Misconceptions

This may sound rather bigoted of me.  As a fair warning, I expect as much.  However, that's what this is about, so let's just barge ahead and roll with it.

Last week, I began taking the bus home from work (at the University, UBCO).  Before that, my parents were picking me up. 

Before that, I had an opinion on the bus. 

I thought buses were dirty, despicable things; vehicles to be used only by what I considered city 'slum dwellers' for lack of a better term...  people who couldn't afford a car, could barely afford a house, and had no other means of transport for traveling distances longer than walkable.

I had a picture, (in my defense, partially brought on by news stories about bus travellers) of creepy people who hadn't bathed in days, and ignored by and ignorant of the people surrounding them; tuned into music, absorbed in their books, asleep - people you generally wouldn't want to talk to.  Not respectable, hardworking, regular folks.

Even buses themselves didn't escape my judgment.  In my head, they were simply an effort by the city to help clear up congestion and give poorer people an alternative to walking.  Hardly ever cleaned (who sees a bus that doesn't have mud and dust all over it when it's owned by the city?), inside or out.. to me, they were little better than filthy deathtraps filled to the brim with society's less than privileged classes.

Don't ask me where I got this image.  As I said, it's been partially instilled from news articles, but I can't blame it all all those.  Before last week, I'd only ever been on a bus twice that I can remember, so experience wasn't to count for it.. although stories from friends and aquaintances who were experienced busers certainly helped fuel the fire.

Regardless, given my beastly preconception of what a bus was and what kind of people partook of their services, I was naturally in for a rude awakening. 

I was terrified the first time I rode it home.. and I turned into one of those people I abhorred in my thoughts.  Staring at my cell phone as I surfed Facebook with it, refusing to look up and make eye contact with anyone, and desperately wishing for the ride to be over, I cowered and I'm sure everyone noticed.  Luckily for me, I had unknowingly sat beside a coworker, and she deigned to speak to me, even though I was ignoring her (and everyone else) as hard as I could.  Nothing has ever been so welcome in my life as the realization that I wasn't alone on this horrible bus on this terrible first day. 

She readily answered all my bus-related questions and showed me how to make sure I got off at the right stop; in hindsight, as many of you probably know, it's not very hard.  To one as frightened and uncomfortable as myself at that moment, though, it was as if a golden nugget had been presented to me. 

I've now been riding the bus home for nearly two weeks.  You have probably already seen that my perception of public transport has changed, and changed drastically.  Firstly, the bus is not a germ-breeding ground.  Although not as clean and comfortable as a personal vehicle (which would be nearly impossible) it is as clean as one could expect a large vehicle to be when hundreds of people get in and out every day and it travels all over the city.

I have met some interesting individuals, but none I'd consider especially weird or scary.  I was duly surprised to see a woman dressed in a business suit and heels board the bus the other day.  The piece of information that smacked me straight up in the face?  People don't always use the bus because they have to, and they're not all poor and uneducated social outcasts.  There's no parking at the university.. 2,500 spaces and 7,000+ students, faculty, and staff.  Many of them are, like me, just trying to save money in parking passes and subsequent tickets because the passes are sold out.  You probably just noticed the italics.  Like me.  That was the clincher. 

I am not a uneducated, disheveled social outcast, and I'm riding the bus.  That must mean that there are others who also aren't city gypsies, and simply find the bus a better option.

See?  Told you this might be considered bigoted.  But I'm not arrogant enough to refrain from admitting it.

I was wrong.

In so many ways.  The worst of which being that I formed an opinion of something that really had little basis in fact, and a lot more in hearsay and imagination. 

Do you have a similar picture in your head of something?  A conception that you really haven't checked out, a something that you don't like, but don't really have good reasons to answer that question, "Why?"

I challenge you to challenge yourself to change the way you think about the world you don't know.  You might be just as surprised, and just as wrong, as I was.

Conflict Resolution.

Conflict.


con·flict   /v. kənˈflɪkt; n. ˈkɒnflɪkt/



[v. kuhn-flikt; n. kon-flikt]


–verb (used without object)


1. to come into collision or disagreement; be contradictory, at variance, or in opposition; clash



2. to fight or contend; do battle.
 
Conflict.
 
It drives us.  It hurts us.  It builds us.  It destroys us.  It teaches us.  It breaks us.  It makes us. 
Without conflict, our skin remains pasty and weak; the muscles of the brain are decrepit from want of use.  Skills vital to continued and successful life are passed by; we learn not the importance of teamwork, problem solving, conflict resolution.

Conflict.  Resolution.

Resolution.

res·o·lu·tion   /ˌrɛzəˈluʃən/


[rez-uh-loo-shuhn]
–noun

1. a resolve or determination: to make a firm resolution to do something.


2. the act of resolving or determining upon an action or course of action, method, procedure, etc.

3. a solution, accommodation, or settling of a problem, controversy, etc.
 
Resolution.
 
It heals us.  It strengthens us.  It reconciles us. 
Conflict and resolution are linked - but conflict brings what resolution is not capable of - negativity.
 
I had my own opportunity to practice my skills at conflict resolution this week.  A friend of mine texted me about my birthday and said some things about my idea I didn't appreciate.  So I facebooked back with this message (word for word, nothing edited):
 
Hey.
I just wanted to let you know that I am feeling angry about the way you spoke to me over texting earlier today. I don't understand what made you do so, but I don't think it was necessary and I feel very disrespected, and I don't feel I did anything to deserve being treated like that.
Perhaps we had a misunderstanding. Could you explain to me what you were thinking?
 
Friend turned around and emailed me back with an apology and an explanation:
 
I'm sorry. I just think its kinda dumb inviting people like my dad and all the people on cheer. Those are my thoughts though. I dont really want to go if tons of people are going to.
 
I replied and explained why I made the plans I did, and invited so many people.  To cut a long email short, I gave him three basic reasons.
 
1) I chose to go skiing because I love the outdoors, and because I don't care much for regular parties or dinner outings as forms of celebrating.
2) An open invite was a good way to ensure I didn't miss any of my friends, and gave them equal opportunity to see me, or to request a different time to get together.
3) An open invite also allows people who know me, but don't know many other people who may be there, to bring a friend if they should so choose.  As well, by going skiing (where people naturally  break up into smaller groups on trail), the situation is less awkward and stressful and more inviting for new aquaintances, and possibly friendships, to start. 
 
He replied with a very simple and adequate, "I understand :D."
 
Yes.  Point for conflict resolution.  Which, in a word, is communication.
 
Communication.
 
com·mu·ni·ca·tion   /kəˌmyunɪˈkeɪʃən/
[kuh-myoo-ni-key-shuhn]
–noun


1. the act or process of communicating; fact of being communicated.


2. the imparting or interchange of thoughts, opinions, or information by speech, writing, or signs.


3. something imparted, interchanged, or transmitted
 
The only way to solve a problem is to communicate - to share thoughts, opinions, and information.  To know what others are thinking, and feeling, and why.  To let them know what you're thinking, and feeling, and why.
As I quoted to another friend this evening, "Understanding breeds empathy."  And a resolved conflict.  Or, at the very least, it starts you on the road to resolution.
 
So practice up.

Musings From A Fruit Fly

On Monday, at work, I was sitting down to my lunch in a small recess in the hallway, containing the elevator access, some lockers, and another door leading to a stairwell.  As I do every day, I sat by the lockers, facing the hallway, back against the wall.  I sit here, alone, for half an hour, because I relish the relative quiet it offers, as opposed to sitting and eating with the student population.

However, on Monday, it wasn't quite as peaceful as normal.  There was a very aggravating fruit fly that was grating on my nerves.. which already happened to be stressed.  It buzzed and flew around, but didn't leave.  It could smell the apple core, recently abandoned on the floor with the other trash from my lunch, to be disposed of when I was finished... and it evidently wanted it as much as I wanted the fly to leave.

I raised my hands into the classic hand-clap position to kill the miniature annoyance - and then paused.  The question flashed through my brain and seemed to cut to my very soul: "What right to you have to take life, even if only an insect's?"  It occurred to me that even though I knew the layout of the niche in the wall we were currently sharing and well beyond it, that fly's entire worldview was comprised of the few centimeters in front of its pin-prick sized eyes.  I remembered that although it knew there was food near, it hadn't any idea where, and was simply doing its fly-like best to find the thing that would give it sustenance. 

The longer I sat and thought, the more I felt like I knew exactly how that little fruit fly felt.  It was lost in its world, with nothing to guide it except a smell - one small hint, one small nudge in the right direction, to help it find its way amongst the huge airspace it was trying to navigate.

Likewise, I felt lost.  Earlier that morning, the fellow who trained me when I was first hired came in to help me 'catch up'..  and he proceeded to tell me how I should be doing things, what was taking too long when I did it, and pointing out things I was missing.  He was nice about it, but there was an edge to his voice that hadn't ever been there before.  In the space of 15 minutes, he managed to reduce me to tears (I didn't cry, but my eyes watered when he left).  He had made some good points, shown me some things I didn't know.. but I was also upset because I felt he was in the wrong in some ways.  For example, the pace he set for loading and washing I feel to be much too quick, because the attention to detail is lost in the process, and in the six or seven racks of dishes he washed, I had to redo about 60-70% because they weren't clean to standard.  I pointed out the first two or three things, and he simply said, "Rinse them off and throw them through again."  I was dismayed and rather distressed about this method.  To me, it makes more sense to go through a bit more slowly and make sure it's done right the first time.  He has a small daughter, aged three and a half, and I felt like saying, "You wouldn't want to give your daughter a bath, but do it so quickly you had to bathe her again directly afterward."  Obviously I didn't, but I was very unsettled as to how I should do things (do it his way, or keep going with mine), and as I said, I was upset. 

As is my custom, I didn't react right away.. I like to think about things, and try to gain insight from as many angles as possible before I offer advice or make a decision.  So, when lunch came, I went out to my little corner and met the small fly that changed me.

Tuesday came.  I found out that the same fellow had moved Sunday, into a house a little over two blocks away from me - and had possibly left behind his common-law wife and small daughter.  I didn't know that Monday, but hearing it on Tuesday made me glad that I didn't speak what I wanted to.  Obviously he was under a lot of stress, and even though he tried to be nice and for the most part succeeded, I felt that frusteration with other situations in his life in his voice as he spoke to me. 

After he told me that, I thought a lot more about that little fly.  About how it only saw a very small percentage of the big picture.  I knew how to get to the apple core, but to him, it was miles away and presented a huge challenge.  Likewise, with my coworker, all I saw was a portion of the whole on Monday.. but I learned more on Tuesday. 

It's like life.  I have the opportunity to go to Europe in March, but it would mean collecting and spending $3,500.  I want to go to Europe; I also want to go to school.  I can't see the big picture of my future, but I know that the nudge in the right direction is there.  I've decided to save the money for school - to me, that's more important and will open more opportunities.. maybe even a trip to Italy and Greece, to see the great landmarks of society past.  Maybe I'll be presented with a different opportunity to see more and go for a longer time.  Who knows?  Certainly not I.  However, I do know that every day I live will reveal a little more of that henceforth hidden painting titled, "My Life".  I just have to keep trying, like the fruitfly, and not let the crushing hands of life's challenges crumple me - or my drive.

You have a life painting, too.  Nobody can see the entire picture.  Someday, however, it will become clear.  Someday, you'll come to a point and just know that this is why you're alive, that this is why you've lived your life, this is what your purpose is.  You'll only reach it, though, if you live like a fruitfly.

(And in case you're wondering, I compromised on my technique at work, incorporating some new things, and keeping some old.  So far, I'm going faster AND the dishes are clean :) )

The History Of Us. Onions. Me.

I have a confession to make.  Sometimes, I hate this blog.

Not all the time, though.  Usually, we get along just fine.  Sometimes, though, like tonight.. I don't have anything that I feel super passionate about to blog on.  Sometimes, like tonight, I forget to blog at all.  Those two reasons are why the blog is late half the time.. my goal is to publish every Saturday and Wednesday.  And I feel like I've failed to some degree if I don't get them done by those days, even if there's a good reason.  Which makes me dislike it more.

I feel like I'm bound to this blog, as a prisoner is chained to the next man in line.  I can't get away from it.  Sometimes, it's good to have the help and conversation the person beside you can give, but when you see that person every day, sometimes enough is enough.

Many of you don't even know why this blog originated.  I thought that you might be interested in that story, since I'm more than three months into this journey of writing.  I also figure you're probably wondering why I still write it if I'm not loving it all the time anymore.. I plan to explain that, too.

I was in Bible School last year.  Our final assignment was a project that incorporated a goodly percentage of all that we'd learned through the year, especially the information imbued upon us in a class called Research Methods. 

For my final assignment, I wrote a story, called Forgiving Jack.  It's a short story, written about an uncle's perspective on the effects on his young nephew of his parents' divorce.  Our project was marked by the dean of the school and one of the church's pastors.  Both judges gave each presentor a mark based on how well they implemented their gained knowledge into the project (projects ranged from a painting, to my story, to mock leadership retreats, to Bible studies, to essays), as well as creativity and content; they also offered ciriticism and praise to each presentor after they'd been up.

I had printed out copies and distributed them previous to the class I was scheduled, and asked them to read it and think about some discussion questions I had written out.  During my presentation, which I formatted after a high school English short story discussion class, we talked about the questions and my own experiences with divorce, as well as advice given and received, and conversations I'd with others.  After I was finished, the pastor (who usually went first) turned to the dean and said, "I'm gonna hand this one over to Trudy," and proceeded to say nothing else.  Trudy, rather caught on the spot, said some things about how mine was a little harder to mark because of its being a narrative, and how it was obvious that I had learned something but how it's hard to incorporate that into a story, but she liked it, etc.  Similar comments to what the others had received for their projects.

So I thought I wouldn't get any comments from Pastor Ed, but after Trudy was finished, he turns to me and starts talking.  I don't recall all that he said, but I remember him asking, "Do you enjoy writing?" To which I replied, "I feel like I was born to write."  Which isn't exactly true, but what is true is that I do enjoy writing more than any other form of communication save direct conversation, and that I do think I'm decent at it.  He said he thinks I write well, and the conversation ended with him telling me, "This is what I think you should do.  Start a website, and put your story on it.  Get it out there, because I think there's power in this to heal people."  He told me to go talk to the church's staff counselor and see what she thought and if she had any ideas.

Enter a momentary break in my thoughts here.  That scared the crap out of me.  I didn't say anything, but I was like, no, absolutely not, I didn't write this for the public, I wrote this for this class.  I don't want people asking me for advice.  I'm not doing it.  And I didn't.  After that class ended, I kept on with my life, getting ready to finish the school year and prepare for a trip to Africa.  But it didn't leave my mind.

I thought about it all summer, and didn't do anything till about halfway through.  Then, I finally made an appointment with the counselor, Linda.  She wasn't really sure what to tell me, but we talked and I told her what Pastor Ed said, and she gave me some ideas.  One of which was to blog.  Again, I walked away from that and did nothing right away... but it 'percolated', ideas slowly dripping into my brain as coffee does into the pot. 

One day, I was supposed to go see a movie with my brother..  and he ended up sick that night and I ended up going alone to a different movie.  Afterward, the emotions I felt and the things I was thinking provided the last push I needed, and when I got home, I finally decided to start this blog.

So there you have it.  Originally, this blog was going to be me sharing my stories and my experiences through divorce and how I've handled it and healed past hurts.  It turned into me blogging about all of life. 

As I've said, sometimes I hate it.  Sometimes I forget about it.  I can't really decide if I like having what is basically a public journal, more or less.  But I haven't quit.

I haven't quit for two reasons.  Firstly, because I miss writing.  This is good practice.  This keeps me accountable to produce something on a regular basis.  It's keeping me in literary shape, so to speak.  It's a challenge - to try to get my ideas across, to explain them in a way many people will understand.  Sometimes, just to have an idea at all.

The second reason is this.  Perhaps this is bigger than me.  Perhaps, in my weeks of avoiding this, I didn't forget about it for a reason.  Maybe I was meant to write that story, to get those people to tell me to do things I wasn't into doing when they told me, to start this for something I'm not aware of.  Or maybe I am.  How am I to know?  The thought that keeps me going more often than not is that maybe, this blog will change someone's life.

In turn, your comments mean the world to me.  They keep me motivated, and help me to know whether I'm on track with what I think about the world and life.  All of my Onions fans are so awesome, and it's such a blessing to know I have more than one regular reader.  You guys are so encouraging.  Thank you.

So my challenge to you today is to keep on.  Live your life the best you know how.  Accept challenges, new perspectives, and other ideas.  Learn from those who know more, and share what you know with others.  Because maybe, just as I might be changing lives without knowing it, so too may you be.

Centuries of Fire

This year, my family installed a new wood stove to aid in heating our house.  It's grand.  Fantastic.  Beautiful.  Most importantly, it's VERY VERY VERY WARM!

Last night, I was sitting in front of said wood stove, enjoying the fire, and texting my friend.  Turns out he was participating in a similarily warm and cozy activity, but with a rocking chair instead of the floor :P

It seemed rather... ironic doesn't feel right, but that's the closest I can come up with.. that we could be doing the same thing miles away from each other (he's in Alberta), but we're looking at the same thing, feeling the same heat, seeing the same colors, and so on and so forth.

Which got me thinking.  I'm currently reading Les Miserables (by Victor Hugo), which is set during the years after the French revolution and tumultuous periods of government proceeding and succeeding it.  In that book, there's a bit about a house some of the characters live in (Thernardiers), and how they are dirt poor, but because the room they rent has a fireplace, it goes for forty francs a year, even though it's dirt floors and broken walls.  The emphasis is placed on the possession of fire.

Fire has, since the day it was discovered, represented many things to mankind.  On the one hand, it is warmth, strength, family, love, safety, protection - but on the other, it is a destroyer, a danger, something to be feared.  As my text to my friend said, "How it has built us up, then destroyed us.. how it allows us to live, and then kills us."

These, then, were the foremost of my fiery thoughts.  However, as time and conversation progressed, and I again thought about how my friend and I were in the same position with huge distance between us, I thought about all the other people who have also, like me, sat and stared at a fire. 

People like Queen Elizabeth.  Robespierre.  David Thompson. Caesar Augustus.  William Shakespeare.  Jesus Christ. 

A hundred thousand faces from history flee through the mind in seconds.  Also, the millions who forever shall remain nameless to us... the victims of the Irish potato famine.  London's child workers.  African families.  Even the Okanagan's firestorm several years ago.

Millions of people, through thousands of years, all connected in a strangely tangled web of experience united by something common and familiar - flame.  High and low, white and black, rich and poor, every single person on this earth knows fire and has experienced it in some way.

So as I was sitting there thinking about this, a new thought struck.  What were they thinking about as they sat in the same place I am now?

I can't tell for sure, but I can certainly guess.  Maybe David Thompson was thinking about home, his family, and getting back there safely as he shivered in the snow of the American North, inching closer to the flames to keep warm.  Maybe Queen Elizabeth was staring at the fire, drinking a glass of wine and doing her best to weigh the options for dealing with her errant and troublesome cousin, Mary, Queen of Scots.  The children of Africa gaze at the flames and wish they had something to cook upon them.  Jesus peered at the crackling logs and prayed for the sacrifice he was called to give, and the race he was giving it for.

And I bet every one of those people thought about the past, present, and future as they sat.  I think about whether my children will have gas or electric heating or something entirely new and yet uninvented when they're adults.  I think about whether fire will ever be used to heat the home as time goes on.  I think about whether they will think about their ancestors and all the struggles hundreds of generations have had to overcome to be at the place we are now.

And I think about my own ancestors.  Whether they ever sat by the fire and thought about me, even though they didn't know my name, or who I would be, or what I would do.  I wonder if they ever prayed for their children's children and future generations.  I wonder what each generation sacrificed in turn, so the next would be happier and healthier; so their children would be able to live longer and better lives.

I am curious as to whether they would be happy with how I am living my life.  If they were able to look at see how I am handling my own situation, how I treat people, how I steward the earth I live on.  I wonder if they would ever see the things I get upset and complain about, and say, "Look, though - this is what I did for you.  I sailed across the ocean so you would have opportunity.  I built this house with my own hands so you would have somewhere to live.  I killed a man so you could live freely."

This is what fire has inspired in me.  This is what I've been thinking about.  All of the people who have stared into flames before me, and all of those who will after I die.  How much they've sacrificed, how far they came, so that I could have a better life. 

I think I owe it to them to live my life as they did. To be thankful for what I have, and to always try to do better.  To take opportunity, to educate myself, to change the world. 

If they hadn't done it, there's no telling where we'd be today.  If I, and others in this generation, don't take a stand, where will we be tomorrow?  Only the fire will know.

Verbs Mean Actions.

I'm subscribed to the "Thriving Family" magazine from Focus on the Family Canada.  I think it's the most beneficial thing I've ever signed up for.. I don't even remember how I ended up getting it, but I've been getting Focus on the Family Magazines and I think they ended the one issue and started the second.

Regardless, Thriving Family is chock full of funny stories, parenting advice and ideas, marriage articles, and everything else you'd expect to find in a family-oriented magazine - and it's good.  Highly recommended.  To anyone.

It's a bimonthly issue, and I received the Nov/Dec issue last week.  I was busy though, so I just read it today.  It's the Christmassy issue, full of ideas for helping to teach your kids about giving and sharing, and incorporating Christ into your Christmas traditions.

There's an article on staying in love after the honeymoon stage of marriage.. and although it's meant for couples, it's so good for everyone that I thought I would share some of it here.  I quote directly.

Make Love A Verb

For many of us, the concept of love is difficult  because we never learned the right form of love.  We focus on the external qualities of love and ignore the internal.  We treat love like a noun.  It's an experience that happened.  A moment.  A thing.

But in John 13:34, we see a different side of love.  John says, simply and honestly, "Love one another."  It is not a one-time event.  It is not a fireworks feeling or a field of flowers.  It's an action.  A verb.  It's not just about choosing the right person; it's about becoming the right person, the type of person who loves the way Christ loved us.

Pay Attention To Your Heart

Imagine you are a mug with thousands of tiny beads inside.  Each bead represents a negative feeling or painful experience or unfulfilled expectation.  You are careful to keep them inside.  Then you meet someone and think she just might be the future Mrs. Mug.  So, you are gentle and thoughtful around her.  You make certain that as few beads as possible spill out on the road to the alter.

But a month or a year later, suddenly there's an issue.  She gets upset for no apparent reason; or you don't call, though you said you would; or she feels ignored.  Your mugs bump into each other, jostling your beads.  Jealousy spills out.  Anger overflows.  All the stuff that was hidden during the courtship is on display.

This is the type of situation the Bible anticipates when it implores us to guard our hearts.  When your emotional 'beads' get bumped, stop and think about what you are feeling before you speak.  Name what you are feeling with specific words: "I feel jealous" or "I feel angry,"  When you name your feelings, they lose their power.  If appropriate, tell your spouse what's going on in your heart. Healthy people stop doing hutful things when they learn what the issues are.  And they stay in love by paying attention to their hearts.

-

There's more, but it deals more specifically with marriage.  The article ends, however, with a poignant phrase:

"It is possible to stay in love, but it does take more than fireworks and moonlit beaches.  Falling in love only requires a pulse.  Staying in love?  That requires a plan."

I think it's fairly clear how this can be applied in one's life, married or not.  Granted, marriage requires a lot of work... but that doesn't mean other relationships are cake walks.  If you focus on acting in love instead of feeling in love, your relationships are bound to strengthen.

Feelings are futile.  They are great indicators, but nothing more.  They can be overcome by willpower.  It happens every day... everyone gets up to go to work, or to school, and ignores the feelings of irritability and tiredness.  We don't hit people we're angry at.  People have more self control - they rule feelings.  As it said in the article, acknowledging feelings and taking control diminishes their power over us.

Actions, however, are physical.  It takes more effort to smile and greet someone you dislike than it does to just stifle the feeling and move on.  A plan shows effort.

I don't think I could say it any better than the article author does, although I just tried and pretty much failed.  But that doesn't matter - I think you get the picture, rambling aside.

I've heard often that love is a more than a feeling, and you probably have too - but it's good to be reminded.  And I don't think you could be reminded any better than the way those two points explain things.

So. Show it on the outside; wear it on your sleeve.  How will you act out your love this week?

"Do You See It?" "See What?" "A Sparkle."

My mother says my eyes sparkle when I'm happy.  She also says it's easy to tell when I'm not happy because the sparkle is gone.  I don't know if that's true or if it's just her perspective, but I suspect it is because other people have made similar comments.

For instance, one time in Bible School last year, I walked into class tired and grumpy.  I didn't really do anything different, I just said good morning to everyone (with a little less enthusiam than normally), and sat down to listen to my iPod.  It wasn't that I never did that... just not often, but it wasn't super abnormal.  At least not to me.  However, to the two boys in the back row, something wasn't aright.  The younger one looked at me and said, "What's wrong?" I, of course, said, "Nothing."  He came right back with, "Something's up.  You're not happy.  Where's your joy?"

That hit me hard.  It wasn't just a 'where's your God-given good attitude' kind of question.. he was wondering what happened to dampen me, to out my light, as it were.  It hit me because there wasn't really a reason.. I was just all harumphed.  [Please, don't try to figure that out.  There isn't a good explanation.]

I realized that there was a significant lack of reasons for being in the attitude I was in... my classmate showed me, in the span of one sentence, that attitude is everything and that I have control over it.  The question to me wasn't so much about where the joy was - I knew it still resided within me.  It was more about why I was choosing not to show it and to let my bad, but largely unbased, mood rule my morning.

It didn't seem natural that people should so easily read me.  However, as I've learned to pay more attention, I'm finding it's not nearly as weird... or as hard... as it would at first seem.  One of my best friends is a good example.. and don't be creeped out, I don't stalk him.  I just spend a lot of time with him. :)  Anyways, when said friend is happy, the skin on his face shines with an almost pinkish glow, and his eyes are clear.  However, when angry, it's as if someone took some smoke, or something similar, and rubbed it in (if that was possible).. you may have heard the expression "clouded over"?  Well, I've seen it live.  His face clouds over.  The skin gets pale and darker, and looks almost pasty, similar to the consistancy of cookie dough.  His eyes dull and get a red tinge as if he was tired.  It's crazy.  I can always tell when he's in less than a good mood by his face... even if I don't know exactly why.  I suppose it's similar with my own person.

It used to bother me - a lot - that people could read my moods so easily.  It's hard to fake being happy when you're upset, or vice versa, or whatever you want, really, when people can tell how you're feeling by your body or the way you carry yourself.

However, ever since I started my job, I've realized that this is not something to be annoyed by.  Better than that, my mood, and however my body chooses to communicate it - whether by starry eyes or uplifted step -  is a tool.  It's a tool to teach and encourage others to be happier themselves.

You see, if people can tell that I'm happy, natural law says they should in turn be happier, even if it's only a little.  Think about it.  If you see someone laughing and enjoying themselves, you smile a little more inside, even if you're having a horrible day.  Because joy creates joy, and it's natural to feel a little better when you see someone else having a great time.

So, whatever if my eyes sparkle.  If that proves that I'm happy, bring it on.  They'd better be sparkling, because if they aren't, I'm not having a good time and enjoying my life.  And I don't want that.  I'd rather be happy, eyes sparkling or not, I don't care.  But since they apparently do, I'll embrace it. And I'll sparkle my way into others' hearts and lives, throwing out sparkly eye pixie dust and hopefully making their eyes a little more sparkly too.

What about you?  What would you rather communicate with your body?  It's not hard to tell whether most people are happy or not... what do you want them to see?  More importantly, what do you want to feel?

Think about it.  Do you sparkle?