Punctuate Life

Pause Breathe Relax


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On the Brink of a Mid-life Crisis

Maybe it’s the dwindling hormones that announce the advent of menopause. Maybe it’s the overcast skies that are a regular feature of this part of the world. Maybe it’s my inability to get a decent job. Dang it! I blame all of the above for pushing me into this limbo.

Winter blues hit me bad when I was in Boston and now again in Seattle. It’s like a shroud that obliterates even the smallest bit of mirth. It’s hard to get motivated when it’s dark and cold for nearly 6 months of the year.

The kids are growing up fast and before I know it they’ll be out in the world fending for themselves, leaving me behind clueless. Heck, I don’t have a career to drown myself in. I can drown in the kitchen sink with all the dirty dishes! While my friends and my spouse climb the corporate ladder, I struggle to find my footing. I look in the mirror and only see a ghost of the girl I used to be. A girl full of dreams and ambitions and here I am almost middle-aged and drifting to God knows where.

Have I simply settled because after years of striving I haven’t arrived anywhere? Or is it because I was so focused on others that I did not realize that I was neglecting myself? The greying hairs on my head keep setting off alarms. Your time is so short. What have you done with your life? What have you achieved? Right now the false security of kids and chores keep you busy and lull you into a trance. But when you wake up one day it will be just you. The kids, the home, everything you put your heart and soul into – all gone. Then what do you do? Go back to college? Find a hobby? Travel the world? I have no idea.

Maybe I’ll shatter conventions and do something that will make the world look up an take notice. By now I have convinced myself that I am a late bloomer. How late will I bloom? Only time can tell. And it’s ok as long as I don’t go out with a whimper. Maybe I’ll start my own business, finally. Be my own boss, pick my hours and work with people I really like.

In Florida, I had the good fortune of knowing several women whose kids had grown up and moved out. Some worked full-time, others did part-time work from home and still others simply had an active social life. All of them seemed happy and content with their lives. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all. Life has a way of balancing things out. Changes happen and its hard at first but we ultimately adapt and find a new way of living. So while I may not have all the answers right now, I know when the time comes it will all fall in place. And I’ll be fine. Just as I am now with the crazy hormones, erratic job and gloomy weather.


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Dreaming of Florida…

 

Warm waves wash upon the sandy shore and tickle my toes,

A cool breeze mingles with the salty air,

Caresses my cheek and blows through my hair,

Gulls fly lazily above me,

And pelicans glide effortlessly.

The sun hovers in and out of the puffy white clouds,

Moving slowly across the azure sky.

 

Kids run back and forth with pails of water and sand,

Building castles that won’t stand.

Trying to hold the ocean in little moats built with their bare hands.

Seaweed crowns the castle tops and twigs hold up invisible pennants.

 

I sort through shells washed ashore by the last storm,

The ones I like I tuck away in my child’s pail.

The ocean beckons and the kids take a plunge,

They splash and sprinkle and dodge the waves,

Until a big one knocks them down.

Gasping and giggling they emerge from the shallow beach.

 

I love the ocean but not too much,

So I stand ashore and click away,

Memories stored in digital chips of a wonderful day,

Spent on sand and surf with the rhythmic waves to play.

Sunrise, sunset and moonlit nights,

So many glorious days spent in delight.

 

Magical moonlit nights top my list,

Where the ocean takes on a different persona.

Shimmering silver waters reflecting the moon,

That slowly rises from the ocean depths,

Night’s flimsy veil, partly illuminated,

White clouds highlighted.

 

Sunsets and rainbows come next,

Where vivid oranges and pinks merge with the blue horizon,

Or a light shower and a weak sun create rainbows of light.

Come thunder, lightning and angry waves,

We bolt for cover.

 

There is nothing I miss more than a walk along the coast,

With waves coming ashore to tickle my toes.

The many moods of the ocean I explore,

From dawn to dusk, storms and more.


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Be Careful What You Wish For…

Anyone who knows me knows this, I love to cook but hate doing dishes. Thirteen years of doing dishes hasn’t changed anything. I’m still not in a state of acceptance – this is something I have to do (as long I cook and eat) and I need to make peace with it. I secretly wish that someone else (husband or kids) would do it for me on a daily basis, or I would stumble on a magic wand that I could swish over the dirty sink and it would be transformed into a sparkling pile of dishes neatly arranged on a dish rack! This wish grew stronger in the beginning of last year when I found myself working and trying to cook and do dishes every night. Guess what? A year later my wish came true but not exactly in the best way.

Everyone who knows me also knows how much I hate the cold and after a five-year hiatus in sunny Florida I’m back in a place where the temperature hovers around zero degrees. What you don’t know about me is that I have this strange affliction that makes my feet and hands get really cold, blue and in extreme cases swollen, numb, red, itchy and flaky. After seeing the state of my hands, my husband took over the task of cleaning dishes. He used to help with dishes over the weekend but not on weekdays when he’s bogged down with work. Now after a long day, he finds himself in front of a sink full of dirty dishes.

Part of me felt good about it but part of me felt bad for not being able to do something as simple as washing dishes. Able to do dishes and other chores around the house is a sign of good health and energy. How many people find it hard to get through everyday chores because of poor health? And here I was perfectly healthy and capable, but so blind, discontent and royally spoilt to wish for something so idiotic!

So my wish has been granted but instead of feeling elated I feel like a complete moron. Thankfully, the universe doesn’t mind do-overs. Although a do-over of my pea brain may be impossible, I can do over my wish list. So here goes…I wish for vibrant health and vitality and a diligent spirit that doesn’t shirk from everyday chores. A spirit that welcomes a helping hand if one is offered or simply carries on happily when no help is forthcoming. A sound mind that can discern and wish for things that are not shallow and selfish.

Hopefully this will be the year that it all finally sinks in – that I have it good and should stop comparing myself to others. That I should wish more for others who are suffering instead of wanting more for myself. To put the needy little ‘I’ in an iron casket, bolt it and let it sink to the bottom of the sea.

Maybe you made wishes for the new year. Be sure to examine those wishes to see if there are any selfish motives or agendas hidden in it. A good idea would be to count your blessings before you start making a wish list. Feel deeply grateful for what you have – whether it’s health, family, a fulfilling career or friends. Then from there look forward to see if you can add to your bounty. If you start making wishes from a place of lack, your wishes are deprived of the magic of a grateful heart. No matter how bad you have it, someone has it worse than you. So try really hard to be thankful and be careful what you wish for because it just may come true!


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Manifesting Dilemmas : Be Clear or Stay Open to Possibilities?

I have spent a few years using the law of attraction and know for sure that it works. But I have not been able to break it down to a science because it works in mysterious ways that defy definition. The first step in manifesting anything is to ask. Get really clear about what you want before you ask. Describe or visualize vivid details about the outcome. Be specific.

Another school of thought believes that we should not limit the limitless universe by giving it specific directions. Be open to receiving what you ask for or something better. So which one works you ask?

For me manifesting has been a feel your way as you go kind of experience. Some things have been easy to manifest while others felt like I was up against a wall all the time. Sometimes being specific keeps you stuck on one thing and blind to other possibilities or even to other means to reach your goal.

If you are very sure about what you want and have already done the groundwork for it, then being specific helps. If you are not really sure about what path to take and have too many factors that influence what you are trying to manifest then being open helps. It is a form of surrender. Here God or Universe, you take charge because I have tried and failed many times over and ultimately you know what is best for me.

I wanted to make a career out of writing, but it is not something you jump into and become instantly successful. Writing is one of those professions that takes time – time to get noticed, time to build an audience, time to perfect your skills. So I never really made any money out of my writing. I started my own blog and posted guest blogs. But part of me wanted to have a real job – a job that pays. So I kept applying for writing jobs with no success. I was ‘stuck’ with my one specific option for making money.

At some point frustration took over and I stopped applying for writing jobs. Still later desperation kicked in and I started applying for all kinds of jobs. I became an open vessel to whatever the Universe was going to give me. And ‘whatever’ happened to be a job at the school. It kept me busy and I still had time to write. On a whim, I started to write for content mills – don’t judge me, I had to start somewhere! I had to let my ego die again to gain experience even though the pay is something most writers would frown upon. After a few months the pay is better and who knows it may become a reliable source of income for me.

So my point is this – be specific but be prepared to explore new means to your goals, even ones you may not consider. When I wanted to be paid for my writing I wanted it to show up as a 9 to 5 job, like the one I had years ago as an editor. But the Universe knew that as a mom something more flexible would suit me better. Something that could be done from the comfort of my home, with my kids doing homework in the background. Maybe 10 years ago a 9 to 5 job would have suited me fine. But now my circumstances have changed and so have my priorities. Kids, home and family take priority. Cooking a fresh meal takes precedence over deadlines. So the Universe gave me a job at the school so I could come back home with the kids. Our vacations overlap and I don’t need to put them in summer or winter camps.

In the end, I guess the Universe knows best. Accept what shows up or that which is obvious, instead of being stuck and it will take you places you never knew you could go. Success isn’t a destination. It is a constantly evolving path with milestones littered along the way. Wishing all of you reading this, success is manifesting your most cherished dreams. Thank you for your continued support in 2014. Good luck and a very happy new year!


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Guest Blog: 26/11 by Dinesh Damodaran

I wasn’t in Mumbai at the time of the attacks. I did however happen to visit the home of Major Sandeep Unnikrishnan, who was killed in the operation, to offer my condolences. I wrote this verse after that visit. I never knew the Major personally, but there was a profound sadness in me after speaking to his father and some of his OTA / NDA batch mates.

The pain doesn’t diminish every time I reminisce
about the day I met the parents of a son who perished,
enlisted to protect & serve, deserved
to be decorated, not separated from those he loved,
or to die by the gun of a terrorist scum,
The courageous Major Sandeep Unnikrishnan

I entered a home plunged in grief, shattered belief
TV hummed in the living room, channels playing footage of the siege
Relatives debated on what-ifs and what may have been
Father stood in the hall, hands folded
In the bedroom the mother wept on a relative’s shoulder,
distraught at thoughts of her son aged 31 who wouldn’t grow older
Not consoled by whatever they told her, forever wounded for being
the mother of a martyred soldier.

I stood paralyzed, tongue-tied
I had to really control myself
or I would’ve cried
Mustered courage to walk up to the Major’s dad and say
“Excuse me sir, I’m sorry for your loss today.”
“Don’t be. He died serving his country.”
“Are you a Friend of my son?’ he asks
“No sir, I’m just a citizen.”
Took leave, headed home,
Thinking back of how Mumbai
turned into a war zone

A date that’s etched
in my mind’s slate
26 November 2008 –
the day people of Mumbai
became terrorist bait.
Attacks came late in the p.m.
innocent lives left to fate,
in the capital of the MH State.


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Fall in Paradise

MtRainierPic (3) Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees – John Muir

A long weekend in the middle of October is a great time to do all things fall. Like a trip to the pumpkin patch and a drive up to the Cascade mountains to catch some fall colors. We headed to the pumpkin patch on a cloudy day interspersed with rain. The pumpkin patch had pumpkins in all shapes and sizes. The kids picked three pumpkins – a large, a medium and a small (for N’s pumpkinology school project). We loaded them up in a wheel barrow which N had a swell time pushing around. The farm also offered hay rides in a wagon pulled by an old tractor. We took a bumpy ride around the farm with its apple trees, pumpkin patches and dried up sunflowers from the summer. The farm also had lavender plants from which they bottled lavender oil, available for purchase at the store. There were some old-fashioned water pumps in the farm that were set up for rubber duck races. N enjoyed pumping water at the pump, with the water gushing down little horizontal chutes. Goes without saying that my kids felt they were too old for rubber duck races! Too old to stick their heads through wooden pumpkins for pictures. We were all cold and wet and hungry after our trip to the farm. So we headed off to Bamboo Garden for some Hot and Sour soup, fried rice, Mongolian chicken, Szechuan veggies and Manchurian. The warm meal lulled us into a torpor and we all dozed off when we got home. The next day was our big trip to Mount Rainier. P was to buy some snacks and veggie burgers for the trip but I was in an unusually good mood and wanted to make everything – including the snacks. I made veggie cutlets, crispy murukku, apple pie and mixed nuts for the trip. MtRainierPic (1) The next day we rose early and headed out by 7.00 a.m. The roads were free and we made it in good time. We saw a rainbow as we were driving through perfectly straight rows of evergreens that fringed the roads. The Cascade mountains showed up in the horizon – black and austere. As we neared the park entrance, Mount Rainier appeared – aloof, majestic and snowcapped. Our first stop was at Christine falls, right by the side of the road. We then drove to the Jackson visitor center in Paradise, which offered a really stunning view of Mount Rainier. The summit was seldom free of cloud cover but we did manage to get some pictures of the cloud-free peak. Armed with trail maps, we headed off to see Myrtle falls, which was a short hike through the meadows  in Paradise. The wildflowers were long gone but the meadows were dressed in different hues of red and yellow. MtRainierPic (4) Near the 72-foot Myrtle falls, is a little bridge over the Paradise River and we went under the bridge to touch the ice-cold water. The last waterfall we saw in the park was the spectacular Narada falls, named after the Hindu sage Narada. The early settlers thought the falls had a spiritual connection. It connected the earth and the heavens much like sage Narada did. MtRainierPic (8) We drove to the Reflections Lake and hiked around its perimeter with Mount Rainier in the background. The lake was surrounded by trees that were changing color. Parts of the lake were still and reflected the trees and the clouds above. Some of the pictures we took here look like picture postcards. All that walking got us hungry and we went to the Paradise Picnic area to eat veggie burgers and chips with juice and coffee – with a perfect view of the ever changing Mount Rainier. Later while watching the film on Mount Rainier at the visitor center, we realized that the engineers had built the roads and the buildings to offer the best views of the mountain. MtRainierPic (10) After lunch we headed off to see Nisqually Glacier which was a short 1.2 mile hike (or so we thought). We ended up on the wrong trail and kept going for more than an hour until my legs burned. But the trail kept going on and on. We reached the Deadhorse (believe me I felt like one!) Creek trail before we realized we were not on the right trail. It was too late to turn back so we kept going until we reached Glacier Vista (elevation 6340 feet) which offered an amazing view of the glacier, falls and the valley below. At this point I was freezing – hat, gloves, double jacket and all! N and P wanted to continue up the trail to see Mount Rainier up and close. I was dreading the walk back downhill so I stayed put with A. There was some snow off to the side of the road so A played with it. She found a tiny snowman that fell apart when she touched it. She put it back together as best she could. Meanwhile, N and P reached a snow-covered road and took some great pictures with the magnificent Mount Rainier in the background. The hike back down was steep and painful and I doubted I’d make it before my legs collapsed under me. But I made it and we enjoyed some apple pie before catching the 20-minute film at the visitor center. Boy was I surprised to hear that Mount Rainier was an active volcano with steam vents at the summit. I had told my kids it was dormant, given its snow-white and innocent demeanor. The park boasted numerous glaciers and I was glad we were able to see one of these ice rivers. There was obviously more to the park than we explored (235,625 acres to be precise). The Great Patriarch Forest with its huge ancient trees was worth exploring but considering the plight of my muscles hip-down, we put off all further exploration for later. The kids got their first-ever junior ranger badges from the park ranger. It was a big deal, with oaths and all. Almost like being knighted! Almost. We picked up some souvenirs from the gift shop and headed home. The drive home was quiet, with the kids sleeping, but the traffic we missed in the morning came back to bite us. All in all, it was a day well-spent, in the mountains, breathing in the fresh air, drinking glacial water and away from it all. When we got lost while hiking, or it started raining and we had no where to go, I knew we had to give up all control and just submit to Nature. Because up here in the mountains She was in charge. If I had collapsed during the hike downhill we didn’t even have cellphone coverage to call for help. I had to simply trust and go down one step at a time.

Where will you go this fall? Make a trip away from it all and witness the magic of wilderness.


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Waxing Nostalgic

I am guilty of living in the past. I can’t really explain why. It’s like an aching. A longing. A strong conviction that the past held magic amidst the mundane. The glittering golden glory days of yore – far superior than the modern day drudgery. Something about those bygone days captivate me. Something about musty albums with black and white photos pasted carefully on cardboard pages and separated by layers of tissue. Something romantic about the lifestyle. Glimpses of my ancestors hobnobbing with royalty. Girls married off at puberty. Love letters tied up with ribbon and stored in biscuit tins. Where travelling to England meant a long treacherous voyage by sea.

While strolling through the rooms of the Cochin Palace I felt this strong yearning for the past. I imagined the princesses bathing in the pond and then taking long walks through the gardens with deer flitting by. The ladies-in-waiting dressed their hair with jewels and wrapped them in “kasavu” saris. I could almost hear the strains of music and the tinkling of anklets. My heart fluttered at the thought of going back to that time in history. My friend shook me out of my reverie and narrated “not so romantic” aspects of a woman’s life in days of the Raj.

I have only my grandma to blame for painting such a glorious picture of her high society days. She threw parties galore and had Russian ex-pats wining and dining with her. Although her trip to England was marked by hardship and disease, it still held a certain magic for me. I wish I could go back in time just to see my grandpa and how tenderly he looked at my grandma, the love of his life. To maybe dance with him, the way he danced with all the little girls in the room, crouching down to their height and sashaying them around till they giggled in pure glee. Or to just hear his voice and the authority it held. To travel back to England and help my grandma bake bread or watch as she presided over an Indian committee.

Or if I could simply pack my bags and stow away on a ship to the past and be an invisible observer – not intruding, not changing the course of history, but simply taking it all in – turning all the musty, black and white photos to fragrant Technicolor movies if you will. The war, the rations, the biting cold of an English winter, the glamorous parties and the beautifully furnished bungalows. See my grandma as she grieved the loss of my grandpa and quietly but unobtrusively send her vibes of sympathy and courage so she could go on and meet me later. Only to tell tales of how things were and how we could never go back to that charmed life.

When I visit mountains where Native Americans once roamed, the very same yearning fills my heart. Of roaming free in the wilderness, one with nature, drinking from the stream, picking berries and running away from bears. Like Pocahontas but without any interference from the British. Maybe I’d like to go to even Ireland, when druids made potions and witches spoke spells. Or Japan when emperors ruled and Buddhism was taking root. Maybe I travel to these places in my dreams and maybe some day time travel won’t be just an idea in a book.

But until then I have resigned myself to live with that aching, that longing, knowing that it is gone, much like the people that lived in it, mingled in the dust, faint in the memories of those still alive, every fading ever more.


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On Gratitude and Giving

This is one of my favorite topics, so forgive me if I keep rehashing it and presenting it in yet another blog to you. Drawing from my earlier post on nature versus nurture, I had the good fortune of knowing three very generous ladies. Two of them were my grandmothers and one was my ‘adopted’ grandmother. My Dadima (dad’s mom) was a businesswoman and she did really well selling cooking gas to households and hotels. Ganga (my adopted grandmother) lived with her and took care of the home, the dogs, the garden and cooking. My Mutasshi (my mom’s mom) lived in the quiet village of Viakkom in Kerala with my grandpa, who was retired. They lived off his small pension and some money they made by selling coconuts, cashews and other things that my grandpa grew in his huge backyard.

Although they all had different incomes, they were infinitely compassionate. People would come to them, steeped in debt or unable to shoulder an unexpected expense and the money was given. My Mutasshi has gone as far as pledging her gold chain to help a maid. Ganga denied herself a home and paid a huge sum towards a loved one’s home. Dadima has married off some of the younger maids and provided utensils and other things they needed to set up a home. This blog is too small to share their acts of generosity. Suffice to say that at both my grandmas’ funerals, strangers came to us weeping and relating stories of their compassion and altruism.

Give to receive. I learnt this lesson when I was still a schoolgirl. Riding a bus back home one day, I sat next to a gray-haired lady of somewhat frugal means. She was short of 25 paisa (equivalent to a quarter) and the rude conductor was yelling at her. I quickly fished out some change and thrust it into the conductor’s hand. He muttered and withdrew to his seat.

A few days later, I didn’t have change for five rupees and the conductor (not the same one) refused to take it and give me change. I pleaded with him but he told me to get off at the next stop. I was nearly in tears. One lady overheard the whole thing and asked me how much the fare was. I told her and she quietly extracted the coins from her purse and gave it to the conductor. Karma or pay back! What else can I say!

When I was still in school I would look for ways to help and had a mental checklist. If I helped someone I said to myself – you have done your good deed for today! Growing up meant burying all of this in the whole money-making, getting ahead in life and succeeding craziness that we all buy into. How right we are as kids, with our hearts in the right place. And then we unlearn all of heaven’s wisdom and replace it with a worldliness so nonsensical to become grown -ups! Our intellects expand but our hearts shrink.

Gratitude means different things in different cultures. In some cultures a simple thank you is enough. In Japan, one way of expressing gratitude is to say that you are indebted to the other person and owe them a favor. They don’t stop at just lip service. They actually go out of their way to help the other person – sometimes more than once. In some cultures this kind of generosity may be taken advantage of.

Acts of kindness have a ripple effect beyond the giver and receiver. The gift of gratitude keeps on giving. It all adds up in your karmic record and comes bounding back in heaps and loads, when you least expect it.

If life is not going well for you right now and you are not receiving all that you are wishing for, stop and find ways to give. Give exactly what you need to receive and watch the magic happen. Just the act of selfless giving creates joy in your life. And being in a state of joy helps. It attracts good things to you and possibly the very thing you were missing will show up.

Another way of doing it, is to be grateful for what you have every single day instead of harping on what’s missing. Gratitude was the one thing that turned my life around, followed by giving. So when I wasn’t getting any calls for interviews, I jumped back into volunteering. After my first meeting with other volunteers, I came home and found an e-mail from the school district asking if I was still interested in the job I had applied for! Later someone from a staffing company called me and told me she was interested in hiring me. What more proof can I give you? Gratitude and giving open the flood doors to great gifts. Give and you shall receive. And when you receive, don’t forget to send a thank you note. I highly recommend keeping a stash of thank you notes in your stationery drawer. You never know when you will need one.

Have you experienced the boomerang effect of giving in your life? Do share your stories.


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Nature or Nurture: My Genes Revealed

I was recently writing an article about genetics and came across the nature versus nurture theory. I’ve heard of it before but never applied it to my life, until now. You see I have been fighting nature and possibly nurture all my life.

My Dad and I have a lot in common. We are both quiet bookworms with a small group of friends and prefer silence to small talk. Did I mention my Dad was a writer? My Mom on the other hand has what you call the gift of the gab. She can strike up conversations with total strangers. She was a teacher and so are two of her sisters. Teaching genes are strongly expressed in her generation. My Dad was probably the only writer in his generation. And in their relationship Mom is clearly the dominant one. I probably have a lot of the ‘dominant’ teaching genes. If you happen to be a friend of mine you know what I am talking about. I love giving sermons, counselling and advising people (much to their annoyance)!

My mom’s personality and mine are so different that teaching never featured in my career choices. Big mistake! I would have pursued a teaching degree instead of journalism if I had know I’d be teaching in my mid-thirties.

My teaching genes also benefitted from a nurturing environment. I’ve had some awesome teachers who have brought out the best in me and evoked a deep respect for this profession. My mother often spoke of how much she loved kids and how emotionally fulfilling her job was. Like her, I love kids and job satisfaction is high on my list of priorities. If I ain’t happy I ain’t doing a good job. I have to love the work and the people I work with.

Sometimes I think I inherited both writing and teaching genes in equal measure. Both seem to want to dominate my life at one time or another. If I had been privy to this knowledge ten years ago, it would have been easy to chart the course of my career. I remember how confused I was after doing my bachelors in science and realizing I didn’t want to go into teaching or research. I opted for journalism because my Dad suggested it after I took another wrong turn toward an M.S. in ecology. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I enjoyed journalism. Even before I finished my thesis I was offered a job. I also worked part-time during my final semester.

My first real job was editing and I loved it for the most part. Deep down I sorely missed creative writing. Sometimes I wish I had followed my friends career paths into technical writing or computer graphics. But then again the wordsmith gene in me rebels and sulks over not being able to express itself.

Both teaching and writing are jobs that give me a good work-life balance. My kids and their lives are equally important to me. I want to be there every day when they get back from school. I want to sit at the kitchen table and feed them home-cooked meals, while they share funny stories about school.

So after much deliberation I have finally arrived at the conclusion that it’s ok to branch out. It’s ok not to follow the beaten (career) path. We as individuals are such dynamic creatures that one career cannot do justice to our many talents. That is probably the reason for such large-scale dissatisfaction as far as one’s career goes. If you have to stick to your job to pay the bills, that’s ok. Pursue other talents as hobbies or simply volunteer whenever you can. You will be happier and won’t resent your day job so much.

So here I am – a writer, a blogger, a substitute teacher, communications VP at the PTSA and wannabe yoga teacher! Unofficial jobs? Well, let’s not go there. God help me!


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Why You Chose to Die…

 

I’m sorry you chose to die,

So did I.

 

Carelessly you threw away,

Everything I struggle to be today.

The money and the fame,

Did nothing for you.

So why should I continue,

Down that path.

 

I’ve been there before,

That dark and desolate place,

Where the evil mind lurks,

Spewing out venom and lies.

The promise of a better life,

If you skip the years,

And choose to die.

 

Nobody cares – taunts that familiar voice,

Getting louder every day.

As the pain explodes yet again,

In your beleaguered body.

But what about her – you ask,

Your eyes darting to the picture frame beside you.

Nobody cares. Nobody. Not even her – comes the callous reply.

And then an even bitter lie –

She is better off without you.

 

That must have been the final blow,

That severed the last thread of resolve,

That ounce of will that you should live.

The battle was lost,

The tears were long gone.

Tomorrow it will be all over the news,

A wave of sadness passing over the globe.

And yet it would pass,

And one day you’d be as dead as you are now.

 

I’m sorry you chose to die,

So did I.

But while you crossed to the other side,

I’m stuck inside.

While you chose to run away,

I had to be brave and smile.

Everything you threw away,

I struggle to be today.

 

I’m sorry you chose to die,

So did I.