Words

Words

Melissa Dallago 

    For several years now I have been collecting quotes from books and speeches that I have read that moved me and inspired me to "Think Differently," to use Apple's motto.  I love reading words, but I must confess that I love writing them more.  My hope is that my words move someone as much as other's words have moved me.  Writing is a release for me.  It releases the tension that builds up inside me.  Words that I write clarify my thoughts and help me to reflect upon what I have learned from an experience.  The hardest words that I have ever written was a piece that I wrote entitled "Proof of Life" that I wrote after my father's passing in 2010.  I cried and cried throughout my time writing it, yet with that grief and sorrow, I was healing and learning, and most importantly honoring his memory.  I still cry when I read it, but now, I also smile a bit because I can feel essences of my father's personality and spirit shining through my words.  I hope that one day I can share it and maybe, just maybe, my experiences can help someone else during their time of need. 

     I have to say that of all of the quotes that I have collected, the words I obtained from reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand affected me the most.  I read the book at a time when I was rebuilding my life and my spirit after a very trying time in my life.  In reading Ayn's words and learning about her characters I absorbed pieces of her work into the very fiber of my being.  The one phrase that lifted me up the most is:

           "It was as if he had run a race against his own body, and all the exhaustion of years, which he had refused to acknowledge had caught up   with him at once and flattened him against the desk top.... He had burned everything there was to burn within him, he had scattered so many sparks to start so many things - and he wondered whether someone could give him the spark he needed, now when he felt unable to ever rise again.  He asked himself who had started him and kept him going.  Then he raised his head.  Slowly, with the greatest effort, he made his body rise until he was able to sit upright with only one hand pressed to the desk and a trembling arm to support him.  He never asked that questioned again" (Atlas Shrugged p 45-46).

     Those words moved me, and whenever I feel myself broken down and wanting to give up on this world, I read those words and my engine restarts.  I feel strong enough and capable enough to deal with anything that life can, and usually will, throw at me. 

     In reading Atlas Shrugged with Ayn's voice echoing into the recesses of my mind, my perspective of myself and the world around me was utterly changed.  Her words, her message, became a part of my outlook of life and help me almost every day to be a better, stronger, and more capable woman.  Ayn's words also inspired me to want to write so that hopefully my words can influence someone else.  They are my inspiration and a source of my fire, my passion, and my love.  

    I will close with the words that most changed my life, "that your work is the purpose of your life... any value you might find outside your work, any other loyalty or love, can only be travelers you chose to share your journey and must be travelers going on their own power in the same direction.

Hanging on Apron Strings

Hanging on Apron Stings

Melissa J. Dallago

Aprons can be frilly; they can have ruffles.  They can be a simple white, a work of art, or have quotes emblazed across them.  Aprons come in all shapes and sizes and are made of all kinds of materials.  They can be used for cooking, cleaning, working on art projects, or even working in the garage.  Aprons are useful in keeping your clothing clean or even protecting the person from serious injury.  Cooks, welders, construction workers and artists wear them.  Aprons are even used in construction projects to provide coverage where joints meet such as in roofing or chimneys.  There are even euphemisms tied to the wearing of aprons and either cutting or hanging onto their strings.  All in all, no matter what their use, aprons are functional and practical and, clearly, have many uses.

I hung on my grandmother’s apron strings when I was a child and watched her cooking in the kitchen.  She was 100% Italian and a fantastic cook.  She would spend hours in the kitchen concocting dinner or baking.  I especially remember loving Christmas because she would bake these delicious cookies called Pastachelles which would involve three days of hard core apron wearing.  The end result of all this labor was a kitchen covered in flour, an exhausted woman, whose clothes were clean as she had worn an apron after all, and a delectable treat of deep fried cookies filled with honey, chocolate, and my grandmother’s love.  My grandmother has been gone for almost 25 years, and each Christmas my mom and I swear to each other that next Christmas we will resurrect the Pastachelles.  We haven’t done that yet, but maybe one day.

Men also wear aprons.  I hung on my grandfather’s work apron strings when I watched him work in the garage.  He taught me how to use a hammer and nails, and even allowed me to use the power drill occasionally under his close supervision.  I remember building my first creature, a dog, made out of two by fours just nailed together.  I drew a nose and eyes on the top of it and proudly showed it to him.  He just patted me on the head and went on with his project. 

In present day, the one man whose apron strings that I would love to hang onto is Gordon Ramsey.  Not only is he a hell of a talented chef, but he’s drop dead gorgeous to boot.  Now, of course, I would only want to hang onto his apron strings merely to learn how to cook and certainly not because he exudes passion and fire for what he does which makes him incredibly sexy; no, not for that reason at all!

My mother did not wear an apron like my grandmother did when she cooked.  She just went into the kitchen and started cooking away; and she is certainly a hell of a cook.  I can’t tell you how many times I heard my mother complain about getting tomato sauce on her clothes when she was making pasta, and I can imagine my grandmother telling her that she should have worn an apron and my mom rolling her eyes in exasperation.  My mom and I also bake chocolate chip cookies at Christmas sans aprons.  I have learned to deflect the flour away from me and cover everything else in the kitchen, including my mom.  We have a personal best record of baking over 600 cookies in a six hour marathon all done without the benefit of aprons.

So I learned at the knee of my apron wearing grandparents and my non-apron wearing mother.  To this day I still fumble in the kitchen even though I am related to fabulous chefs.  The one dish I can cook is lasagna, which I make twice year while not wearing an apron.  As a result I echo my mother’s complaints of getting tomato sauce on my clothes, so I guess I proudly carry on that tradition.  

The most important things I learned while hanging on their proverbial apron strings is how to be a strong, independent and intelligent woman who knows how to use a hammer and nails.  I also learned how to be true to myself, to be fierce and to love my family deeply.  Thanks to my grandparents’ and mother’s actions and influence I have learned what it truly means to be a woman.  I never want to “cut the apron strings,” but always want to “hang onto their apron strings” because they are my role models and heritage.  Hopefully, one day, I will have a little one who will be hanging on mine and to whom I can pass down these proud traditions of what it means to either wear an apron or not depending on your preference.

Dear Photograph

Dear Photograph,

            There you stand frozen in a moment with your father standing proudly beside you as you are getting ready to go to the junior prom in 1992.  You look so beautiful and young in your light pink prom dress, and you father standing there handsomely dapper in his black sweater and khaki pants.  I gaze at this photograph almost daily and always smile at the memory.  Nearly twenty years have passed since that photograph was taken.  I look at my younger self and wish that I could somehow reach through the glossy sheen of the photograph and provide her with some valuable insight that will make the intervening years just a little more bearable.  Alas, I cannot and I also know that if I did, I would not have developed into the person that I am today.

            A lot has changed in the twenty years since that photograph was taken.  Aside from the fact that I am twenty years older, I would have to say that I have accomplished many of the goals that I have set out for myself.  I did not know it when I was seventeen, but my life would be faced with more than enough challenges.  I look at myself in that photograph and see such promise and brightness in my eyes.  That same promise is still present in my eyes today when I gaze at myself in the mirror, but that brightness, although still there, has softened a bit due to the realities that I have experienced.  I am little more cynical and not has hopeful as I was back then. 

            The most drastic thing that has changed in my life since the night that photograph was taken is the fact that I lost my father.  As a family we shared a momentous journey through sickness and surgeries and moments of great joy and love that bonded us together.  My father, who stands there so proudly next to his beautiful daughter, was a vibrant, charismatic individual.  You can clearly see the love and pride of me shining in his eyes.  My father and I, during those intervening years, had a tumultuous relationship, as many fathers and daughters do, but it was one based on a solid foundation of love and respect.  My father left this earth on September 18, 2010 and he is still sorely missed.

            The most important lesson that I have learned since that night in 1992 is to cherish my life, live each day as the gift that it is, try to make lasting positive memories, and don’t worry about trying to be a perfect child, partner, friend or individual.  I have learned from gazing at this photograph of a father and his daughter that it is moments that are perfect, not people.  Photographs capture the essence of those perfect moments, and it is those moments that need to be cherished as they are what make life worth living.

                                                                       

                                                                                    Sincerely,

                                                                                    Melissa

Your Future Self

To My Father

To My Father

Melissa J. Dallago

“My father was patient and kind.  He did not envy, nor boast.  He was proud of his wife and daughter.  He was never self-seeking, was never rude and never easily angered.  He kept no record of wrongs.  My father's love never failed!”

I modified 1 Corinthians 13:4 as a tribute to my father.  I read these words at the luncheon we had after his funeral, which was the second hardest day of my life; the first being the day my father died.

My father's name is Justin.  He came into my life when I was sixteen as my step-father and exited it as my father.  My dad did all of the things that a father does for a daughter.  He taught me how to take care of my car, gave me advice on life and was extremely protective of me when the boys I dated misbehaved.  My fondest memory is from my senior prom when my dad was my chauffer for the evening.  He had his car detailed and even rented a chauffer's cap to complete the part.  I remember my prom with such pride in how handsome he looked.

My dad's health issues began in 1995 when he underwent a quadruple heart bypass.  After the surgery, he was diagnosed with polycystic kidney disease that led to kidney failure.   My dad began hemodialysis in 1997 which became the mainstay of his life for the next 17 years.

My dad was lively, energetic, and loving.  He always helped friends and family and was compassionate to everyone.  He had a quiet dignity and was extremely well respected.  My dad had volunteered to serve in the army as an engineer during the Vietnam War and that military bearing carried forward throughout the rest of his life.  He was precise and organized.  His favorite motto was "measure twice, cut once," when it came to doing any projects around the house.

To show how precise he was, I can remember when I came home from work one day to find that my dad had hung shelves in my bedroom.  As I began to put my knick knacks on the shelves they slid off the shelf and onto the floor.  I took a closer look and saw that the shelves weren’t level.  I told my dad that my shelves were crooked, and he said with such vehemence that there was no way they were crooked because he had precisely measured before he had hung them.  To demonstrate the crookedness, I placed a small item on the lower shelf and watched as it promptly slid to the floor.  He gave me a nasty look as I giggled.  He got his tools to re-measure and re-hang the shelves, this time perfectly parallel to the floor, straight as an arrow.  For Christmas that year I found him a Gary Larson "Far Side" comic that pictured an art gallery in which all of the paintings were hung crooked.  The reason for them being hung that way was because the curator had a kinked neck and to him they looked straight, but to the non-kinked neck people they clearly leaned to the right. I wrote in the corner "Justin's Gallery."  We laughed and that cartoon hung on the refrigerator for years.

I applaud my dad for his strength, bravery and never say die attitude when it came to dealing with his health.  He never gave up.  Every time we went to the hospital or faced a critical diagnosis, and there were many, he would do whatever was needed to survive, come hell or high water.  For 17 years he fought.  For 17 years we weathered the storms and still pulled enjoyment from life and our family.  For 17 years we were a safe harbor from the tumultuous storms of disease and the nastiness of life.

My father was diagnosed with peripheral artery disease in 2008.  Over time the circulation in his legs was worsening and the situation turned dire when it was discovered that my dad had a complete blockage in his left leg and his leg was dying from a lack of blood and oxygen.  My dad was admitted to the hospital in July, 2010, and never came home again.

My dad was in the hospital for three months and underwent two surgeries to amputate his left leg to try to save his life.  He underwent months of physical therapy and rehabilitation.  Yet after 17 years of dialysis and a chronic heart condition, his body was tired, and the situation did not look good.

With our support, he decided that he had been fighting for so long and was tired.  His medical conditions were terminal and he felt like he was ready to let go.  He made the courageous decision to stop his medical treatment because his quality of life was only going to worsen.  After he made the decision there was an honor about him.  There was no fear in him and no fear in us.

We were gifted with having one last day with my dad.  He had a boundless supply of energy.  We talked about his last wishes and he spoke with friends and family members to say his goodbyes.  We laughed, we loved and said the things that needed to be said; and just listened to the rain.  That day was wonderful and has become a happy memory during a very sad time.  Those were my dad's last pleasures on this earth.

My dad slipped away from us on September 18, 2010.  My mom and I were honored that we were with my dad when he died.  We had been through so much together, fought so many battles, and faced so many challenges that it was only fitting that we were with him at the end, a family for one final moment.

My father was a brave, loving, and wonderful man and he is still missed.

Travelers on the Path

Travelers on the Path

Melissa J. Dallago

“…that your work is the purpose of your life, and you must speed past any killer who assumes the right to stop you, that any value you find outside your work, any other loyalty or love, can be only travelers you choose to share your journey and must be travelers going on their own power in the same direction.”

                                                                        Atlas Shrugged (p 924)

Ayn Rand

            Our morality and values are in a deplorable state of affairs.  We have become a society that values selfishness, greed, and depravity above all else.  We believe that we are entitled to things, and they need to be provided to us free of charge, with absolutely no effort on our part.  We believe that we are entitled to it simply because it is there, or because someone else has it and we don’t.  This entitlement mentality will be the death of the American society.  It is carrying us on a direct march into a collective society.

            While Americans may complain about the apathy and inaction of our government officials, these officials are a reflection of us, as we placed them in power.  The government is a creature of our own creation.  Its slow reaction to demands or crises, such as Katrina or 9/11; its inability to act decisively about pressing matters, such as our economy or the immigration issue; and the ever present political spin placed on any issue, is nothing but smoke and mirrors that fails to get to the heart of the issue.  These are again reflections of our society.

            The true principles and greatness of our nation are still with us, but they and we in turn have fallen asleep.  We have reached a point where we have become inoculated against ourselves and against the greatness that is in each and every one of us.       We are each travelers on our own path.  If we pursue our own purpose with a clear vision and movement towards that goal, we can better ourselves and our society as a whole.  The true spirit of America lives in each and every one of us, we just need to let it shine.

            The Founding Fathers staked their lives on a dream.  Were they right to do so?  We are in part living proof of that.  They did not mean for this government to save us in times of need, they meant the government to work for us. 

We have been blessed with prosperity and peace because of our prior generation’s work and hardships.  This prosperity has, in part, caused us to forget what it means to have dedication to our dreams, and what it means to struggle.  Yes, we want our nation to provide and we want our children to be better off than we, but that prosperity doesn’t mean that we forget what it means to be an American and be ourselves, and allow our morals and values to become lax.  What are we passing on to our children, but poor values and an attitude of entitlement and lack of personal responsibility.  The belief has become that if someone gets hurt, they look to the deep pockets for compensation.  If we get into trouble financially, we look to the government for a handout, instead of a hand-up.  With these beliefs becoming so prevalent in our society, what are the hopes for the future, for our county?  In reality, because of our country’s success, we need to be even more vigilant and protective of our morals and what it means to be an American.

            Our society is facing a crossroads.  We have a choice to make.  We can either continue down our current path of entitlement and an apathetic attitude, or we can tighten our belts and become responsible for ourselves and our actions.  If we continue on our current path, the true meaning and ideals of our nation have been given a death warrant and our glorious dreams will fade away.  If we chose the later, we can reclaim our identity and the dreams of our Founding Fathers will be realized.

            To me the values that define America include hard work, honesty, a sense of purpose, dedication to one’s self as a free individual and accountability for one’s actions.  A sense of purpose is what truly defines man. 

We need to recall our ideals so that we can pass that very dream down to future generation and the American dream can live on.  To quote John Adams, “I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy.  My sons aught to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history, naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture, in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry and porcelain.”  We have benefited from the education and hard work of previous generations.  Our job is not done.  We need to do our part for the future.  We as travelers on the path of history owe it to ourselves, and future generations to be the best we can be, and leave our Country in a better condition than we found it. 

Groundhogs Day

Groundhogs Day

Groundhogs day is a day that we celebrate either the early or late arrival of spring based on whether or not Punksatony Phil sees his shadow.  You may also remember a movie by the same name that starred Bill Murray who was repeating the same day over and over again.  This piece is based on that movie.  

The loud noise of my alarm clock radio wakes me promptly at 5:45 a.m.  My hand reaches across the cold chasm to slap the snooze button.  Exactly five minutes later David's smart phone sounds its alarm and he reaches over to silence it.  Together we rise up like two bear cubs coming out of their warm den.  We sit for a moment and snuggle.  The first action I take every morning is to kiss him on the cheek and ask him how he slept.  My next step involves throwing the bed covers back and fishing around for my sleep pants before muddling off to the kitchen in a half daze as my mind and body is crying out for coffee.  

I pour the cup and drink my coffee as I read through a few pages of my novel.  At 6:15 every morning David is dressed and leaves for the office.  I escort him to the door, kiss him goodbye and bid him a good day.  Then it is my turn for a hot shower and the torture of trying to figure out what to wear to the office.  After struggling with hair and makeup and petting LB on the sink, I am finally ready to leave for work.  Exactly 30 minutes later I am at my desk with a second cup of coffee and reading through my morning mail.  I usually use the first hour of my day to get caught up on little things before my attorney comes in at 9.  

Fast forward eight hours, and I am packing up for the day and making the long drive home that normally takes me almost an hour because Tampa traffic sucks.  I pull into my garage, David greets me this time, and we talk about the day that we had and try to decide what we want for dinner, which is never an easy task.  Then after a few hours of television watching and reading my book, we are off to bed at 10, and hopefully, if my mind is calm, I drift off to sleep and dream dreams that I do not remember. 

Wash, rinse and repeat for five days of the week.  On weekends we usually repeat the same pattern, but add to that a wonderful extra hour of sleep.  This is my version of Groundhogs Day, but it is my routine and my stability.  The major life decisions that I make every morning is to greet the day with a smile and meet any challenges that may rise up.  

A Meandering Mind

A Meandering Mind

Melissa Dallago

“Begin here,” touched me in a way that I didn’t think possible.  In reading the opening words from Journals of Solitude by May Sarton, I took the phrase as her invitation to enter into the inner workings of her brilliant mind.  As I was reading the book I kept a pencil in hand and lined around certain phrases and sentences that captured my attention, and then at the end of each journal entry I would jot down my thoughts and reactions to those phrases.

Some of the parts of the book that touched me include:

“For a long time now, every meeting with another human being has been a collision.  I feel too much, sense too much, am exhausted by the reverberations after even the simplest conversation.  But the deep collision is and has been my unregenerate, tormenting and tormented self.  I have written every poem, every novel, for the same purpose – to find out what I think, to know where I stand.  I am unable to become what I see.  I feel like an inadequate machine, a machine that breaks down at crucial moments, grinds to a dreadful halt… or, even worse, explodes in some innocent person’s face.”  (12)

            My response:

            I too feel like a difficult and impossible person sometimes.  I long to be with people, don’t necessarily know how to act around them as I don’t always understand their motives.

“…At such times I really feel as if my head were going to burst and there is no doubt that the tantrum itself is a release.  But it is paid for very heavily in guilt and shame.  ‘Anger is a short madness,’ says Horace”  (28)

            My response:

            Anger is a sign that something is wrong and, if it is channeled properly, anger can be used as a means to spring someone into action to discover the cause and fix the problem.  Anger may be a short madness, but it does have its purposes.

“I woke in tears this morning.  I wonder whether it is possible at nearly sixty to change oneself radically.  Can I learn to control resentment and hostility, the ambivalence, born somewhere far below the conscious level?  If I cannot, I shall lose the person I love.  There is nothing to be done but go ahead with life moment by moment and hour by hour…”  (33)

            My response:

            I too feel depressed for no apparent reason.  Sometimes my feelings are too intense.  The volume control on my emotions gets cranked up way too loud, and they are all can I hear.  It is during those times that I must live second by second, step by step, like someone attempting to navigate a frozen lake, carefully stepping along for fear of causing a crack and falling into the frigid water.

“Love is one of the great enlargers of the person because it requires us to “take in” the stranger and to understand him, and to exercise restraint and tolerance as well as imagination to make the relationship work.  If love includes passion, it is more explosive and dangerous and forces us to go deeper.”  (93)

            My response:

            Relationships are a challenge, and this sentiment is very true.  Passionate love is an incendiary device waiting to explode.  A mixture of fire and ice is best; a love that has a slow burn stands the test of time.

“And in a strange way laughter has the same effect.  We are able to laugh when we achieve detachment, if only for a moment.”  (99)

            My response:

            Laughter is going insane for one moment, yet by going insane, we stay sane.

“We cannot afford not to fight for growth and understanding, even when it is painful, as it is bound to be.”  (148)

            My response:

            There is growth in suffering.  As you suffer you experience emotions and learn lessons that add layers and depth to your soul.  Instead of one monochromatic color, there is depth, shading, lightness, oblique angles that add to the painting.  How interesting it is to view a person that has such depth and beauty to the painting of their soul.  Life is an artist, and we are its canvas.

“I feel a bit firmer now.  It always comes back to the same necessity: go deep enough and there is a bedrock of truth, however hard.  It looks as if I were ‘meant’ to be alone, and that any hope of happiness is not meant.”  (150)

            My response:

            Happiness is an activity; you must be involved in it daily.  I too suffer from neurotic pangs of worry and guilt, self-denial, castigating myself over every word I say, thought I think, and reaction instead of action, that I partake in.  I am my own worst enemy.  I find that when I simply stand still all of my fears, doubts and self-recriminations fall away, and I realize that I am sane, whole and a beautiful loving being, shining and vibrant.  And then as I take a step those engines of self-doubt start again.  That noise is the symphony of my soul, it makes me who I am, but oh those moments of standing still are my bedrock and are divine.

With respect to solitude, I agree with Sarton that no man is an island, but he certainly needs one small place where he can retire to reflect, ponder and process life’s lessons and any troubles that may be bothering him.  I find that I am at my best after I have had those moments of solitude.  I emerge feeling refreshed and ready to immerse myself in the waves of life.  If for some reason I am not able to have those moments of solitude, whether it be through interruptions or personal responsibilities keeping me from it, I become extremely frustrated and agitated.

I delight in writing as it provides me with an opportunity to allow my mind to wander as I write down my thoughts.  I love watching my writing develop from a single thought that connects to another and another, and the next thing I know I have written something that is rich in my insight and experience.  My writing is evidence of my struggle for self-improvement and creativity.  Writing is a means of connecting the dots, learning about myself, and developing my feelings and opinions of the world around me.  I often feel a release after I have written something.  Sarton said it best with the following:

“My own belief is that one regards oneself, if one is a serious writer, as an instrument for experiencing.  Life – all of it – flows through this instrument and is distilled through it into works.  How one lives as a private person is intimately bound into the work.  And at some point I believe one has to stop holding back for fear of alienating some imaginary reader or real relative or friend, and come out with personal truth.  If we are to understand the human condition, and if we are to accept ourselves in all the complexity, self-doubt, extravagance of feeling, guilt, joy, the slow freeing of the self to its full capacity for action and creation, both as human being and as artist, we have to know all we can about each other, and we have to be willing to go naked.”  (77)

            Overall, I feel that Journal of Solitude starts off well, but after a while Sarton’s writing begins to lack substance.  The insightful life lessons that were the highlights for me became less frequent and more muddled as Sarton gets lost on the roads of her mind.  It began to feel like a laundry list of gardening, trips, lectures and her ongoing struggle between wanting solitude and engaging in life.  A part of me wanted to reach through the pages and shake her and tell her to go out and live in the world for once; Nelson and her solitude will always be there, but life is happening while you sit here impotently longing to be engaged in it.  Sarton is a highly talented writer that does make you think about your own life, but in the end I almost felt pity for her for choosing solitude over people’s company.  In conclusion, Sarton allowed her thoughts to meander through her journal, and in reading it mine did as well. 

Fortune Cookie

I have eaten Chinese food many times over the years, and my favorite part of the meal has always been eating the fortune cookie for desert.  I looked forward to seeing what Confucius had to say about the world. My fortunes were usually something contrite and meaningless that I would ignore as I enjoyed the delectable cookie.  Yet, one time, as I cracked open the cookie and glanced at the piece of paper expecting something trivial, I paused with the cookie midway to my mouth.  This cookie actually had something important to say.  The fortune said, "You constantly struggle for self-improvement."  I actually grinned and thought to myself, "why yes I do!"  Those five simple words spoke volumes about a deep seated belief that I held then, and continue to hold now.

It is true that I have always struggled for self-improvement in every aspect of my life be it professionally, spiritually, emotionally, and most importantly in gaining knowledge of the world and how it works.  I have also always struggled with life events.  I treat each event as a learning opportunity and try to figure out what happened, why, and what I can and must learn from it.  I feel that I have faced more than my fair share of struggles in life, but dammit I am may be struggling with them, but I am learning and improving.

Today my life has entered calm waters, and I am now struggling to improving myself in learning about love and relationships, why life is so important and I am actually trying to struggle with having fun, if that even makes sense. I still have that small slip of paper.  It is worn and taped back together, but I know that those words represent an integral part of my being.  I know I will always struggle with life, I am a fighter after all, but I will be struggling for the worthy cause of improving myself.

Failure

Failure

Melissa Jean 

“What we perceive as a failure may simply be our inner being’s way of telling us that we are ready to move to a new level of growth”

Yes, there have been times in my life that I have felt like a failure; many times actually, but each time that I have felt like that there is a small voice whispering “Keep trying,” and I do.  I believe failing is an opportunity to learn from a mistake, big or small, to grow as an individual and to renew yourself spiritually and emotionally.

There was a time in my life when I felt like a huge failure and as if my whole life was ending.  A three year romantic relationship that I had been involved in ended, and ended badly.  We had been living together.  To be honest, this man was my first long-term, committed relationship and I loved him dearly.  He was my entire world.  When our relationship ended I was utterly devastated.  My reasons for leaving him were valid as I was losing myself, and him, to his alcoholism.  I had delivered an ultimatum, either me or the alcohol, and he chose the alcohol. 

I made the decision to leave him with a clear mind.  I left our apartment with nothing but my clothes and a few odds and ends.  I literally had no furniture or household items to my name.  With the amazing support of my family, I found an apartment and brought the necessities to make a home for myself; and I loved that apartment dearly.  This was also the first time that I had ever lived alone and I was petrified of every smallest bump in the night.

Over the next year, and what a painful year it was, I grieved for the loss of my relationship, my innocence and my idealism.  I felt like a failure because I felt like I had lost everything that was dear to me, including the very essence of my being, my very soul, in deciding to leave him.  Over time I learned about my strength, my character and what became my core values to love, respect, and honor myself.  I believe that if one does not love oneself first, you are incapable of truly loving and caring for someone else.  

So yes, I did feel like an utter failure at the end of my relationship, but I also recognize that it was my inner being urging me forward to where I needed to be.  I emerged from that experience stronger, fiercer, and remaining true to the very best that is within me.  In the end I found my way home to me.