HumanKind.. Be Both

[Gotham_Central]

I used to spend a good bit of time volunteering in homeless shelters, primarily with veterans. It never ceases to move me to watch someone with next to nothing, going out of their way to help someone with even less. To see someone with nothing, trying to get help for the person next to them before they got help for themselves.

I miss those days.

 

[GiggLeGasm]

for the day..

be good to yourself

 

[Gotham_Central]

for the day..

be good to yourself

It's not what we've done that defined us. Rather, we are defined by what we do with and about what we've done.

 

[starrynightin64]

I have a great team I work with!!! I was lucky enough to get to play Santa today.

Two team members found medical items to be donated and dropped off to a local nursing home. So in 2 trips I managed to get 2 frame walkers, a rolling walker with wheels & a seat, a wheelchair, 2 canes, a set of crutches and a potty chair over to Seniors who need the items but often can't get them. The awesome guy they had help me unload my truck turned out to be a Marine who had gotten hurt over in the sand box.

 

[Lia Monde]

Some days it is harder to practice than others. However, it's always the best course to follow.

 

[GiggLeGasm]

I volunteered at a benefit about a week ago. It was to raise money for a summer camp held for transgender youth. I wasn't sure what to expect.. and it's taken me a little time to decide what was great about it.
I admittedly live in white-bread Ohio.. though we've moved to organic sprouted grains. We spend so much time thinking of it as a sexual issue.. and maybe that's what makes it tricky to discuss when talking about it as a decision that really young people face.
What I experienced was a bunch of kids living lives that made them happy.. and confident.. and willing to blossom into adulthood..
It was really a great experience and I was ultimately blessed to have participated.

 

[lowphat]

I volunteered at a benefit about a week ago. It was to raise money for a summer camp held for transgender youth. I wasn't sure what to expect.. and it's taken me a little time to decide what was great about it.
I admittedly live in white-bread Ohio.. though we've moved to organic sprouted grains. We spend so much time thinking of it as a sexual issue.. and maybe that's what makes it tricky to discuss when talking about it as a decision that really young people face.
What I experienced was a bunch of kids living lives that made them happy.. and confident.. and willing to blossom into adulthood..
It was really a great experience and I was ultimately blessed to have participated.

I grew up in a really really Catholic family, and when my step son who I raised from birth, was obviously gay from about age seven. He didn't know it, but it was always in the back of our minds. At around seventeen I had to ask him, explain it was fine if he was.

The religion thing made it hard for him to admit, but once he did, he got on with his life. It hurts that he struggles to be accepted in some circles, but he's strong. I gave up on religion after that.

 

[ToPleaseHim]

This is a very inspirational thread.

 

[GiggLeGasm]

Have a great week

 

[BlackCashmere]

I volunteered at a benefit about a week ago. It was to raise money for a summer camp held for transgender youth. I wasn't sure what to expect.. and it's taken me a little time to decide what was great about it.
I admittedly live in white-bread Ohio.. though we've moved to organic sprouted grains. We spend so much time thinking of it as a sexual issue.. and maybe that's what makes it tricky to discuss when talking about it as a decision that really young people face.
What I experienced was a bunch of kids living lives that made them happy.. and confident.. and willing to blossom into adulthood..
It was really a great experience and I was ultimately blessed to have participated.

Love this

 

[BlackCashmere]

Have a great week

Amen

 

[aussiegeekygal]

Now- this tugged at my heart strings.

For a very limited time (in honor of this thread)

 

[GiggLeGasm]

I don't wear scents other than what is left behind from my face wash or shampoo. It's not that I'm opposed but, working in a hospital, we're encouraged to disrupt the fragile environment as little as possible. When not at work, I love to wander through little boutiques, experiencing the journey that comes from exploring scent. I'm often amused by the way things are labeled.. as if I would already know what "Dirty" smells like.. (I totally dig Dirty, by the way, and shave my legs with it.)

This past weekend, I was in a little shop that supports a lot of causes of which I'm fond. The scent that caught my attention is called "Grit and Poise."

Wow.. who doesn't want to be that person?.. resilient, persevering, graceful, kind..
I really want to sit with the person in charge of that company and find out the story behind the name.. Grit and Poise.. totally love it..
and then I got to thinking about the people in my life who embody those traits and who encourage them in me. Poise is easy to identify. Grit, on the other hand.. Grit is the one I think I admire more. When life gives you lemons, you know.

I wish I had some poignant reason for sharing this other than it's been on my mind. I hope it gives cause to reflect on those things that have been challenging so that we can appreciate the growth that comes from living.. and I hope you reminisce with love for yourself.

 

[GiggLeGasm]

In the Spring of 2016, I entered a program that truly enriched my life and ultimately led to the creation of this thread. Today, I was approached to be on a team of nurses who will design a leadership program that utilizes appreciative inquiry gratitude, and kindness as essential components of its foundation.

I'm happy.

 

[Gotham_Central]

Congratulations!

 

[cascadiabound]

I don't wear scents other than what is left behind from my face wash or shampoo. It's not that I'm opposed but, working in a hospital, we're encouraged to disrupt the fragile environment as little as possible. When not at work, I love to wander through little boutiques, experiencing the journey that comes from exploring scent. I'm often amused by the way things are labeled.. as if I would already know what "Dirty" smells like.. (I totally dig Dirty, by the way, and shave my legs with it.)

This past weekend, I was in a little shop that supports a lot of causes of which I'm fond. The scent that caught my attention is called "Grit and Poise."

Wow.. who doesn't want to be that person?.. resilient, persevering, graceful, kind..
I really want to sit with the person in charge of that company and find out the story behind the name.. Grit and Poise.. totally love it..
and then I got to thinking about the people in my life who embody those traits and who encourage them in me. Poise is easy to identify. Grit, on the other hand.. Grit is the one I think I admire more. When life gives you lemons, you know.

I wish I had some poignant reason for sharing this other than it's been on my mind. I hope it gives cause to reflect on those things that have been challenging so that we can appreciate the growth that comes from living.. and I hope you reminisce with love for yourself.

GG.
Thank you for this. You have no idea how much it touched me today.
I'm gonna reach down for my grit and poise.

And congratulations. You rock.

 

[cascadiabound]

"After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.

Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
Did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?

The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.

She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,

Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.

Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
Questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.

And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,

With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.

Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.
—

Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be. (via oliviacirce)

When I lose hope in the world, I remember this poem.

(via bookoisseur)

 

[BlackCashmere]

"After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.

Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
Did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?

The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.

She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,

Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.

Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
Questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.

And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,

With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.

Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.
—

Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be. (via oliviacirce)

When I lose hope in the world, I remember this poem.

(via bookoisseur)

Just Simply...BEAUTIFUL

Ty for sharing this...

 

[GiggLeGasm]

I"ll echo BCs thoughts.

Isn't it wonderful how a few carefully selected words can paint an emotion...

 

[cascadiabound]

Just Simply...BEAUTIFUL

Ty for sharing this...

I"ll echo BCs thoughts.

Isn't it wonderful how a few carefully selected words can paint an emotion...

You are welcome.

 

[GiggLeGasm]

So.. I was scanning the web for articles on appreciative inquiry (AI). I'm into it as a concept and trying to incorporate it more into my work. Somewhere in the process of site jumping, I found myself totally out of where I thought I was going. My first instinct was to leave, but this picture made me stay:

and the message below it:

"Don't turn away. Keep your gaze on the wounded place. That's where the light enters you." Rumi

Truly, Rumi is one of my all time favorite and I didn't recognize this at all. (I'm still not convinced it's true) - but it made me question.

Is this what makes it so hard to be kind to ourselves and, consequently, causes us to be unkind to others? If we embrace the parts of our lives that have caused us true pain, not just little hurts or bits of inconvenience, but that pain that creates fear -
If we choose to accept those like we accept unexpected rainfall - would that be enough? Is the only thing standing in my way the decision to own my life without shame? And I don't mean to imply that I walk with great shame.. Whew! Some of you who know me probably think.. lol.. you know what you think..

but.. to accept for the sake of removing shame.. not saying "it's ok that this happened to me".. but more like.. "this happened"
I think it would let me listen to others with a softer heart.

Anyway.. it's been a while since I babbled
Have a wonderful week

 

[GiggLeGasm]

I went to a retreat today called "Celebrating Sisterhood." As I looked around the room at these women who took time out on a Saturday, I was struck by how many people need to feel connected.

We've probably all heard that Sitting is the New Smoking.. that's it's just as bad for your health. Recent research also links loneliness with mortality.
I'm so grateful for the friendships that I've developed here. Thank you for sharing your lives with me so that we might enrich one another. Thank you for bearing your souls... sharing your laughter... (and a few other things...
Thank you for giving me a place to be

 

[Lia Monde]

"After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.

Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
Did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?

The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.

She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,

Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.

Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
Questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.

And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,

With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.

Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.
—

Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be. (via oliviacirce)

When I lose hope in the world, I remember this poem.

(via bookoisseur)

Thanks for sharing. It's timely, uplifting and an antidote to the craziness too prevalent in our world.

 

[cascadiabound]

I want to put this somewhere... and while this may not "fit" on this thread, it felt like an important thing to share...

Sometimes people use “respect” to mean “treating someone like a person” and sometimes they use “respect” to mean “treating someone like an authority”

and sometimes people who are used to being treated like an authority say “if you won’t respect me I won’t respect you” and they mean “if you won’t treat me like an authority I won’t treat you like a person”

and they think they’re being fair but they aren’t, and it’s not okay.​

 

[Mrtenant]

(Full text via)little story I picked up from a tumblr

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.

She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her.. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.’

‘Oh, you’re such a good boy,’ she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, ‘Could you drive through downtown?’

‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly..

‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.’

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice..’The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired. Let’s go now’.

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move.

They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

‘How much do I owe you?’ She asked, reaching into her purse.

‘Nothing,’ I said.

‘You have to make a living,’ she answered.

‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life..

I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.

But great moments often catch us unaware – beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one. (x)