Burning Bridges
"Don't burn your bridges" some men say
but in each life there comes a day
when flame is lit and match is tossed
the moment that the bridge is crossed.
You watch the flames engulf and burn
and know you're glad you can't return -
to barren isle, of life bereft -
a place you should have sooner left -
where soul was shackled by remorse
for every hour you stayed the course.
When toxic gasses choked your breath
as fresh ideas were put to death,
you marveled at how some could thrive
on watching struggles to survive
in stagnant , rancid atmospheres
where joy in living disappears.
From such a prison one must flee
and once escaped and safely free,
set fire to the bridge behind -
and in the act find peace of mind.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg (November 3, 2008)
At one time or another, each of us will face the uncomfortable truth that we're "in a bad place." While I'm pretty stoic about trying to make the most of whatever life throws at me, there have been times when I've been forced to see the wisdom in moving myself out of easy target range. We don't usually need to be miserable where we are - but conversely we don't need to stay where we are if a change will improve our lives.
There are some levels of toxicity that none of us should allow ourselves to remain exposed to, but humans are a stubborn species, so it can take a while for that truth to sink in. We decide what to do, who to marry, where to live, what ideologies to embrace...and if our decisions don't seem to pan out the way we thought they would we're quick to blame ourselves for not trying hard enough. We beat ourselves up as we dig in and do everything in our power to prove that our choices were good ones - even if they weren't - or if our situations changed sufficiently that what began as a good decision has morphed into a source of misery.
To expand on the plant analogy used in last post (Bloom Where You Stand), I might plant a lovely patch of impatiens under a shady tree in my yard and enjoy their blooms immensely, but if that tree comes down and I still insist on planting the same shade loving variety in a spot that now gets full sunlight I'm going to disappointed. The choice that used to be so sensible is no longer viable.
The good news is that we are not plants. It isn't easy, but we can uproot ourselves - physically move away from those "pests and weeds" that make blooming difficult or even impossible. We can move into a new neighbourhood, move out of a toxic relationship, retrain our brains to embrace new thoughts or leave a job that sucks every ounce of joy out of life.
About six years ago I was fired from a job. Don't feel too sorry for me - it was a short retail stint. I was promised more hours than the other hires because I had more experience with the products being sold, so now it seems logical that mine would be the first neck on the chopping block. On paper, the job seemed like it would be a great fit for me, but from the beginning it felt wrong.
The owner expected a slavish devotion to her "vision" that I just couldn't muster. I was chastised for making conversation with co-workers while we put out stock in the empty store. There was no place to sit down and take a break, no place to eat a brown bag lunch (except seated on the cement floor in the manager's office), and there were three different "bosses" to answer to, all with conflicting opinions about what should be done when. The day I asked for an early shift on my son's birthday (two weeks in advance) I received a guilt trip from the owner, who whined that she'd barely seen her own children in weeks. I knew then and there that I'd never last as her employee. (She obviously resented my ability to work in family time, and sooner or later I would have pointed out that her schedule was her choice - she owned the store!) Nevertheless I was determined to stick it out until a better opportunity came along.
My ego took a horrible beating when I was fired - even though I'd hated the job. Four days later my husband came home and announced that he'd lost his job too. (In his case he'd been in a horrible employment situation for a couple of years, and his job had hung in the balance for several months, so the firing wasn't unexpected.) As soon as I heard this news I sat down and wrote "Burning Bridges" in less than twenty minutes. My husband posted the poem on his Facebook page and got a string of comments from friends - of the "Amen!" variety. Most of these comments came from those who had left bad relationships of one sort or another.
It was a poem that most could relate to, since many had experienced feeling doggedly determined to stay in an unhappy situation, and upon making the decision to flee oppression, knew the cathartic power of striking a match or two. These people understood how easy it can be to go back to what is familiar - even when that choice offers nothing but despair.
A couple days later my husband and I decided that our lungs had inhaled enough soot, and with those bridges still aflame behind us we set off on a road trip to Boston to clear our heads and decide what came next. Todd accepted short term employment until he could start up his own business. I decided that the small amount of money I could bring in working retail wasn't worth the frustrations that came along with the experience - the hours on my feet, and the interactions with unreasonable employers and customers. Home life would be happier with me putting regularly scheduled meals on the table again - and I would be too. We knew we'd have to tighten our belts for a while, but for the first time in ages we both felt free.
Some bridges need to burn.
Monday 12 May 2014
Friday 2 May 2014
Blooming Where We Stand - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Spring is finally making a slow and cautious approach and I'm anxiously watching the garden to assess how many of the new plants we put in last year are still thriving. It seems that every year, due to carelessness or ignorance on my part there are a few casualties. There are a lot of factors that can account for a plant's inability to thrive - soil conditions, inadequate light or water, pests, weeds; improper fertilization - any deviation from the prescribed care of the plant can result in stunted growth, wilting leaves or dead plants. Gardening is tricky, and in spite of my efforts the learning comes slowly.
As I contemplate what's required to help my plants blossom, I have to acknowledge how much more care is required to help our fellow human beings thrive and bloom. Sad as it sounds, it seems that most of us don't bear blossoms as often as we should. Our growth factors are not so dissimilar from those of plants - we need water and food to sustain us, we need warmth and light (or perhaps enlightenment). We need to try to avoid the "pests and weeds" that endanger our growth, which vary with each human specimen.
In my case, "weeds" tend to be harsh, unkind people - the ones who spill vitriol the second you express an opinion contrary to their own, or offer an iota of well meaning advice. (Sometimes it seems I'm alone in feeling that friendship isn't defined by solidarity of beliefs or ideologies.) When I'm around those who can only accept me when I nod in agreement and echo back their own dogma I feel as choked as a flower in a field of thistles. "Pests" that gnaw at me are my flaws - a sharp temper, impatience; frustration that leads to discouragement - an aphid that sucks the emotional sap out of a lot of us. We may blame our lack of blossoms on the fact that nobody seems to appreciate our efforts, but buds are more apt to open when we learn to appreciate our own contributions. Many of the tasks that fill our days get little applause - especially those related to parenting. (Keep this in mind - Mother's Day is around the corner!) Those deeds that get the least acknowledgement now are often the very things that will be praised most later on.
One growth factor that I haven't mentioned yet is location. Some plants are downright persnickety about where they'll grow. At my last home the front garden was sandy and shaded. I quickly discovered that few plants could thrive there. On the advice of a neighbour I planted hostas and impatiens, and finally achieved success. Too often people blame their unhappiness on their current situation. They tell themselves that they'd bloom like crazy if they were only somewhere else. It's easy to try to grow hothouse roses in the desert, and then wonder why they never flower.
Often those "planted" in inhospitable soil have risen above such ills as poverty,violence and physical limitations to make incredible contributions to society. (Perhaps the "bloomers" are content to be hostas, impatiens, or even lowly cacti, who bear flowers in sand and shade.) Certainly we are an adaptable species, able to survive hardships and even overcome them*. We all have buds - potential to bloom- so why aren't we producing blossoms?
Today I leave you with a poem about a cactus who learned to appreciate her worth when she noticed how much she contributed to the desert around her.
Bloom Where You Stand (by Sharon Flood Kasenberg, April '06)
A young cactus in the desert
surveyed the landscape drear,
and sniffing with disdain she asked -
"Why was I planted here?
I'm covered in horrid prickles -
a common shade of green -
not that it really matters much,
out here I won't be seen!"
She grew beneath the desert sun -
became a lofty plant,
though sun beat harshly down on her
and rain was very scant.
Her boredom was acutely felt,
her life was full of woe -
she never understood that she
was planted where she'd grow.
One day she happened to look down
and notice something new.
In the coolness of her shadow
a tiny cactus grew!
Its existence gave her purpose -
she felt parental pride,
and when it asked why it was there,
in answer she replied:
"I didn't understand my worth
until I saw you there -
you helped me see why I exist
and what I have to share.
I've come to see things differently
and comprehend at last
just how much life is nurtured in
the shadow that I cast.
Travelers rest within my shade
when their poor hides are baked.
They tap into the juice I yield
and find their thirst is slaked.
Birds nest within my shadow so
their eggs don't end up poached!
You too will learn your usefulness",
she heartily reproached.
Though my tale has been quite lenghthy
it isn't finished yet -
in their season rains descended,
the arid soil grew wet.
Our cactus friend was soon adorned
in blossoms bright and bold,
and stories of her loveliness
both far and wide were told.
She perceived a different desert
when she was thus arrayed -
the beauty she embodied now
was everywhere displayed.
We must strive to heed the lessons
the cactus came to learn -
when we through trials or circumstance
for greener pastures yearn.
When life seems bleak and desert dry -
our purpose not defined -
we need to look beyond ourselves
to see how we're designed.
We each have capabilities,
talents that we can share,
and if we try to nurture them
we'll bloom most anywhere!
Our confidence will be increased;
our faithfulness expand -
when we learn to trust the sower,
we'll blossom where we stand.
*Turn those buds to the sunlight and bloom on! If the soil we are in is no longer able to sustain growth we can transplant ourselves. (Nobody needs to be a lonely petunia in an onion patch.) Stay tuned - that's a whole other post!
As I contemplate what's required to help my plants blossom, I have to acknowledge how much more care is required to help our fellow human beings thrive and bloom. Sad as it sounds, it seems that most of us don't bear blossoms as often as we should. Our growth factors are not so dissimilar from those of plants - we need water and food to sustain us, we need warmth and light (or perhaps enlightenment). We need to try to avoid the "pests and weeds" that endanger our growth, which vary with each human specimen.
In my case, "weeds" tend to be harsh, unkind people - the ones who spill vitriol the second you express an opinion contrary to their own, or offer an iota of well meaning advice. (Sometimes it seems I'm alone in feeling that friendship isn't defined by solidarity of beliefs or ideologies.) When I'm around those who can only accept me when I nod in agreement and echo back their own dogma I feel as choked as a flower in a field of thistles. "Pests" that gnaw at me are my flaws - a sharp temper, impatience; frustration that leads to discouragement - an aphid that sucks the emotional sap out of a lot of us. We may blame our lack of blossoms on the fact that nobody seems to appreciate our efforts, but buds are more apt to open when we learn to appreciate our own contributions. Many of the tasks that fill our days get little applause - especially those related to parenting. (Keep this in mind - Mother's Day is around the corner!) Those deeds that get the least acknowledgement now are often the very things that will be praised most later on.
One growth factor that I haven't mentioned yet is location. Some plants are downright persnickety about where they'll grow. At my last home the front garden was sandy and shaded. I quickly discovered that few plants could thrive there. On the advice of a neighbour I planted hostas and impatiens, and finally achieved success. Too often people blame their unhappiness on their current situation. They tell themselves that they'd bloom like crazy if they were only somewhere else. It's easy to try to grow hothouse roses in the desert, and then wonder why they never flower.
Often those "planted" in inhospitable soil have risen above such ills as poverty,violence and physical limitations to make incredible contributions to society. (Perhaps the "bloomers" are content to be hostas, impatiens, or even lowly cacti, who bear flowers in sand and shade.) Certainly we are an adaptable species, able to survive hardships and even overcome them*. We all have buds - potential to bloom- so why aren't we producing blossoms?
Today I leave you with a poem about a cactus who learned to appreciate her worth when she noticed how much she contributed to the desert around her.
Bloom Where You Stand (by Sharon Flood Kasenberg, April '06)
A young cactus in the desert
surveyed the landscape drear,
and sniffing with disdain she asked -
"Why was I planted here?
I'm covered in horrid prickles -
a common shade of green -
not that it really matters much,
out here I won't be seen!"
She grew beneath the desert sun -
became a lofty plant,
though sun beat harshly down on her
and rain was very scant.
Her boredom was acutely felt,
her life was full of woe -
she never understood that she
was planted where she'd grow.
One day she happened to look down
and notice something new.
In the coolness of her shadow
a tiny cactus grew!
Its existence gave her purpose -
she felt parental pride,
and when it asked why it was there,
in answer she replied:
"I didn't understand my worth
until I saw you there -
you helped me see why I exist
and what I have to share.
I've come to see things differently
and comprehend at last
just how much life is nurtured in
the shadow that I cast.
Travelers rest within my shade
when their poor hides are baked.
They tap into the juice I yield
and find their thirst is slaked.
Birds nest within my shadow so
their eggs don't end up poached!
You too will learn your usefulness",
she heartily reproached.
Though my tale has been quite lenghthy
it isn't finished yet -
in their season rains descended,
the arid soil grew wet.
Our cactus friend was soon adorned
in blossoms bright and bold,
and stories of her loveliness
both far and wide were told.
She perceived a different desert
when she was thus arrayed -
the beauty she embodied now
was everywhere displayed.
We must strive to heed the lessons
the cactus came to learn -
when we through trials or circumstance
for greener pastures yearn.
When life seems bleak and desert dry -
our purpose not defined -
we need to look beyond ourselves
to see how we're designed.
We each have capabilities,
talents that we can share,
and if we try to nurture them
we'll bloom most anywhere!
Our confidence will be increased;
our faithfulness expand -
when we learn to trust the sower,
we'll blossom where we stand.
*Turn those buds to the sunlight and bloom on! If the soil we are in is no longer able to sustain growth we can transplant ourselves. (Nobody needs to be a lonely petunia in an onion patch.) Stay tuned - that's a whole other post!
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