point in all this? I don’t really know. Maybe there’s an upside to all this I have yet to find. Maybe It’s an explanation of why this blog has become so dark as of late. Maybe it’s my way of saying this is temporary and it’s a phase that I must go through so please bear with me.

“Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.”

Rabindranath Tagore

Still a bit angry but hopeful…thanks for listening.

Strawberryindigo.

The Twitter

Join us!

Either it’s a sign of the Apocalypse or I’ve just plain lost my mind, but recently I signed up to Twitter…..yes, Twitter.  I tweet. I haven’t discovered the purpose of all this just yet, I suspect that it is as purposeless as many non-tweeters would suggest.  I mean what do we tweeters get out of all this?

Well, let me tell you. I asked myself this very same question not long ago:  I admit that I have been using this whole twittermania as fodder for some very lame jokes. I also admit that I feel a little silly for being there tweeting the night away…fascinating my 3 followers (thanks guys) with my twitterisms of profound thought mixed with delightful quips and random observations, all this in 140 characters or less.

As we are on a roll with this admitting thing, I should say that I am having some sort of strange fun doing this.  I enjoy having strange fun and this certainly qualifies.  Where else can you chat with Oprah or sass Kurt Vonnegut or find out how often Bill Gates thinks of Sorghum ( a lot)

Maybe I’m looking for answers, perhaps this little blue bird can whisper them in my ear…or inspiration; Tyra Banks is full of that ( you go girl with all that fierceness)  It could be that I just want to join an endless chorus of a million birds all tweeting a glorious song of humanity….who cares if it makes any sense anyway?  What does?

Do I look familiar?

The Indigo Bunting Bird and I agree; it may be kismet…..I don’t know….I do know however, that I’d love to see you over there……we could make beautiful music together, ponder the mysteries of the Universe or at least pass the time engaging in pointless chitter-chatter.

Strawberryindigo.   @ THE INDIGO SIDE

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You

HEY YOU!

Yes, you.

You know who you are.  You are the type to put yourself last in an endless array of somebody else’s.  Maybe it’s your family or a group of friends or co-workers, maybe its all of the above and then some.

I know you. You’ll say that you are needed and that you really enjoy what you are doing. This is true and it’s just like you to say that.  You might say that doing good has its own reward and to that I must wholeheartedly agree.  You make a lot of sense and definitely you are earning some major good karma points.  You certainly have earned my respect and the respect from many others.

You could even say that I am inspired by you……In all this there is no problem…

You deserve much praise for what you do. In that, again, there is no problem, everyone you know can see this, even if you yourself cannot.

In all that you see as important, in all that you do, how much of that importance is invested in yourself?

Because YOU ARE IMPORTANT!  You are unique. There is only one you……and you can’t be there for them unless you are there for you too.

Take the time for yourself once in a while. Do something you like to do.  Do nothing if that’s what you need. The important thing is that you do it, for you.

This is so important that they created a day especially for YOU.

 HAPPY   MOTHER’S   DAY!

Strawberryindigo.

Kindness

Kind·ness:

The quality of being friendly, generous, and considerate. A kind act.

Synonyms            kindliness – goodness – favor - affability

Com·pas·sion:

Deep awareness of the suffering of another coupled with the wish to relieve it. 

Synonyms:     commiseration - sympathy - condolence - empathy

How we humans treat our fellow humans is truly a measure of our collective humanity. Besides our intelligence, what sets us apart from other animals is the empathy and compassion we not only possess but thrive on.

We are all connected.  We all have wants and needs and feelings.  We are dependant on each other not just for tangible reasons but for emotional as well. We need each other.  It is instinctive and it goes back to our birth hundreds of thousands of years ago. And in my opinion it is one of the reasons we have become so formidable as a race.

There is strength in unity and harmony is essential to unity. Harmony is built on kindness and mutual respect. And as they say “Kindness begets kindness.”

Kindness can be simple and easy and fun. Doing an act of kindness feels good and it should. Altruism is a noble trait and as we endeavor to overcome our savage part and concentrate on the noble; even the simplest and most basic acts of kindness can go much further than we think.

Positive or negative emotions are contagious; they spread like wildfire.  One person’s bad day can leave behind a lot of bad feelings and bad days for others.  Of course, this goes the same for someone’s good day and it is these good days that must be shared.

The smallest of acts can make a dramatic difference. A kind word, even a smile can be heaven-sent to someone who’s having a bad day or rough go of it.  These days many people are having a rough go of it.

I have been on the giving and receiving end of this vital human connection and have experienced the full spectrum of feelings regarding it. As my experiences of late have shown me, being in the need of kindness makes one appreciate it all the more.

I can’t help but notice the kindness and generosity, the compassion possessed by those with the least to give. I see it time and time again and these times have really brought it home.  I have found people to be more understanding…more down to earth and much kinder than I ever thought.

If anything good could come out of this “Great Recession” it’s that it has forced many of us to slow down our rampant consumerism and concentrate on what is really important; each other, not things…….and really, if anything, no matter what your personal circumstances…..it’s given us all the more reason to be kind to each other.

Strawberryindigo.

The future of humans

I worry about our future.  I wonder if our machines will become more natural to us than our own humanness. I see it time and time again and more and more all the time.  People ignoring one another in public. Turning the other way. Looking right past a person, almost denying someone’s existence.

I see people on their phones. Talking away to some distant person, ignoring the one in front of them. Be it the checker who’s bagging your groceries, the person at the counter of the post office, your dinner companions.

I see these space cadets walking down the street, in the street, eyes cast down on their little box of insanity. Ignoring the real world of real people, real streets with real cars on them. Engrossed in some distraction on the screen, some vitally important game or text that cannot wait. People endlessly texting or tapping or something or another. Thumbs flipping away, eyes glazed over, mind placid and unchallenged.

star trek borg race Star Trek Exhibit at Queen Mary Spruce Goose Dome, Long Beach Ca, Feb 2008 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

We are an instant generation. Our ancestors were forced to have patience. Life generally works that way. But we humans have perverted the system. What used to take time and hard work, now takes an instant.  The minute itself stretches and contracts depending on the situation. We are a race that can spend hours upon hours, slack-jawed staring at a screen and still have a hard time waiting 60 seconds for a convenience store burrito.

A sprawling clearcut of old-growth forest. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

How much have we lost already?   We of the quick and convenient.  That human knowledge passed down from generation to generation. Homespun talents. Hardscrabble necessities.  How to grow your own food, how to darn a sock, make a quilt, pluck a chicken.

And knowledge of a more ancient wisdom: The healing power of plants, the power of belief and living at one with the earth instead of against it; as if it were some sort of adversary. The power to walk in the woods without making a sound or leaving a trace.The wild arts. How to make a fire, how to live off the land.

I know its easy for me to say; to judge. Do I have any of these practical talents? Not really. Beyond my urbanized knowledge of plants and animals through books and gardening in my backyard, I am pretty much useless in the real woods. If I were stranded alone in the true wilderness, the odds would be against me.

A young boy living on an East Cipinang garbage dump, Jakarta Indonesia. Picture taken by Jonathan McIntosh, 2004. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Our human civilization, our very existence is dependant on  “progress”. Always upward and onward. Always a new hill or people to conquer. A mountain to climb, a resource to be exploited. We have colonised, revolutionised and lost our sights and priorities, maybe even our collective minds as we rape and pillage and steal from the future generations, who will have no choice but to try to live in the mess we’ll leave behind.

We have lost our way. We are losing our humanity. We are losing our collective soul, we are losing ourselves.  And it is ourselves who we need to conquer not nature.

This reckless attitude we humans have taken toward nature. This need to be dominant over nature, this very human need to conquer no longer serves us as it once had. Nature is fighting back.  All the lies and ad campaigns can no longer hide this from us.  We are “progressing” ourselves right down the road to extinction. Is this our future? Many believe it is.

The Earth seen from Apollo 17. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It seems the one’s in charge on this planet are in race to use up what is left and get it all before everyone else can.  Our beautiful Planet Earth has become a commodity, for sale to the highest bidder.  But our planet, our mother, belongs to us all.

We are being sold out and generations upon generations will hate us for it. They will ask why.  Why did we just sit back and let this all happen? What will our answer be?

  Strawberryindigo.

“America was once a paradise of timberland and stream but it is dying because of the greed and money lust of a thousand little kings who slashed the timber all to hell and would not be controlled and changed the climate and stole the rainfall from posterity.”       **Don Marquis (1935)**

High jinks and utter foolishness at the grocery

Excitement awaits you in the soup aisle

I know this probably sounds a little strange but visiting the grocery store can be a rewarding and educational experience and yes, it is a bit thrilling. I suppose that it helps to play these things up because in reality grocery shopping can be one of those elements of the daily grind that can really grind one up. It’s a boring chore of the mundane that can drive anyone crazy. Since I’m a mom to two growing teenagers I am forced to go food shopping on an a constant basis.

I pride myself on my shopping prowess and I am quite the shopping cart driver. I can turn on a dime and I am faster than you’d think so get out of my way. I am on a mission here. I have no time for doubt or indecision. Get what you need and go. I have no time for slow pokes blocking the aisles.  Long lost lovers reuniting, old people arguing about soup and especially the one’s who park right in the middle and disappear; leaving their cart to parts unknown.  Those are the worst. I try to carefully move their cart out of the way and if they catch me at it I get the dirtiest looks, its like I am molesting their produce or something.. I am tempted to throw small and expensive items like scented pine nuts and organic razor blades into their carts in hopes they are forced to pay for them.

I suppose at times I can get somewhat territorial and a bit hostile. It is a jungle out there. And It’s everyone for themselves. I have seen acts of desperation and cowardice. I myself have been victimized, my thick wad of coupons stolen from under my nose along with my grocery list to add insult to injury.  I have been hit up by crooked foodstampers who want to commit food stamp fraud with me, hit on by the Pepsi guy, insulted by the Cheetoes guy and screamed at by a small child who wanted my mint chocolate chip ice cream.

I have learned to be tough and ruthless. I have learned about double couponing and what happens when you bag up lavender scented snuggle dryer sheets with dove dark chocolate and, I have learned much about my fellow humans.

I liken it to a jungle and it is.  It reminds me of a wildlife safari.  Each part of the store is like a different habitat; each with its own ecosystem.  The frozen food wastelands: the habitat of the eternal bachelor. He is easily identified by his bulging cart of frozen pizzas, canned chili and beer.  The organic food section sprinkled with pale hipsters in their 30′s who bring their own burlap shopping bags with inspirational messages written on them.  The lemon-scented cleaning product section: the lair of the harried mom ( you can find me between the Pine Sol and the Febreeze) and one of my all time favorite places; the colorful and the sugary, the cereal aisle!  This is the place for everyone to embrace their inner child.  Hey the Froot Loops box says it has more fiber. Who am I to argue?

So many spontaneous moments happen in the grocery store. It is the perfect place to see a cross-section of humanity. The strangest scenes will play out in the aisles and believe I’ve seen it all. It seems some people liken the grocery aisle to their dysfunctional living room and they will act accordingly.

Image via Wikipedia

I go to a chain store that advertises one-stop shopping. That makes it interesting because it causes some items to mix with others that should not mix;  Ortho Lawn Be Gone and Kraft Macaroni and cheese with chain saws, diapers and 12 different kinds of olives, for example. Throw in a Starbucks,  a deli, a bank, a optomistrist and a day care center and you have more than a store… you have a lifestyle.

It also makes for some interesting sights and it certainly can be a convenience for weary shoppers. Take furniture for instance; it is hard to turn down a nice soft sit down on a comfy new sofa showcased next to the Doritos and bean dip. It is a common occurrence to see shoppers sprawling out on the furniture.  I’ve seen people reading books, eating a sack lunch and playing games on their phone. I’ve seen old men napping and a young mother nursing her fussy infant. It seems the store not only approves of this but encourages it with big screen Hi Def T.V.’s tuned to The Sports Channel with cases of cheap beer a scant few feet away.

Food shopping can be quite the experience, every trip is a new adventure.  At the very least I’ll get the makings of tonight’s dinner and a wee bit of my money will be set free out there to swim with the others, reproduce and stimulate the economy.  So.. Happy Shopping! It’s the American way and remember Buy Local. 

Image via Wikipedia

Strawberryindigo.

An open letter to all the sensitive artist types

  

  Hello there. I am one of you and we are legion.  Our lot is a deep one, a gutsy one for sure. We are a strange group with a yearning desire to be our unique selves in this plastic preconceived prefabricated world.  It is we who come up with the ideas that others consume.

I know most of us are compelled to do this, this whatever we do that we deem art. And this compulsion runs deep, at least for me. For so many years I deprived myself of artistic endeavors, never making the time for it… thinking it frivolous, unnecessary…calling it a stupid dream and retreating back into the doldrums.

The voice never dies completely…this need to create, to share oneself. That voice grew from a whisper to a scream. I had to listen. The floodgates opened and they haven’t closed yet.  It’s a compulsion, a need like air to breathe.  Creative people know what I mean by this.  Sometimes I think living the life of someone a bit more “typical” would be simpler and easier. Less painful perhaps? At times the thought is tempting but in the end I wouldn’t want to live without this colorfully crazy creative streak.

Endless forms most beautiful

Art comes in endless forms.  I see it in everyday life from the musician and the writer to the carpenter, computer programmer, physicist, or cook. It is the soul of the person creating it that makes it beautiful. In my mind the only requirement for art to be art is that it contains a tiny drop of essence of the artist. If it’s honest and true that is what’s important. It is the stuff of daydreams and the inner workings of the soul that makes it memorable and remarkable.

Good art entertains, it amuses. It is whimsical and fun.

Great art makes you feel. Sometimes quite deeply and your life is forever changed by it.

Image via Wikipedia

Starry Starry Night

A few years back I had the pleasure of seeing live and in color several major works by some of my favorite Impressionists, including the great Vincent Van Gogh.  It was the brushstrokes that did it. I could see the mind of the master at work…the one who takes command of the brush and creates a universe with it.  There is a force to the artist.  The gutsy part.  Vincent had it all right, we artists need that;  the show off….the ham. The part that is compelled to share that which we have created.  Even shy ones like me have that side… but there is also the other side; the sensitive one.   Vincent had that in spades. He poured out his heart onto the canvas with wild abandon.  I believe that creativity lies in that deep soulful side. I have that side…the indigo to my strawberry. It was that side that started to cry in the middle of the exhibit. I welled up and couldn’t stop. I couldn’t even see the art at that point but the images from that day will forever be etched in my memory.

What I am trying to say

This piece is entitled: An open letter to all sensitive artist types and it is. However,  I do have one certain artist in mind when I write this and to that person I say…..

It is the artists that stick their neck out. It takes courage to put your work in front of others. Your heart is on a plate for others to dissect and chew up. Humans are natural judges and it’s a hard dose to swallow when you are on the receiving end of a disinterested audience.  What is the purpose of art if it is not shared?  And appreciated.

It takes courage to pursue a dream and awfully thick skin.  Unfortunately most of us artistic types are sensitive and all the courage in the world doesn’t stop hurt feelings.  Some people are jerks and will knock anyone down who dares to dream. But don’t stop. Don’t ever stop dreaming. Because once in a while dreams do come true.  Don’t let a few sour grapes spoil a fantastic bottle of wine.

But don’t just listen to me:

“A work of art is the unique result of a unique temperament.  Its beauty comes from the fact that the author is what he is.  It has nothing to do with the fact that the other people want what they want.  Indeed, the moment an artist takes notice of what other people want, and tries to supply the demand, he ceases to be an artist….”

**Oscar Wilde**

Have a wildly creative day

Strawberryindigo.

 

Busyness

Image via Wikipedia

 What’s the rush?

It seems most people are in a hurry these days, always on the run. A blur of activity. Many practically live out of their cars.  Ferrying themselves and their children from here to there, from work to home, to school, to activities. What’s for dinner is decided in the drive thru of a fast food joint and eaten in the backseat by sleepy children after a much too long day filled to the brim with busy.

There is literally no time. No time for this or that.  No time to talk..”gotta’ go”.  No time to eat, let alone cook a healthy meal. No time to say hello, or good-bye. No time for family or friends, no time to read a book or take a walk.  No time for improvement or creativity. Or fun?  No time for love. No time to stop and smell the roses or appreciate a beautiful sunset.

No time to think, or reason or ask why. No time to see the man behind the curtain.

Time ticks by and every moment; every second is a miracle. It is a gift and most of us, myself included, just plow right through it.  Always in a hurry.   Always a full agenda.  It can’t be helped, you know..I’ve said this to myself.  People have responsibilities.  I’m swimming in them and my life is full.   Sound familiar?

Busyness

How many times have you asked someone how they’ve been doing and your query was answered with “busy”  How many times have you said that?  I know I’ve said that.

It is the correct answer, most of us are busy. With jobs and families and everything else in this ever-changing ever evolving world.  Our society becomes faster paced and more complex.  The bar is set higher and higher and you better run faster and jump higher than the next guy because it’s a jungle out there.

Even when we are not busy, most of us say we are. Idleness is looked down upon. Busyness is related with importance.  An important man is a busy one and his time is more valuable than yours, so you wait.  The poor and insignificant spend a lot of time waiting.

Busy people are needed and wanted.  Busy people are in high demand. It is those that are the movers and the shakers in this world. It is the busy ones that get things done. The busier you are the more important you are and the more valuable your time is.

In Praise of Slowness

There is much to be said for slowness in our fast-paced society.  The fact that  the very concept of “slow” is seen in a negative light shows our need for the benefits that slowness brings.  It’s difficult to see clearly when your life in always in motion. Growth can only come with examination and reflection.

Life is not a road race or a competition. It’s the journey not the destination. Life is meant to be savored. The people in our lives are important, our children are important. You can do more for your child’s development and future success by talking and spending time with them rather than dragging them to a million activities and “enrichment” classes. Time spent together is essential.   Years from now when we are old and running out of it time will any of us look back with rue and regret about how we didn’t spend enough of it at Busyness?

 

Strawberryindigo.

Related articles

• The Paradox of Our Times (ayannanahmias.com)
• 8 Tips for Beating Busyness (tombasson.wordpress.com)

Money is a harsh mistress.

Image via Wikipedia

MONEY.  Songs are written about it.  Lives and reputations lost because of it.  Some say the love of money is the root of all evil, but is it?

 Can anyone truly love money and is that truly evil? It’s dirty, that I know. My mom wouldn’t let me put it in my mouth as a child..”It’s dirty”, she said.  Damn right, it’s dirty and it gets around. Your average quarter, or nickel or dime probably travels through quite a few pockets and grubby unwashed hands before ending up neglected sitting alone in a change jar on someone’s dresser top or in your average toddlers mouth. How can you love that? Or those colorful but mostly green pieces of paper that spew out of the ATM? Those things with the pictures of dead presidents and the like with the phrase

 In God We Trust 

I can tell you one thing for sure; no matter how I personally feel about it, money certainly does not love me…

..And can anyone truly love it? And if so, is that evil?

Money (Photo credit: 401K)

Definitely money can buy things. Stuff. Mostly crap we pretend we need because we just want to buy something new…shiny.. and expensive, but  it’s difficult to have regal tastes on a paupers budget and these days more and more people are finding themselves with a cash flow problem…meaning it doesn’t…flow.

Our heads get crammed full of things they say we need.  China makes it. The media sells it.  The banks provide credit, or at least they once did. And people suck it up like crazy.  Very few invest or save.  It’s nearly impossible not to be in debt these days.

 The youth are our future

It falls heavy on the children of those with fewer resources. Too often the only way to higher education is for these young people just starting out in life, to take out  student loans on the promise and the hope, really, that a future career with a good salary will be worth the large amount of debt they will accrue.  I don’t have to tell anyone how well  many new grads are fairing. Jobs are scarce these days.  It’s  no wonder why so many younger adults are so angry and so full of extra time to express their frustrations.

Money is a great cause of worry to many, myself included.   Money buys security and so it stands to reason that a lack of money buys insecurity  Money affords safety.  A roof over one’s head, electricity and a full refrigerator.  A current income increases your likelihood of not being thrown out into the street and forced to live under the bridge.  Money means comfort and ease and nice things.  Money means your child will be able to go to a good school and you will have a nice car.  Enough money means anything you want.  Want to travel the world? Wear designer clothes and have all the bright new shiny things and big kid toys you can find?  Want to be looked up to?  Admired? Listened to? After all, money does buy influence and power. Sufficient funds can put your name on a sports stadium or hospital wing. How about public office?  Money certainly buys that.

Money can buy anything. It can buy friends or at least the semblance of them.  It can buy what some may proclaim as love or some sort of affection.   It can buy hangers-on and toadies and users.

Image via Wikipedia

The 99%

Money can buy power and privilege. Money can insulate if one allows it  and money does buy exclusiveness. The chosen few ride first class while most of us ride in coach with the rest of the 99%.  Money makes the world go round but it can also make one lose touch with what is important. Sometimes people see money as an indicator of the worth of a person; the measure of a man so to speak. It’s a widely held misconception among the rich that poor people somehow deserve their plight and that poverty is the result of bad breeding and idleness.

 Oscar Wilde once said: “There is only one class in the community that thinks more about money than the rich, and that is the poor. The poor can think of nothing else.”  How true.  If the credit hounds are at your back door or the balance of your bank account doesn’t remind you, the hard edge of the sidewalk will.

People are emotional about money.  This I have seen many times in my work in the financial industry. People make rash and important money decisions based solely on emotion.  That is never good. Numbers are not emotional. Interest is not emotional. Life is not fair and you better read the fine print.

Money is a harsh mistress…

Money can change people and our perceptions of them.   People fight over it, they lie, cheat and steal.   It can ruin friendships, relationships, marriages too.  I guess one could say that some sell their very souls for money. But does it buy happiness?

Can it buy love, real love?  Or real friends? Or real anything?  Can money really buy anything but things? Can money buy appreciation? Or humbleness? Or the depth of intelligence? Can money buy good taste or good sense? Or creativity, innovation or ideas?

Can riches buy respect?  Can the possession of things make one person better than another? More worthy?

Or does a measure of a man, or a woman lie not in monetary worth but in human worth?  In decency and respect for life.  In love for one’s fellow human. That’s the love affair that should be going on and the one we should be talking about.  For it’s not the money; it’s the person behind the money.  It’s the heart and the soul of that person.

  In the right hands money is a powerful tool that can be used for the benefit of us all.

Being wealthy doesn’t automatically make one evil or an uncaring, unsympathetic selfish jerk and wallowing in poverty doesn’t make anyone a saint either. It’s easy to judge and it’s easy to expect those who can most afford to pay for those who can’t.   It is also easy to see why the rich might not see it that way. Nothing is all black and white.

So what am I trying to say with all this? I suppose it would be that perhaps we should be aware about what we teach our youth about money, about the value of money and the value of a human life and which holds the most worth. No one is born with a love for money and we as a people, I hope, can progress to a point where we can get over this bad love affair with money. There is a good reason why it goes by the alias.

Cold hard cash.

We are all connected

We humans of the planet Earth are all in this together. What affects one of us affects us all. How we treat each other and what we value shows what kind of people we are.  It’s a small world and it gets smaller everyday.  We are all connected,  rich and poor alike. And all of us will have to do our part if we are to ensure a better world for all.

Strawberryindigo.

Related articles

• Working Poor: Almost Half Of U.S. Households Live One Crisis From The Bread Line. (isellerfinance.wordpress.com)
• The Truth About Money and Happiness (jansimson.com)
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Pancakes with Mr. Obama

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This story is based purely on speculation and rumors, and may not be true…read at your own risk.

One fine morning on one particular January day, two particular girls came down for breakfast and found their Dad at the stove instead of their Mom. They queried on the absence of their mother and more importantly they asked..”Where is breakfast?”

Mr. Obama smiled one of his signature smiles and said one word “Pancakes“.  The girls were very happy with that; Mom hardly ever made pancakes and the two girls loved pancakes.  Dad always said the right thing.

‘Everything seems so different with Dad doing things but that is what makes them so fun.” He said with one of those smiles again.  The girls weren’t totally convinced and argued among themselves.

One of them thought that Dad lacked the experience to make breakfast, let alone pancakes. “Maybe someone else should make them.” The eldest argued. The other sister, the younger one pleaded “Let’s give him a chance, he says he can do it, besides how bad could it be?” He’s got to be better than Uncle George who burned the breakfast and we ended getting Egg McMuffins at Mickey D’s.

So both girls agreed to pancakes ala Dad.  He smiled again, informing them that it was pancakes they needed and how good those pancakes would taste to folks like them. After he had talked about the pancakes for 20 minutes or so, one of the girls, the older one asked; “Dad, when are you going to make the breakfast you promised, you keep talking but nothing happens.”

It was then that Mr. Obama reluctantly got out the ingredients for the pancakes.  He consulted half a dozen cookbooks, scratched his head and slowly got to work, bragging the whole time, telling the girls how good the pancakes would be.

As he started to mix the ingredients, it was obvious that he didn’t know what he was doing, despite the fact the he kept telling them that he did. He was a mess, he spilled all over the place.  He burned the first few batches and the girls couldn’t help but wonder about Dad as their stomachs started to feel the first pangs of hunger.

With every haphazard move he made, it got more and more obvious to both girls.   Even his supporter the younger girl started to doubt him.  His talk was getting just as cold as the nasty, bumpy, half-baked pancakes he tried to coax the girls into eating.

All the sugary sweet syrup he poured on didn’t help at all. In fact, it only made the pancakes taste worse.  The girl’s were depressed and hungry….and they didn’t want to touch the pancakes.

Mr. Obama suddenly became angry, his trademark smile was gone, replaced by a scowl.  He told the girls that they should eat their pancakes and be happy about it, and that he knew folks like them were hungry and were hurting, and better pancakes were on the way. But for now they should eat what was given to them.

“I am your Father and I’m telling you girls to eat your breakfast!”  he barked.

Finally the girls had to eat the nasty breakfast because time was running out and they were going to be late for school. They hastily ate the pancakes, loaded with all that syrupy rhetoric and ran off to school…

“What can you say?” He’s a nice guy and all, but he doesn’t have a clue on how to make breakfast.” The girls complained at the bus stop.  A frosty wind blew out of the east, it was getting cold outside and their stomachs started to ache…..it was going to be one long winter….

Eat up America….Strawberryindigo.