After nearly eight months of writing this memoir, I feel like I am finally hitting a stride where words are flowing easier. I have not gone back to reread any of these words yet because I'm terrified they are as shitty as I think they are. And, even if they are that's ok.
It has taken me lots of time and frustration to accept that this too is the process of writing. That got me thinking about why, even when things didn't go my way, I kept hugging and pressing forward throughout both hug journeys. It was never about the accomplishment of completing them. It was about the every day moments when I got to live in someone else's experience, revel in the beauty of humanity, and prove the very thing I had known all along. People are good, kind and simply want to love and be loved. Up until recently, I had been writing mostly about myself. While I do my best to look for the good in everyone else, I primarily look for my faults. Every day I was living in my own experience, doubting my humanity and judging myself harshly. That's not the way this story turns out. In the end, I discovered my own beauty, I discovered that I am good, kind, and simply want to love and be loved. So, it was frustrating to see something other than my own beautiful humanity unfold on the page. That was when I knew I had to scrap what I was writing (I didn't scrap it, it's sitting in a folder on my laptop waiting for a day it may become useful) and shift into the place where I discovered my own beauty. It was in every hug. It was in every human interaction. It was in my acceptance of others. It was in the joy of the journey. Looking back on My Year of Hugs, often I had to remind myself it wasn't about me. It was about the connection, the love, the hugs. That's what is making writing not only bearable again, but fun. I just forgot to remind myself it's not about me. It's about the process, the unfolding, the jewels hidden throughout the journey that are longing to be discovered. What keeps me going is remembering that the frustrations, limitations, and doubt are the very things that contribute to the overall feeling of success and accomplishment at the end. The more challenges I walk through, the better it feels when I can utter the words with tears in my eyes... I did that.
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Recently I had a reckoning with myself. I discovered that 100% of my day was filled with other people's expectations and personal responsibilities. Or, said another way, my day was filled with 0% of time spent doing things I enjoyed just for the pleasure of it.
The pleasurable moments are what feed my soul. They are the very things that give me the energy to do everything else in my life. Without allowing myself any time to prioritize my own soul food, I was depleted. That led me to get curious. What exactly are the things that feed my soul? It took me an alarming amount of time to come up with just a few. Some are simple, like painting my nails. I love glancing down at my hands to the brightness of an unnatural color that lifts my spirits. Some things are connection, like spending time with friends. This could be a visit in person or even a lengthy telephone call (although these days I do prefer at least video chats!) Some things are peaceful, like walking absurdly late at night especially because regardless of how close I am to the heart of the city I feel magically alone. Some things are nourishing, like drinking tea in the early morning sun on my front porch overlooking the beauty of an un-manicured garden. Some things are powerful, like basking in the glory of the rushing waters of the Chattahoochee River. No matter what life giving food they share with me, it replenishes that depleted energy. I am still not prioritizing enough of these, but at least I know when I am completely exhausted it may not be sleep I am most in need of. It very well may be that I am in need of the energy that can only come from the purely pleasurable moments of life. And, I find that filling up on these things creates the very energy needed for the other moments that make life, life. Without which, this book may never get written. I'm a day late with this blog post, so I'm making it super easy for myself and sharing a bit of writing that was completed in April, 2011. This is the day that kicked it all off. Enjoy. xo
HERE I GO, DAY 1 Here I am at the beginning of 365 days of hugs. I did not intend to start today. I had a planned start date of May 1. I thought I needed time to plan and to summon the courage to begin. The more I thought about it though, the more anxious I was becoming at the thought of being so open and vulnerable to so many people. Thinking is highly overrated. My goal throughout this year is to hug as many people as I can with the intention of spreading love to anyone I can reach, hence the blog. I hope to certainly touch the lives of those that I hug, but with technology allowing me to reach beyond physical limitations I intend to take it further. I want to start a chain reaction of love and hugs. Is that too much to ask? Each day I will tally how many hugs I have received and share my experiences with you. To be fair, I will only allow each of my immediate family members to be counted for 1 hug throughout the day because they essentially get one long continuous hug throughout the day anyway. 4 HUGS. That’s how it started. 3 from my immediate family and 1 from my therapist. That’s right, my therapist. I always want to hug her at the end of my sessions because she is helping me through some of the toughest moments of my life, but I have always questioned whether it is appropriate. Appropriate be damned. After my therapy sessions I am generally so emotionally exhausted that a hug is exactly what I need. Even though I did not anticipate it starting today, I asked her for a hug anyway. I thought it might help me get into the practice of asking. Well, AWKWARD…it was probably only me that felt that way because I am not used to putting myself out there this way, but man, that wasn’t the way I wanted to start off my 365 days. Flash forward to a few hours later when I am on the phone with Eliza. She is the 5th person that I have told about my idea, but by far the most enthusiastic. “Why not start today?” she asks. Ummm, well, I have only hugged one other person besides my family and that didn’t go over well. So? You’ve gotta start somewhere. Eliza, you are right and here I am. In rereading my blog posts from My Year of Hugs I noticed a regular theme. Over and over again I said something similar to what I said on Monday, June 13, 2011. It was day 62 of that year. "I was frantically thinking about what I could write about tonight. (for the blog) Surprise, surprise... once again for the 62nd time the universe provided." Over and over again I was given concrete proof that the universe would always provide for me especially when I allowed myself to surrender to their ways. You would think that 365 days of proof would be enough for me to want to live my entire life that way. Full of ease and trust that the universe will always provide. Yet, my controlling ways always prevailed. Like somehow I would magically find a way to create a life better than the one the universe could provide. Over a week ago, I was proved oh so very wrong. While out camping with our boys, my friend and I made a terrible decision to enjoy the canoe out on a frigid lake during high winds, with no life jackets. Needless to say, we capsized out in the middle of the lake. Unable to swim toward the shore because the wind kicked the water repeatedly up in our faces, we were forced on our backs to try to make our way there; the threat of hypothermia a real possibility. I gave everything I had to ensure I would reach the shore as fast as possible. After a few moments I took the opportunity to discover how close I was getting only to find I was headed back toward the middle of the lake. Cursing myself, I turned back toward the shore and stopped trying to steer with my arms, but continued to kick violently with my legs, in an effort to remain warm and again to get myself there as quick as possible. After a few more moments I looked to see how close I had gotten and while I was still headed in the right direction, it was taking much longer than I expected. I knew I had only one thing left to do. Staring up at the sky, I took a deep breath while continuing to kick less frantically. In my surrender, I prayed for the Universe to take control. I admitted that I couldn't get myself safely to shore and asked the Universe to intervene and guide me there. Seconds later, thinking I heard voices, I turned back around and saw my friend safely ashore and realized I could probably stand at that point. Less than 20 minutes later I was back in the cabin wrapped in warm, dry clothes, a bazillion blankets, and my youngest rubbing my arms for added warmth. The Universe once again proved their ability to create ease and let me know that I could trust putting my entire life in their hands. I have recognized that this is the reason I am struggling with my memoir. I keep trying to make it something I want it to be as opposed to something that is aligned with what the Universe knows to be the greatest outcome, for myself, for my family, for you - my reader, and for the good of all. So I surrender. I have glimpses and ideas of how it will now look but with my human self no longer at the helm, I am terrified. Come on, you didn't expect that I would just all of a sudden be ok with letting go of control, did you? I know it's going to be a practice, of recognizing my controlling ways and slowly letting myself trust more and more. I may be terrified, but with no obvious threat of death that I am aware of, I'm kind of excited to dip my toes in these waters. **Physically, my friend and I are 100% healthy and were back to our antics by the end of the day; on solid ground, of course.** |
AuthorMelinda Lee is a mom of two adolescent boys, a devout student of all things spiritual, a recovering perfectionist, and immensely fascinated with achieving the unachievable. Currently writing a memoir about hugging strangers. Archives
February 2023
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