Wish Upon A Star

Wish |wi sh |

verb [ intrans. ]

feel or express a strong desire or hope for something that is not easily attainable; want something that cannot or probably will not happen.

     Wishes are something we live with. They're all around us. We wish on stars. We wish on eyes-lashes, birthday candles, 11:11. We wish all the time, for things we don't have, things we may never have, things we so desperately hope for. But why? Why do we always want and want. Why are we thankful for what we have on one day, and the next, trample people for more. Because we're human? Well we could use the human card for just about any excuse under the sun. So what's the real reason? We're discontent. We just want more. We want what's next.

     When we're young, we want to be old. When we're old, we want to be young again. When we're single, we want a relationship, and then we spend our relationships fighting and arguing and wishing things could be simple again. We spend our car rides wishing we could hurry up and be there already. We spend our walks, jogs, runs, and bike rides wishing we could just be done already. We spend the time working a nice little job at at the local cafe wishing we could just start our careers. We spend school time wishing for graduation day. Then one day we're 87 and the kids we wished would hurry and grow up and get married and move out are in another state living their lives. We realize that we forgot to fight imaginary dragons when we were children, we forgot to enjoy the freedoms of summer and the learning of school days. We missed that little cafe when things were simple and there were days off. We didn't enjoy the days of wooing our spouse, and spending the simple days drinking tea by the fire. We didn't see the fields and the mountains through the car windows. Just the world passing by while wished we could skip it. We don't remember the valiant flowers growing up through the cracks in the sidewalk. We can't recall what the air smelled like in that cul-de-sac where we lived. We try hard to remember the kid-isms our children said. But we can't. Life was a blur where we wished for more and forgot what we had. The next step, the next milestone, the next thing expected of our lives. We missed it. And now we are 87, with nothing to show but our certificates and trophies. Paper and plastic, and children, five states away. 

"Winston Churchill said that. I think."

     "You are destined for greatness."

      Haven't we all wished for this? For a Jedi master or a gray wizard to come to our door and say that we are special; that our ordinary life is about to change. You are the chosen one. I'd like to be a chosen one. I'd like to be sitting on my porch, smoking a pipe (or reading a book more likely), and have a very tall man with a beard whisk me away on an adventure to slay the dragon and save Middle Earth. I want to be that kid in the middle of the desert who finds out his father was a Jedi, and that he too would be one of the greats. Thing is, they didn't have to do anything to become something. That's fiction. People aren't really chosen like we think, picked out of the human population as someone who will make a difference. 900 year old aliens with British accents and blue police box space ships don't take random girls' hands and tell them to run, to come away with them, "You and me, time and space. Where would you like to start?" No matter how much I dream and wish that it would happen, that I would be in the right place at the right time to have my whole world turned upside-down, to be someone special, someone who makes a difference, the odds are not exactly in my favor. Sure, there are people walking down the street that get noticed by a famous movie director and whisked away to a life of fame. But let's be honest here. Not to dash your hopes and dreams, but sometimes you have to be realistic. You can't spend your days waiting for your English professor to proclaim you a literary genius and splatter your work all over the famous author billboard. No, you can't sit at home, or lay in the grass in front of your college, imagining the day when it will be you. Your turn. It won't happen.

     Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to dash all your hopes and dreams. In fact, I'm trying to help you achieve them. I broke open a fortune cookie after dinner a few nights ago. The 'fortune' was nothing less than a sign from heaven. One of those, "Oh look, I've been impaled," moments, to quote Frozen.

     "Start that project which will make a difference. Remember oaks from acorns. Yes, you can!"

     Yeah, it actually said that. Serves me right for wasting my break watching cat videos and browsing Facebook. I may not write the next best novel. I might not make the biggest scientific discovery of the century. I may not save the mistreated orphans in Bulgaria. I definitely won't be the next President. I may not ever do anything that's considered contributing to society. And maybe you won't either. That doesn't mean you shouldn't try. "Well what if I don't want to do anything good? What if I don't care to make a difference? What do you have to say to that?" Okay. That's fine. I'm not talking to you anyway.  I'm talking to the person that wants to leave their mark on the world. The person that wants to change lives for the better. The person with the amazing idea that doesn't think they have what it takes. You know what?

     Abraham Lincoln was a failure as a business man. He was defeated time after time to be in a place in the government. He even wrote in a letter to a friend, "I am now the most miserable man living. If what I feel were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be one cheerful face on the earth." But guess what. He didn't give up.

     Winston Churchill was a failure in school.

     Thomas Edison's teachers said he was "too stupid to learn anything."

     Albert Einstein's teachers said he was "mentally slow, unsociable, and adrift forever in foolish dreams." He was even kicked out of school.

    There are many many more examples. Steve Jobs, Michael Jordan, Babe Ruth, Lance Armstrong, Walt Disney was even accused of not having enough imagination. What's your excuse?

     You don't have to wait around for your big break. You don't have to let the things people say decide how you are going to live your life. It's your life, and if you want to change the world, then change it. One step at a time. And if you fail, well I have a message from Winston Churchill himself.

     "Never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never - in nothing, great or small, large or petty - never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense. Never, never, never, never give up."

     Get up, little acorn. Get off the couch, or stay on it if sitting is involved. It's time. Time to make a difference. Time to be the oak tree you've always wanted to be. It's never too late. I believe in you. And  you know what else? If you never achieve what you dreamt of, no one can ever say you didn't try. You won't live your life regretting the fact that you didn't try. And if you only ever touch one person in this life, make a difference in one small human soul, it's enough. I would even say it was a success. If I change one life for the better, I'll have left my mark, no matter how small. And if not the life of someone else, the journey you take, the fight you endure, will at least make you a better person. And that's worth more than all the cat videos in the world.

The Story of a Dog Who Thought She Knew Better

       Last summer, my cat, Greta, had her first litter of kittens. The fact that it was her first, and that she was still practically a kitten herself, it's normal that she would just be figuring things out. Trying and not doing everything perfectly, like any other mother. At the same time Greta was trying to be the best mother she could, the mothering instincts of my Black Lab, Sauda, kicked in. She stayed by the newborn kittens all day with occasional breaks. It was when Greta left to take her own break that we had to watch the dog. I can't read animal minds, but I like to think I can understand their actions pretty well. I imagined that Sauda was questioning the mothering skills of said feline, worried that the cat didn't know how to be a proper mother. Sauda thought she could do it better. Many times, the dog tried to make her move, picking up the kittens very gently in her mouth and trying to take them away. Each time, a human was around to stop her. Except once. One day, when I wasn't home, Greta got up for a break, something that every mother needs. Sauda took her chance. One by one she picked up the four babies, still too young to see, and took them into the garden to nurse them, to be the mother she thought Greta was incapable of being. She went against nature, what was supposed to be. She took matters into her own paws, and accidentally squished the littlest of the kittens. Ghost white, blind, and too young to crawl away, the little girl found herself smothered to death.

       How often do we as humans decide we know better than God? How often do we take matters into our own hands, only to screw everything up? It is our nature to want everything to go perfectly. “If you want something done right, do it yourself.” That is human mentality. What so many of us don't see is that God has everything under control. We can trust him because he knows what is best. The moment we decide that what we want is better than what God has planned, is the moment we risk everything. It is when Sauda decides that she is going to go against what God ordained, because she thinks she can do better. She killed the very thing she thought she was saving. No, she didn't mean to. How many times do we use that excuse. “Well I didn't mean to.” Of course you didn't. What you did was decide that you could do better than the one who created you and the situation you're in.

     So the next time you're faced with a choice, to trust God, or to do it yourself, remember the story of a dog who thought she could do it better.  

Love is Insanity

         In the second week after moving to Colorado, tragedy has already stricken. Today I buried my feline friend, Margaret Munchkin Kitty or Greta for short. She wasn't even two years old, but Mother Nature always has her way. I'm not new to this, to losing a pet, a companion. There was my dog, Bella, my cat's, Hattie, Tenny, and Astrid, and my fish, Doug and Sebastian. Every time I'm faced with the chance of a new pet, I always ask myself the same question. “Why are you getting another pet, they always seem to die.” And every time I bury them, I ask myself, “Why did you get another pet, you knew this would happen.” I don't know why I do this to myself. Why do I constantly put my heart out there? Why do I love when I know I'll just get hurt again? It's the definition of insanity. I do the same thing over and over expecting different results. So maybe love is insanity. Here we are, humans going about our lives, loving and losing and being insane. That's what humans do. That's what humans are. Why? I've come to the conclusion that, at least for me, it's having something to love, to care for, to rely on you. And I keep doing it, hoping that maybe, just maybe, one of them will live past two.

        As I watched my dad dig a hole in the dark, rich soil of Colorado, I thought to myself, I'm a pro at this. It shouldn't bother me anymore. Why do I still fight back tears? Why am I so human?Why do I keep loving? I recalled an episode of BBC Sherlock that I'd seen. I remembered a quote which Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, said to him.

       “All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.”

       Maybe not. And maybe I tried not to care, not to feel. Maybe I stroked Greta's face and tried not to cry. But I did. Not a lot, but I cried. I don't know why. Maybe a feeling of yet another defeat. Another of my loves not living past two. What am doing wrong? I didn't make her ill. I cared for her as best as I knew how. None of my pets have died because of something I did. I mean, maybe if I had trained Bella, she wouldn't have gotten in the neighbors trash, and been shot. But I didn't shoot her. I didn't neglect any of my animals. Sure, maybe I should have cleaned out Sebastian's tank more often. Maybe I should have put a water heater in there for him. Regardless of what I did or didn't do, I keep trying. I keep loving. For those kisses, for those cuddles, for the excitement at feeding time. For the look of love and never hate or malice, I keep loving. I suppose, maybe it's worth it. To have loved and lost, rather than never loved at all. I'm so thankful for the time I had with Greta, and I'm going to miss her with my whole heart. Those big green eyes were worth every tear.

      Maybe I'm insane. But so is life.

Thirty-Three Days

           In the eighteen years of my life, I've lived in the same state, in the same town, and in the same house.  In thirty-three days, my life changes. In just over a month, I pack up and hit the road, headlights toward the great state of Colorado. I can't wait. At least -- I think I can't. I'm not sure exactly because I've  never been involved in something that changed my life so drastically. I'm leaving my friends, my extended family, everything and everyone I know. When I describe it that way to myself it sounds a bit frightening, especially for someone who has a hard time with people a lot of the time. By that I just mean I'm a bit of an introvert and it takes a while for me to make friends, not to mention the fact that I'm a bit picky about who I chose to spend my time with. I've heard though that Colorado is a bit different from little East Texas. Everyone is strange and different and the first thing you're asked upon meeting someone isn't: "What church do you go to?" I'm excited because I'm going to meet so many people who are just as weird as I am. At least, I hope I will. I think I will. I really hope I will. 

          My life is about to change. I'm utterly excited. I'm utterly frightened. I think that's just how change is. It's scary and wonderful and lonely and so full of potential. I plan on making the most of this chance to start over, so many possibilities in a place where no one knows who I am. But the most frightening and exciting part of this all: I get to chose who I'll be. No one knows me, no one knows this country girl from East Texas. I get -- or have -- to chose who this new Colorado girl will be. And I'm embracing every minute of those decisions.

Also, my new house has stairs. I have always wanted a house with stairs. Just thought I'd mention that.

Faithfully yours,

         I'm still deciding