The Next Adventure

 “If you must say you’re king, you’re not king.”  

I’m not sure when this statement first presented itself in my life.  It has been used in various situations throughout my life and it’s something I often ponder for myself and for others.

To date, the most prolific application of this concept was in mid-2019 when I worked for an insurance carrier who had a crack-shot grouping of teams that could have achieved the best work known in the industry.  Except for the senior C-Suite leadership who broke our powerhouse into pieces and a leader whose self-awareness prickled every cell in my body.

We had an outside influencer discussing the DISC concept with our personalities.  He was tough – but true, I liked him.  We had grouped the teams under the specific director, under the DISC concepts, having various exercises to teach/learn/grown with each other.  I love these types of team exercises because knowing how other work mates learn or are motivated energizes me.  (P.S. – I was listed as an “I” in the DISC concept, but the C-Suite previously decided I was absolutely an “S”… )

 Not to be redirected by my specific story, this day where we were all gathered, the multiple groups (over 40 individuals) were trying to understand how to work best with each other based on the DISC personalities.  After 3 or 4 exercises, our director, the leader of all of these individuals and teams, in response to her C teammates individual works that day, said “Because I’m smarter than the rest of you.”

I paused.  I froze.  I radiated the response of “no.”  No.

If you have to say you’re the smartest person in the room …  you may not be king.

As a co-worker, leader, manager, and human – the best thing I’ve ever sought out was smarter people.  I know my knowledge base – it’s big.  It’s earned and I don’t apologize for the years of experience – but – but – the best experience I’ve had is hiring and acknowledging people who are smarter than I am and need to help my company, partners, or efforts of progress in the best way.

This doesn’t diminish me.  In fact, it makes my brain hop around with happy possibilities.  “But we can do this…” “Wait look at this…”  “Oh, my gosh, have you seen…”

I want smarter.  I want fierce people who don’t speak like I do.  They don’t communicate as I do.  In fact, typically, they are the outcasts because they are so different.  But – do you know what they are? 

Smart.
Open.
Humble.
Ready.
Unstoppable.

So – yes – give me the people who aren’t blessed by the corporate hand.   I wasn’t. 

And yet here we are. 

Blessed and ready for this next adventure. 

§

Kentucky Vine Musings

My recent visit to Kentucky had me taking walks with my sister-amiga, Brodie, and their two dogs.  One of the dogs led us to a wooded area at the end of the cul-de-sac where they live.

The area has a path into this leaf floored, shaded woods.  The mossy smells, the floral mix of new wet, fresh decay of old leaves, tall bushes filled with small daisies that were reaching up for the last bit of sun and soon we found a ceiling of trees holding tight to their Autumn splendor.  The further we walked the deeper breaths I took, and my soul felt joyful.  Deeper into the wooded path there was a natural circle surrounded by trees that were embraced and laced by vines, and the sunlight found its way through the diamond cast leaves into this beautiful circle - and it was there that I saw the hand of man.

In this beautiful area were two mattresses, bottles, cans, various trash and a rotting sign. 

“Who would do this?” I asked Kim.

She explained that a few years ago the neighbors set up a tent in the area – an 8-man tent brought out their camping gear and more.  Camped and left many of the items there.  Including the 2 thin mattresses.  After many months, close to a year, they finally felt a little shame and hiked the small trail to take down the tent, left the mattresses, and then it looked as if squatters had taken up the spot. 

I asked, “Does your trash allow bulk pick-up?” 

“I think so, she replied, but it was the neighbors across the street and it will look like we’re trying to ‘prove a point’ or shame them.” 

“I don’t care,” I responded, “I’ll be happy to drag it out and they can blame it on me.”

I consulted with her husband when he came home, and he stated a similar train of thought.  The neighbors would be offended.

He and I walked back to the wooded area and he said, “I can take you to another spot that doesn’t have all of this trash so you can have your meditation there, if you’d like.” 

“No,” I said, “This is the spot.  Can we clean it up?”

He and I spent the next half-hour filling trash bags, he moved the mattresses to the edge of the wooded area by a fence where they were out of sight and the area felt… right.

It was while we were cleaning, that I noticed the many wild vines that had shot from the ground.  Around me I could see the many years of vines that have wrapped and laced together, creating amazing patterns and swirls among and around the trees.  I also found many, many lone vines that, in finding no way to grow up or attach to a tree, they grew in circles and circles and eventually just choked itself out.

I pondered that – knowing that if wild vines do not find the opportunity to grow up and onto, they keep growing in circles and then died.  A few times, I found a live vine, seemingly starting its circling, and I would gently unwrap the thick coils and lead them towards (or onto) a tree, as Nic (Kim’s husband), was pulling up the decomposing sign and putting it into trash bags. 

Reflecting on the vines, I knew the similarities between these vines and people are striking.  There are so many vines that shoot up and have no direction, find nothing to grow towards, or on, and circle back, over and over, until they can grow no more.  Alternatively, there are those vines who peek through the decay and earth’s floor and grow towards, onto, and keeps growing - onward and up.

My wish is to be the vine in the latter portion of my musings.  To grow towards, attach to, lace among the other vines and grow up – reach towards the light – live.

I have been so thankful for my time here in Kentucky.  Not only because of the time I get with friends/family or the opportunity to reset my soul before I begin my new adventure; but, with these blessings, I was awed by the vines showing me a parable of my own life.  They are a gentle sign to me, and I am still in wonder of their lesson.

May your vine find its path.  May you grow, dear ones.  May you reach, touch, become your beautiful part of the all – may you grow.

- Simone

Steel Strings

 A poem I wrote a long, long time ago.

Steel strings, sing your tune tonight

To the whispers of the summers light

Your colors claim from blue to gray

But your sound, oh that sound,

so much to say

Enraptured souls trapped upon a wire

Released with the caress of hands inspired

A body polished, curved upon the frame

Yet no two sounds are ever the same

Inspirational moments will come and pass

Sweet memories must make them last

And the vibrations pulsing

from each silver strand

Will hum the tune,

"come dance, my friend..."

Honeycomb Prose

You know what I wish?  I wish for you - every single one of you?  I wish madness that makes you write, giggle when no one is around, and realize the weight of the love by you for you (just you) pushes you forward into something magical.

Maybe it's the bees in the blooming trees outside the door.
Maybe it's the way the air smells this time of year - but something is making my mind whirl with color and words and it's dancing out of me like the sprinkler water that twists and turns and revels in the air before it hits the ground.

Wrote this in less than 5 minutes today. 

tell me you love me

whisper my name

lead me to nectar

or it's all done in vain

blow on my neck

as the dew turns to glow

spread petals of pink

the shades you well know

read me byron and shelley

honeycomb words of sweet

a dripping, laden harmony

brings sway to my beat

tell me you love me

whisper my name

bring wise prose to prosper

setting possible aflame

Art by Patty Rae Wellborn @ www.pattyrae.com 

When I Was....

When I was younger...

I used to look at my moles and freckles and think of them as constellations on my skin.
I would blow air at red lights in order to make them change to green.
I built beautiful castles from rocks and clay - and sprinkled whimsy upon the possible.
I'd sing with wild abandon - and then sing some more.
I carried a thesaurus with me.  Mostly because I love the way of words and how they made magic.
I saw every song and word with colors and possibility.
I mourned with big tears and small sounds - It was my way of "stoic."

When I was young...

I laughed with wild abandon - hand gestures and facial expressions were mighty... in-tune.
I took longer showers and baths - bathed in candlelight, with chipped cups of hot tea.
I paid attention to the art of color because it's everywhere and not near enough.
I noticed the importance of a good pillow - fluff, feather and that contented sigh of comfort.
I realized how much garlic can make the difference in a good dish - and a great one.
Bread - needs no "I" - holy buckets, learning the yeasty rise and fall still makes me sway with love.
I knew that I will always be the curve and not the straight line - bread makes the curve.

When I was now...

I realize that I don't find magic in my moles and freckles near enough - they're beautiful.
The constellations and full-moon call to me at night - I think my freckles called them near.
I understand the beauty of James Taylor and Melody Gardot - I relish in their sounds.
I sway to good tunes and right rhythm.  I let the bass note rest on my lips.
I think too much - and often in areas where I could be better versed - but I haven't known the challenge.
I realized that I could be part of every possible display of color - and took up the art of art.
I giggle at how I didn't pay enough attention to the small things.  They're so beautifully big.

I am.  Just as the younger, young and now - I am.  It's joyous and mine.  It's now.

World Poetry Day

Today is World Poetry Day - which I love, because I love poetry.

I used to write more of it, but wanted to reflect on a few of my favorite pieces written and shared on this blog over the past years:

My Autumn: This Autumn
https://sim1says.blogspot.com/2014/10/my-autumn-this-autumn.html

Your Are Simone (one of my favorites that I think of often)
https://sim1says.blogspot.com/2016/12/you-are-simone.html

By Nature
https://sim1says.blogspot.com/2017/07/by-nature.html

Tick-Tock
https://sim1says.blogspot.com/2019/01/tick-tock.html

Wash Me of You
https://sim1says.blogspot.com/2018/01/wash-me-of-you.html

May your day be blessed with words that rhyme, words that don't rhyme, and words that envelope you in feeling and wonder.

Be blessed and loved.  (You really, really are.)

- Simone

A Story & Ode to Rob - On His 23rd Birthday

My son, my youngest child, is 23 today.

I remember being so excited that I had him on St. Patrick's Day (after all, his sister was born on Texas Independence Day and Dr. Seuss' Birthday).  He came into the world at 345 a.m. and has kept me on my toes from day one.  I was 19. 

Born with jaundice, a rare urinary defect and a heart defect that was detected a few days later - Rob and I spent a lot of time in the hospital his first weeks.  (Though, I do remember my grandfather seeing him for the first time and questioning the paternal lineage because of his bruised face and yellow skin.... this still makes me smile.)  I remember the doctors and nurses deciding whether or not to put the IV line in his head because they were having a difficult line finding a site that would stay. 

Yes, Rob (Robbie at the time), sure did come in the world showing me that it was going to take a lot of determination on my part to bring him into this world safely and without fear.

He drove his first car when he was 2.5.  Slipped out of his car seat (while I was standing beside the car on a cold winter day), wiggled his way to the front and slipped - grabbing the gear shift and slipping to the gas.  He drove my car into my best friends car, into her living room. 

In Kindergarten the principal called me to let me know that everything was okay - don't panic - but they had shutdown the school because they couldn't find my child. (This was after he was 3 and disappeared for 3 hours, riding the neighbors school bus, much to the joy and chagrin of the Abilene Police Department and his mother....) Alas, the elementary was in lock-down until they could locate my child.  Don't panic though.  They found him.  In the cafeteria.  Where he had slid a 5 gallon bucket of chocolate pudding into the cafeteria from the kitchen and was quite adeptly finger-painting the walls and offering his version of decorative improvement.

In later elementary, his principal required him to turn a KISS t-shirt inside out because Gene Simmons tongue was offensive - this chapped my hide five-ways-to-Sunday and I remember having a long discussion with her about classic rock and roll bands and little girls wearing t-shirts with a cute bunny that says "Boys are Dumb" - pick your battles.

Robbie - Rob - was the teenager who made choices that challenged the very rock that I had desperately tried to stand-on.  No drugs.  School is required.  He challenged me.

And he surprised me.  He is and was the most kind and thoughtful child I'd ever known, often to strangers and always searching for ways to help others.  Charitable and questioning why others were without when we had plenty.  His heart was bigger than any challenge he sent my way.

He graduated from high school without his mom there to pressure him, having made the decision to stay in Texas and not join me in Montana.  I'm still so proud of him for this. 

He's now looking at college - excelling at a customer service job (working for USAA) - and just a good guy. 

Yesterday, we talked on the phone and I finally told him a little about my past few months and my own struggles.  I explained my awful deep hole that I couldn't get out of, my need to just not be, and my choice to get help.

He was quiet for a minute and then said, "I want to send you something and I want you to listen to it.  Okay?" 

Okay - and I listened (even though his and my taste in music has always been a little different) and I cried.  It was a good cry and it was Rob's way of saying "I love you...."

He's 23 today.  How is that possible?

To Rob - i love you so much - I am the luckiest mom in the world that you're my son.

Be blessed.

- SW (Mom)