They Fly...

For graduates, and all those standing at the crossroads to their destiny...

   photo credit: Noah Meyers

They Fly...

It is nearly midsummer.
The trees are in leaf.
The turnover begins.
They're halfway there.

        Some are moving on.
        Others must carry the torches yet another mile.
        Or two.
        Onward they march.
        Together, then separate.
        Each to be claimed by their destinies.

The unknown beckons.
Out of their reverie.
It must take them, but willingly.
Fear will not keep them safe.
But merely bind them to another fate.
And so they stand. Hands together.
As the last of the summer sun
Dips below the horizon.

        Life gives birth to life.
        Fear, to more fear.

They stand at the edge and take in the view.
Toes curl. Hands drop.
The brave will not fall.
But leap, with arms outstretched.

        They jump.
        They fly...

                                 - by Lynda Meyers
                                

All Dogs Go To Heaven

All dogs go to heaven. At least, according to the movies. Regardless of your theological / spiritual bent, if you've ever had a pet that truly understood you, who was there for you every time you felt sick or down, and who was a faithful companion, then like me, you have to believe it's true. 

Last week, without warning, one of our Maltese puppies, Gabriel, stopped eating. He stopped playing. He stopped drinking. I gave it a day to see if it was just his stomach that was off - perhaps he ate a bug or got into something out in the yard, but when he wasn't any better the next day I made an appointment at the vet. 

By the time I got home from work to take him he was jaundiced. A few hours after we left him in the vet's care, he called me to tell me that Gabe was suffering from hemolytic anemia. For some reason Gabe's own immune system was attacking and destroying his red blood cells, and he barely had enough oxygen carrying capacity to stay alive. They gave him IV fluids and a product called oxyhemoglobin, and put him in a little oxygen incubator, but within 24 hours, he was gone. 

Gone. Just like that. 

At the time I was dealing with a terrible virus myself. I had a fever of nearly 103 when I received the call that he had passed away. I came undone. To say that I was emotionally unprepared for his loss is a huge understatement. He was only 5 years old. 

All loss is painful, but deep loss of dear friends with whom we felt a special connection is especially difficult. I know it sounds silly to some people. I used to be one of them. I used to make fun of people who gave their cats prozac and put their dogs through chemotherapy. I used to laugh at little dogs that were put in sweaters and made to wear ridiculous Halloween costumes...until one year I made Gabe wear a bumblebee outfit. 

Our judgements always have a way of turning around and biting us, don't they? 

No pun intended.

Gabe was the gentlest dog I'd ever met. His "spirit" (if you believe a dog has such a thing) was intuitive and wise. When you looked into his eyes, it was like he knew things, and he wanted you to know that he knew. I don't know how else to describe it, but not all dogs are like that.

We have another Maltese still at home. Gunner. He's smaller and younger than Gabe, weighing in at about 8 pounds. Gunner is adorable. He literally looks like a tiny white stuffed animal come alive. 

He's playful and pouncy and he will sit anywhere as long as someone is touching and petting him. He and Gabe had very different personalities, and that's ok. Gunner is ultra cute and fun and thinks he's ten feet tall. Gabe barked a lot but wouldn't hurt a fly. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. It's what makes us fall in love with each other. 

We loved Gabriel with all our hearts, and he will be forever missed. 

Rest in peace, angel...We'll see you there... 

The Art of "Now"?

                                   

I read an article recently about our cultural addiction to social networking. 

Yes, of course I read it online.
On Facebook.
On my iPhone.
While in the doctor's office waiting room.
Still scrolling while walking in next to the nurse holding the chart.

What do you mean I have to put my stuff down to get on the scale? Surely my phone doesn't weigh... all right! Fine! Geez...you don't have to look at me like that!

It's everywhere. All the time. And it's not just here in the states. While traveling to Ireland recently I noticed it wasn't only an American problem - international airports, major cities, small towns...I guess that makes it pandemic. I have to admit, it was strangely comforting, and somewhat validating...if not a teensy bit disturbing.

We humans can't seem to have more than ten seconds of downtime lately without checking our phones, our computers, our multiple social networking accounts. As with most cultural shifts, This Little House on the Freeway lifestyle we've all so readily adopted has been part blessing and part curse. Awkward silence has been conveniently replaced by the awkward clicking of buttons and speech bubbles with hidden text floating aimlessly above peoples' heads.

Here's the thing: I do it all the time too.

That picture above? It's mine. I took these this morning as I sat at my kitchen island waiting for the timer app on my phone to beep for the French press. This was before I'd had my first sip of coffee. My addictions. Blended together in full color with a couple of filters thrown on, for all the world to see. I'm not ashamed. Neither am I proud. It just is what it is.

I love being connected, but sometimes I have to admit, it does hinder the "now".

I have a friend at work - let's call him "Joe". Joe is a big proponent of the "now".

Joe's wife is dying.

Joe can't afford to live in the past or plan for the future. For Joe, it's all about the now. He bases his philosophy on a book called "The Art of Now". Disclaimer: I haven't read the book. I don't really know anything about the book, so I'm neither endorsing nor condemning this philosophy. I only know Joe, but I do think Joe is onto something.

This idea of mindfulness. Of being present in the present. 

The basic premise? You can't change your past, and dwelling on it shackles you to it. You can change your future, but worrying about it only hinders you from doing what needs to be done NOW, in the present, to accomplish it. Maybe that's why so many people get paralyzed by life.

The danger, I guess, is not "living in the present" - it's not living in the present.

Then again, it's kind of what social media is all about. Our experience of our own nows is being celebrated - embraced even. I suppose the flip side of this is being so steeped in the technological "now" that you miss being present in your own present. You could very easily end up living vicariously through everyone else around you's pictures, snippets of thoughts and events. Or worse, becoming completely dissatisfied with your own life as you watch others experience theirs. Because let's face it, while you're concentrating on theirs, you're not doing anything about changing your own.

I find it interesting that Facebook calls it a "Timeline" because it really is a real-time accounting of our lives. 

I don't feel like diving any deeper into the social philosophy of it all. There are plenty of articles written by people smarter and more well-known than I am out there to be read and discussed, but for all of you who thought I was going to get on the bandwagon and side with the old farts and the technological nay sayers... I'm not.

I think it's all about balance. Do some of us need to get off our phones and get into reality? Absolutely.

But at the same time...This is reality. The new reality. 

Our world has changed, and you can't... change it back. So we need to morph and find ways to adapt  and move forward in this new, technology-steeped world while somehow keeping our relationships intact. Can we do it?

I have faith in humanity... We may spend a lot of time trying new things and adopting fads and following trends. We may be a whole race of lemurs running blindly and blissfully toward certain death, but I believe we'll self correct eventually. The universe will demand balance, and our circuits will overload and need to routinely unplug. We'll find a way to be in our own 'now' without losing track of everyone else's. It'll happen. And until it does, I'll be walking the line here with everyone else (but I'll try not to be rude at the doctor's office).





Lynda Meyers is the award-winning author of Letters From The Ledge. Her next novel is a series that is currently in production. Stay tuned for news and updates. 

New Music Release

Hey guys! Have to brag up my son's brand new EP release - "Flight"
At just 17, the depth and complexity of this music is astounding - ballads, instrumentals, even a collaboration with another artist - this 6 song EP of original compositions is sure to please...

Take a listen, download for FREE or donate - your choice!

Support the artist if you can, but if you're short on cash you can get this whole EP for any price!

http://www.zacharymeyers.bandcamp.com

Enduring the Confinements...

photo source

Discontent is a tricky thing. It has the capacity to drive us forward, out of a potentially bad situation and into a better one. It also drives us crazy, making it nearly impossible to live in the present situation with any grace or finesse.

I should know. I've spent a fair portion of my life feeling discontent. Or maybe I'm just ADHD?

I know you're laughing right now. I am too. But it really is hard to distinguish between the "squirrel" phenomenon and a true heart that is always seeking new life and new challenges. I guess the line is blurred a bit.

We're getting ready to move. Again.

For those of you who have followed me for any length of time on my writing journey you know this isn't anything new. We've moved a lot over the last several years. And not just down the street, but big, sweeping, cross-country adventures. It's given me a unique perspective. One I wouldn't have otherwise and I definitely wouldn't trade, but the process does wear on you.

There's something about knowing you're leaving that makes you naturally focus on all the things you don't like about the current place you're in. It's what helps us leave I think - the promise of greener pastures - the leaving behind of that which is "old".

The same thing happens to teenagers as they get ready to graduate high school and look forward to college. Some call it "senioritis". That itch that makes you squirmy and unable to sit still until the year is over.

We're no strangers to transition. In fact, in the last year alone we've had a daughter get married and finish grad school, another daughter finish and graduate nursing school, a son get his permit and start driving, and another son getting ready to turn eighteen,  graduate high school and then prepare to go away to college. Now on top of all that - before summer is over we'll be moving - almost as far as possible, to the other edge of this beautiful country we call America. In fact, if we moved much farther we'd get wet...

And I've got senioritis. 

I like our house and our neighborhood, I love our community, and we've made some really great friends here. But my spirit is restless, and if I'm honest with myself it always has been. This passion I carry to be free and to fly with the wind is part blessing, part curse...

Amelia Earhart wrote a letter once to a man who had asked her to marry him. She was unsure about her ability to accomplish the commitment of a lifetime when she knew her heart so completely. She loved him, but was so brutally honest about her limitations... In the letter she wrote:

"I cannot guarantee to endure at all times the confinements of even an attractive cage."

I'm itching, yet conflicted. Confined and yet longing to spread my wings again and fly to new adventures. How do you live in the moment when you're in the midst of transition?

So much of this move is completely out of my control. I can't make any of it happen. I can't snap my fingers and complete house sales or dictate moving dates. But I am restless.

Maybe some of you know what I'm talking about.

Maybe you don't have quite as much chaos in your lives (at least, I hope not, for your sakes :) but you can certainly understand the excitement of living on the edge of change; the difficulty of enduring the confinements of a beautiful cage.

As wonderful and ornate and comfortable as a cage can be, it is always still a cage...and us birds? We were meant to fly free...


Lynda Meyers lives and writes - for the time being - in New York, but you never know where she's going to end up next! Good thing the Internet is stationary... sort of. 

All Things New

On Friday I basically pulled an all-nighter, volunteering at the local high school's Keep The Ball Rolling event. It's intended to give high school students a safe, fun, drug and alcohol free "after party" for Senior Ball.

I was part of a team of over 75 parent volunteers who showed up at 10 pm and stayed until roughly 4 am. Local businesses get involved donating prizes and gift certificates, including actually cool stuff like TVs, iPads, Kindles, even a 2007 Toyota Camry!

I was the resident "nurse", which effectively means I sat in the nurse's office with a jump bag and played "just in case". In reality I brought my laptop and worked on some editing while talking with the various groups of my kids' friends who wandered in. A couple of the girls and I hit up the photo booth, ate lots of candy and in general had a really fun time. I genuinely love these kids, and since we're moving this summer, it was kind of bittersweet. 

It's the end of an era - but the beginning of a new chapter. They'll all be transitioning out of high school and into the next phase of their lives. This was one last chance to be a kid again. A chance to let go and have fun and wear a three foot tall balloon animal hat. 

So many of them will be heading off to college this summer, but it's been a privilege watching them grow into themselves these last few years. I have loved being a part of this wonderful community that is so supportive of their kids. Thanks for so many great memories, and for letting us share your lives!

Into Darkness...

My sons and I went on a date the other day. Dinner and a movie. We had a relatively healthy dinner at Panera and then went to see the new Star Trek movie "Into Darkness".

Interesting title. 

Could have been any number of movies. But Star Trek's log line (which I noticed was recently changed to become gender neutral) has always sparked my interest. This idea of venturing into the unknown - the discovery of new worlds, new life...it lights a fire in my heart. 

My dad always watched Star Trek when I was growing up - the original series - when Leonard Nimoy really was a young Spock. I can't tell you how many dinners I ate at a tray table while watching the Klingons battle it out with the Federation star ships. 

I didn't like it then, but I wonder sometimes how much the things we are exposed to as kids inform and affect our adult lives.

For some of us this journey into darkness is not a warp speed jump to the outer reaches of the known universe, but rather an inward journey that brings us to the edge of ourselves.

A long time ago I started out on what should have been a five-year mission that's  taken several unexpected turns. This journey has brought me deeper into darkness than anything I originally signed up for, if in fact we ever knowingly sign up for such a mission. 

It's not that I regret it. If we're all honest with ourselves, no one really wants to live a quiet life full of comfortable predictability - most of us are just afraid of the unknown. 

Still, space isn't the final frontier - we are. And once we've conquered that, the real adventure begins. Our eyes adjust, and we forge ahead.

Into darkness...

Happiness Only Real When Shared...

It's a balmy 75 degrees on my deck this morning. The birds are singing and the air is calm.

I'm sifting through emails instead of rubble. Nursing a torn calf muscle instead of lying in a hospital bed.

Or worse.

I could be lying under piles of debris, wondering if I might die there before being rescued. If the beams over my head are framing my last church service.

Tragedy strikes most lives at one point or another. I'm not sure anymore if it matters when. I used to think childhood trauma was the worst thing that could happen to a person, because it taints your entire life from that point on.

Maybe that's true, but at least you have your dissociation to keep you company :)

Compartmentalization might just be the handiest tool in a child's tool box, and luckily it comes built in.

Having parented four children who are now nearly all grown men and women, I still fear for their lives daily. The simple thought of their imagined loss puts me in a state of panic. Real loss might be unrecoverable for me.

That's a parent's love. It comes built in too.

I guess you never know until you're there, in that situation, but watching the news is hard for me. It always has been. I feel others' pain acutely, as if it were my own. I slip into their shoes and I stumble through my day, realizing how precious life is, how important relationships are.

Sure, no one wants to live like Chicken Little. If we focus on everything that could go wrong it will paralyze us. We won't be able to live for today, go on that hike to the top of the falls, take that exciting job opportunity overseas, or whatever else might lead us along the path toward our destiny.

But make no mistake. At the end of the day, it's the people in your life who make it worth living.

Those people might be family by blood, or they might be family that comes into your heart because you live together, work together, hang out together, or survive a tragedy together.

Those fifteen children stuffed into the bathroom of a day care center in Oklahoma singing "You Are My Sunshine" will never be the same. And those teachers who sheltered them and saved their lives during the storm will be forever connected to them - to their families. Heros always are.

We tend to think of our fellow humans as a relatively selfish, pompous, hedonistic lot, but given the chance, people step out every day to help one another, to do the right thing, and to become everyday heros.

To help when help is needed most.  
To comfort when hope is lost. 
To love when love is all that's left.

The movie "Into the Wild" was also a tough one for me to watch, but I absolutely loved Christopher McCandless' spirit - his willingness to sell everything and embark on the adventure of a lifetime. Turns out that became his last great adventure, but that's kind of how great adventures go. You just never know.

In the end he learned something that has taught us all an incredible lesson, and his last written words will forever ring true -

"Happiness only real when shared."


Lynda Meyers is an author and blogger who sometimes gets incapacitated by the grief of others. I guess that's not such a bad thing. At least that compartment has a working door...