Home. Home is where the heart is, or so said Pliny the Elder. Home might make us think of four walls, the sounds of family, or a community group. Maya Angelou said the home is “the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” The word can simultaneously evoke memories of the past, thoughts of the present, and perhaps visions of the future. However, the sentiments expressed by American poet Muriel Rukeyser seem the most accurate to me: The journey is my home.
It started as a prize in a photo contest. The camera, an Olympus OM-10, was awarded to my father in a photography contest. I am sure he took thousands of photos over the years, so this particular photo is now just a distant memory at best. I do, however, remember the camera and how my father passed it down to me. Hold it like so, and cup it with one hand underneath so that your fingers don’t get in the way. Yes, just like that. Steady on the shutter button. Such simple things were the foundation for exploring the creative world inside me.
Everything is the fault of social media anymore. That’s the perpetual refrain. Our political issues, our polarization, our diminishing self-esteem… you name it, social media has been blamed for it. I’ve heard it from the right, left, and center, regardless of gender and race. Easy scapegoat, isn’t it? Just blame social media. But in reality, social media didn’t fail us. We failed us.
Everywhere I look, there are signs of normalcy returning to our world as we emerge from our pandemic existence. The word “normal” courses through my mind a lot these days. For many, this means simply returning to life as we knew it before the pandemic. However, after deep consideration, I’ve decided that I don’t want to go back to normal. In retrospect, normal should have never been normal. We deserve so much more.
As the story goes in Aesop’s Fables, there was a goose that laid a golden egg every day. The owners of the goose, believing that the golden eggs were due to some internal lump of gold, killed the goose. Their short-sighted desire for gold removed the capacity to produce the golden eggs in the first place. In Austin, we have our own musical golden goose, and we’re slowly but steadily killing it.
When life talks, listen. When a theme makes itself apparent repeatedly, take note. When the universe has something to say to you, offer it the microphone and pay attention.
Over the past few months, I would say that I have been listening to the universe and attempting to derive a message from its mutterings at that very microphone. I try to embrace the concept of “seek first to understand, then to be understood” - but sometimes, that premise can be a little unruly and difficult.
Thanksgiving is upon us once again. Thanksgiving always provides us with a day to eat turkey, catch some lovely fall weather (fingers always crossed), and take in another University of Texas football game against some unspecified cross-state rival (Texas Fight Texas Fight Yeah Texas Fight).
None of my family live in Texas. They are all still in Canada, so they celebrated Thanksgiving Day in October, otherwise known as Columbus Day in the United States. I don't mind celebrating two Thanksivings, especially if doing so provides the potential for more turkey.
Thanksgiving Day is followed by Black Friday, a day of retail specials and sales. Ugh. The best part of Black Friday is that it reminds me of a great song by Steely Dan, but I digress.
But with all kidding aside, Thanksgiving is a day to Give Thanks.
Allan Besselink, PT, DPT, Ph.D., Dip.MDT has a unique voice in the world of sports, education, and health care. Read more about Allan here.