Inspiration
Articles to inspire authentic living on the topics of resilience, spirituality, and self-growth with touches of storytelling, depth, and humor.
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When the plane goes down
I don’t remember when was the first time I had a dream, but I can assume that I was still a little girl. Up until this day, my dreams can be quite entertaining, to the point I sometimes wake up exhausted because I have long, energetic visions that seem as I got to relive in my sleep a Tarantino movie on a nightly basis. Other times, these oneiric experiences are nothing short than pieces of wisdom. I receive messages for others, process complex problems and even get to meet cool people and places I have never met before. I also get repetitive dreams and continuing dreams, complicated stories that are paused when I open my eyes to be continued later as if I had just pressed some kind of mental pause.
Months ago, I had one of those dreams whose wisdom was meant for a friend but up until today its moral still haunts me.
Brave Heart
I have had a good share of hits, as everyone else, I suppose. It is hard for me to think objectively to determine if I have been strong or nor, but I can assume that yes, strength has been one of my prizes and my only way of salvation.
Today as I reflected in many of my life’s events, I realized that really going through something is not a sign of victory. Sometimes we go through because we are carried away and sometimes out of stubbornness. Real victory, the stuff that transform us into superheroes, is not going through difficulties until we can see them in the rearview mirror.
Real victory is to remain open hearted even when our hearts have been broken.
Kindness Is a Two-Way Road
It was a warm Summer day, the kind that warms your skin and lifts your mood. But a call later in the afternoon made the world stop on its track. They were not good news, at least not the ones that we ever expect to get. From that moment on, the world, my world at the very least, was going to look a little bit different and scarier
But I don’t scare easily. In fact, my body is wired to fight so when things get difficult I put on my boxing gloves or my armature, whatever is needed before I face the ring. That day, though, I could not move much. After the initial shock, I went to my studio to try to process the news in the best way I know: through prayer and meditation. I lit up a candle, turned up the music and sit down in silence while tears started flowing down. I sat with the fears, with the pain and the uncertainty. I let it all flow while I observed from a distance in a intent to be mindful while I allowed the numbness to shake out of my soul. I felt the hands of a thousand angels holding me up; I felt the warm embrace of loved ones surrounding me; I felt the certainty that the journey I was about to embark on was not going to leave me unchanged. All of that had proven to be true.
As I opened my eyes, aware of the significant moment I was experiencing, I took my journal and wrote my goals for the journey I was about to embark on. What was I going to learn? What was I willing to master? What parts of myself I was going to surrender and what parts I was going to embrace? Two answers came to mind, and I wrote them with big letters, the way one signs a declaration of independence:
1. I am going to learn to be selfish
2. I am going to learn to receive the help I need.
“F” is for *@uck Fear!
He was mad at something, I don’t even remembered what. But my five-year-old son was having a major tantrum. And by major I mean lots of kicking, hitting and throwing stuff. I was helpless. My usual “let’s-talk-about-our-feelings-approach” was not working. I had seen tantrums before but none like those. It started happening more frequently on the following days. Of course I started reading, researching, trying different methods without significant success. Then one day I was driving back home after an appointment and I had the need to scream. Not to anyone in particular, but to the air, to the world. But I didn’t. I am a relatively put-together adult who meditates regularly and who has an obsession with processing my feelings. I don’t always have my act together, but if there has been a year who had put me to the test it has been the wonderful, unpredictable and always beating-its-previous-record 2020.
Lost in my thoughts before the light turned green I realized what was happening to me. I wanted to allow myself to do what my son had been doing for the last few weeks. I wanted to have a major Tantrum, with capital T. I wanted to throw myself on the floor and scream and cry and say I didn’t want to cooperate, that I wanted to be left alone, untouched. I wanted to ask “why” knowing that I did not care about the answers. I just wanted to be heard. I imagined myself doing exactly that. Acting like an out-of-control 5 year-old.
The beautiful mirror of my son made me see that the cause of both of our tantrums was the same: we were in FEAR. We were both like two frightened tiger cubs trying to defend ourselves and all we need us was someone to hold us tight and tell us everything was going to be fine.
The fearless rider
I am not completely sure where do I get the courage to tell the world a complete shocking fact about myself, but I guess when it became a wonderful learning opportunity for me it felt almost selfish to not share the recently acquired knowledge with others even when in the process I make a total fool of myself.
But here I go, world, as unbelievable as it is…I never learned to ride a bike.
I know, it seems like a joke that now at my recently adopted age of 43 I don’t know to do the thing that most kids learn by the time they turn…5? 8?. I never went through that rite of passage, I guess, and it is shameful and it is high up in my bucket list priorities to address.
Now that the fact is out in the open I am going to share why this became relevant during a recent short vacation. While we were spending some time in Madrid, our avid bikers friends suggested we rented electric scooters to move throughout the city. It was a beautiful crisp Autumn day, the kind that surprises you with bright sun rays and a timid cold breeze that only catches us in the shade. It seemed like a perfect plan. The only problem was that learning to ride a bike not only provides us with wonderful visions of leisure strolls through the countryside with a wicker basket hanging from the handle bars full of fresh flowers or a more modern vision of bike rentals in busy cities. Riding a back actually provides us with a very important skill that I am guessing five year-old kids might take for granted: balance.
When the blaze comes
This morning, NPR News presented a segment about the first year anniversary of devastating wildfires in California. They presented the facts, talked about the eighty-five victims and interviewed a survivor whose house was completely floored by the fire.
The man was talking about how hard the whole process had been but that he was happy to report that one year later the foundation of the new house where the old one used to be was finished. He and his wife were replicating the house exactly as it was.
And that kept me thinking...
The Wizard of Us
How do you react when somebody mentions one of your favorite books of all times in the most random circumstances? Where does your mind go considering that is one of the most spiritual enlightening books you have ever read? What if this story let’s you confront your own ideas about magic?
I am not talking about potions and bewitching spells. Rather, I am referring to the magical encounters that give us goosebumps, to the synchronicities, to the sparks that begin with a kiss, in the rejoice found in the perfection of watching a baby sleep, in a stranger’s smile in the moment you must need it. I have always believed in magic and cherish it, not as a way to avoid reality but to elevate our existence by believing there is something greater than ourselves that we can’t explain and that its only mission could be to make ours lives brighter and fuller.
So came the casual reference today to the Wizard of Oz. It was not about the search for courage, heart, brain or home; it was about the moment the curtains opened up and revealed the big Wizard of Oz, the one expected to solve everybody’s problems with his gigantic, powerful skills, was actually a big fraud.
Of Kryptonite and Super Powers
I had never been into super heroes. In fact, I despise them. I don’t like the idea of a character who is invincible. Call it Spider Man, Batman, Jack Bauer, Jason Borne or Jon Snow, if they survive the unsurvivable many times in a row I loose interest on them (well, not in Jon Snow, but that is the exception). Of course, as life loves to play tricks on us and gives of us a double dose of of whatever we despise, I was blessed with a baby boy who loves super heroes. At three and a half he is obsessed with them. One day he is a super hero, next one he is the bad guy.
I like my character with flaws. The good ones have a dark side, the bad ones never learned to deal with pain. And regardless of the side they identify most with, they will sometimes fail, many time they will succeed. Life is not a string of constant achievements because everyone eventually falls down, a few steps down, a whole wall or into the darkest abyss.
When I was afraid
Growing up, I would dig into my parent’s extensive and varied book collection and explore everything from the Britannica Encyclopedia, to Anthony Robbins, to Kahlil Gibran. It was in one of those books, I don’t even remember which one, that I read a phrase that would become my motto. I remember the moment of revelation it was to read it, how some kind on spiritual and intellectual door opened and changed me forever. Paraphrasing, it said that the only thing we should be afraid of is fear itself. That moment I decided to leave fearlessly.
I faltered a lot, though. The raising criminality in the place I used to call home and some close encounters to what could have been extreme tragedy made me powerless. Other than, I have tried to leave a courageous life.
Today, I had to face fear itself in a very unexpected location: the gym. I attended a very fun Zumba class. I was doing my turns and my steps while grinning bluntly. Then I felt it. First time it happened was five and a half years ago and it was back, was it? I was sliding to the right and my leg seemed to have turned more than it should, and something pulled behind my knee. I moved again and there it was. I stepped down for a second thinking I should stop and rest.
The key to recover strength
Last night I had a dream—not the MLKjr kind—that had kept me reflecting on a word that is very close to my heart: vulnerability.
Some time ago I discovered the importance of being vulnerable in order to heal and get stronger. Our human nature gravitates towards trying to shield ourselves from heartbreaks and in the process we band-aid our pain and pretend to go through life as if we were soldiers, closeted wounded soldiers. It is only natural to do that—who wants to be in pain?
There is no greater pain than that of being backstabbed, kicked, pushed and spitted on when we are at our lowest. Sometimes it only takes a hurtful word—a harsh judgement disguised as advice—to make us shattered when we thought we could not break into even smaller fragments. I have no doubt, however, that from those tiny pieces, we can recover ourselves like a phoenix.