Seeing

It is the gift of seeing the life around them clearly and vividly, as something that is exciting in its own right. It is an innate gift, varying in intensity with the individual's temperament and environment.

Bill Brandt

I have a line in one set of my opening words that goes like this: "When we love, we see things other people do not see. We see beneath the surface, to the qualities which make our beloved special and unique. To see with loving eyes, is to know inner beauty. And to be loved is to be seen, and known, as we are known to no other."

Those who love truly do see things differently. And I'm not speaking solely of romantic love. To be passionate about anything means we have a knack for "seeing things that others do not see". My Jeremy, a talented photographer, sees colors and nuances in the world that escape me. On a trip to Wyoming earlier this summer, I saw nothing but brown, dried-up grass on rolling hills. Jeremy, on the other hand, was enthralled by the subtlety and blending of colors; he noticed how the light played upon the earth. He was entranced; I was looking for the next rest area.

Notice the photo to the right. Taken on a trip to Red Feather Lakes, Jeremy and I were seated outside our cabin when he admonished me not to move, grabbed his camera and started snapping away about two inches from my nose. He saw, in the reflection of my sunglasses, an image that most would not see. Now when I look at the photo, the first thing I see is his reflection. That is as it should be. When you love, you see things that others do not see.

My couples are always amazed at how quickly I can ad lib when something unexpected comes up at their wedding ceremony. I've had wedding party members faint, flower girls get stung by bees, grooms sob uncontrollably when reciting their vows, Unity Candles that blow out in the wind and of course there's the unpredictable Colorado weather. All is handled with humor and aplomb. I see things that others do not see, so it flows. Put me in another social situation where I do not have that knack and you'll find my responses somewhat less ingenious, to be sure.

I think that's the reality with anything in life. To excel at something--be it a relationship, a role, a career, an entrepreneurial endeavor, or a hobby--we need to see things that others do not see. Maybe that's the acid test of what business you should start. What is it you see that others do not? Can you determine the faint hint of nutmeg in a banana bread? Do you look at a car engine and get an immediate feeling of what is wrong? Walk into a drab room and envision how it will be transformed with a bit of paint and some window treatments? Can you make numbers dance on the page? Entice unruly children to cooperate? Review a piece of writing and instantly spot grammatical errors?

What do you see?

Reflections on a hole

Victory belongs to the most persevering.

Napoleon Bonaparte

I've done it. I have conquered my arch rival. Smote my enemy and emerged victorious! (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you need to skip down and read yesterday's blog entry.

Yes, finally today after nearly two weeks of battle, the concrete slab was extricated. Picture it! I approach my enemy with stealth and determination, grateful that Mother Nature was on my side. A torrential downpour during the night softened (and muddied to the extreme!) the earth, assisting my excavation strategy. I circle my adversary, seeking its Achilles heel. Finding none, I resort to my trusty trowel and the scraping process begins yet again. Probably no more than a 1/4 to 1/2 cup at a time. My hands bloody in no time and my sneakers are mired in wet mud--giving me a Hermann Munster look. (Very attractive!). I glance at my watch and vow to give this travesty no more than 20 minutes. As I'm working, I hear the unmistakable thump and thud of cars colliding and I look up to see a three-car chain reaction accident. I pause momentarily to see if anyone is hurt and when I see three heads emerge from the vehicles, all talking on cell phones, I go back to my task. (This is not as callous as it sounds--there is generally one collision outside my door on a weekly basis; one learns to assess the extent of the damage and go about one's business. Besides, this one was little more than a fender-bender.)

My progress is slow. (Is the suspense not killing you???). I resign myself that this is not going to be my day of victory after all and pick up my crowbar rather dispiritedly for one last blow. Clang! I hit it so hard that sparks fly. Was that movement? I strike again. It lists to one side. Scrambling down like my life depends on it, I tug. It wiggles. I heave. It tumbles. With one final thrust, I yank it out of the hole and drop it with an unceremonious thud to the ground. I toy with the idea of a victory dance, but then decide the accident victims--who were now bickering and casting aspersions on each other's character in the middle of the street--will not appreciate my glee. So I resort to the task of transplanting the cucumber plant that precipitated this arduous task.

Victory is sweet! So, here's what I've learned from my adventures in excavation:

1. Little efforts really do add up to success.
2. The hardest part of any task is staying in the trenches.
3. Sometimes, even when others offer to help, you just have to do it yourself.
4. Anger and frustration are great motivators.
5. Sometimes you have to get really muddy to affect change.
6. Woody Allen was right--success is achieved mostly just by showing up
7. A little manual labor never hurt anyone (but it's murder on your back!)
8. Just when things seem impossible, the Universe comes along and gives you an edge.
9. Some days its your turn to revel in success; some days it's your turn to get into a fender-bender. Hopefully in the end, you've had more days like the former rather than the latter.
10. Oftentimes its the little victories that make life sweet

And a Time to Every Purpose Under Heaven

This time, like all times, is a very good one, if we but know what to do with it.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

I have a new exercise routine--sort of. For the past week and a half, I get up, put on my walking shorts, kiss my honey good-bye and head out for a 40 minute jaunt. That part isn't new. What is new is that when I return from my morning constitutional, I've been digging a hole. I am sick of the hole, yet I can't seem to bring the task to completion.

I've been stalled of late. (If you are a faithful reader, you will know that as my presence from this blog has been conspicuously non-existent). It's not a crisis; it's just annoying as hell. In almost all areas of my life, I am simply spinning my wheels. My checkbook...stalled. My healthy eating plan....mired. My exercise plan (other than the one above, which I will get back to in this entry, I promise.)...floundering. The plethora of projects for my business...ground to a halt. It's not for lack of effort. Everyday I attempt each task, yet my progress is slow--virtually nonexistent to my impatient soul.

Even my vegetable and herb garden is sluggish this year. This is partly due to operator error. I am a city girl at heart so the mechanics of growing and harvesting sometimes elude me. The other part is that I've been too busy slogging my way through the quagmire that is my life, so most days, all the poor things get are a 5-minute squirt with the hose and a promise to fertilize, prune and tenderly care for "tomorrow". I don't think they believe me; my tomato plants stubbornly refuse to yield anything more than marble-sized fruit and my basil is being flat-out rebellious.

In a magnanimous gesture of horticultural goodwill, I deemed it necessary to transplant my cucumber plant from its too-small pot into a spot in the ground. I know, I know....you're not supposed to plant cucumbers in a pot--they need room to spread. Okay, so chalk that up to this summer's lesson. So, I started to dig--thinking this was at most a 10-minute task. Wrong! With the third thrust of my shovel, I hit rock. I tried again....and again. Hoping for a buried treasure chest, I began to excavate an unsightly clump of concrete, which Jeremy promptly identified as an old footing for a fence post. So much for treasure. Having been informed by a reliable (?) source that the offending obstruction would be no more than 12-18 inches deep, I began to excavate. It's become a 10-day project (and counting). It's also become a metaphor for my life of late. Every day, I go out and dig around a little more, using a shovel, a trowel, my hands and lately a crow bar. My back and knees can only handle about 30 minutes of it at a time, so I end up digging down only an inch or two every day. It's probably at 12-14 inches. Still, it does not budge. It leers up at me, reminding me of the resolute Moorish castles I saw in Spain. They may partially crumble and lean precariously, but those babies aren't going anywhere anytime soon!

It has become my nemesis and my obsession. Like the other areas of my life, it taunts me as I chip away, chip away, chip away with seemingly no result other than a sore back and bloddied knuckles. Yet I know logically that if I persevere, the darn thing has to have a bottom somewhere. (Although, my emotional side is convinced that I will see a citizen of China pop his head through this hole before I ever get to the base of the concrete!) I realize that with my hole, as well as everything in life, it's what you do today that gives tomorrow's results (or maybe next month's or next year's). It's hard. Sometimes your hands get bloodied, your patience gets tested, your heart gets broken, and things just take too darn long. But that's how it goes. As the song goes, there is a time to sow and a time to reap. A time to plug away and a time to rejoice in success. You can't have one without the other.

And so we dig....

I'll keep you posted!