Reflection

Sometimes things happen in life that make you study yourself in the mirror just a little bit harder. Are your eyes the same? The set of your mouth? Do you look suddenly older, like you feel? Was it there all the time but you hadn't looked for it until now. Do you recognize heartbreak, insanity, loneliness? Scars on the heart, mind and soul are not visible but when the pain is felt so keenly it is sometimes hard to believe that others can not see them.

Something to think about...

What would you think about a person that talks to someone...invisible?

What do you think of a person that makes wishes...and expects them to come true?

Just asking.

Who, what, when and where

A recent conversation got me to thinking about the "in crowd" also known as the "popular kids". I don't think I have ever fit into either of these categories as I have never seen fit to conform to other people's ideas of who or what I should be. Changing just to fit in seems a high price to pay to me. This often left me feeling like the outsider, always looking in. There was a time, in high school, that bothered me...as we all want nothing more than to belong at that age. But even then, I never found a group of people that made me feel at home. I wasn't a jock, cheerleader, band, preppy, geek, stoner or brain.

This leads me to a more recent line of thinking. How much we make decisions about WHO we are and how much is just... happenstance. Did you make a decision about what you do for a living or did you just wind up there? I went to college to be a Physical Therapist, only to discover I'd have to "go away" to obtain the degree. Being the mom of two small children, that wasn't very feasible. So I changed my destination to Nursing. I worked as a bedside nurse for five years, quickly discovering that I hated it. So now I work in a position that requires the nursing degree but that I had never heard of, didn't even know it existed, until about two years before I applied. I am sure this is not an unusual story. Life happens. It isn't a long straight road, for most of us we're lucky if we have a clue what is around the next bend. How many of us live and die in the same state, if not community, that we were born in? Is it choice, or are the roots too deep before we notice? Religion is a big one for me. I believe most people worship the same as their parents, spouse or the prevalence of their community. My Mother swore that I was Catholic, even though outside of weddings or funerals I've not been to mass in over 30 years. She maintained I was Catholic because I was baptized that way...something, mind you, that occurred when I was an infant with absolutely no say. I think some people have given more thought to their diet choices and fashion sense than they have the vehicle, if you believe, that conveys eternity. That doesn't make good sense to me. I hold in high regard people that make informed, conscientious choices about their lives.

I also wonder how often we take things we've been told as truth...without ever really investigating them. We just believe because somebody said so. I wonder how many untruths I unknowingly hold to be true. How am I supposed to know?

I wonder a lot.

It's a Harry situation

I just sat through the latest adventures of Harry Potter. I say sat through, not enjoyed, because the lady sitting one seat over discussed the movie with her 7 or 8 year old daughter throughout the entire movie. I mean how rude! You are doing your child a disservice buy not teaching her proper theater etiqutte...not to mean annoying the hell out of the rest of us. The theater was not even crowded, at 12:30 on a Monday afternoon, you could have sat away from others if you were going to discuss every plot twist. If she isn't old enough to get it, then leave her home...or wait for the video, at which point you can discuss in the privacy of your own home.

It's all relative.

How do we learn the meaning of words? Sure there was all those years in school, but I suspect a lot of words we learn from conversations. How simple it is to misunderstand the meaning of a word that we hear.

I recently received a message on a social networking site asking me if I believed in incest. The sender hoped I wouldn't think him weird. He was in his twenties. My assumption is, somewhere along the line he has heard the word incest, the story must have involved a significant age difference. That is what he has now defined in his brain as incest. He must have missed the entire concept of the familial relationship between the two people.

It now makes me wonder how many words I have wrong in my head. It's not like I've looked up every word I've ever heard.

The never ending story

I don't know if I have ever explained the design of my blog...nor do I know if anybody cares. But it's my story to tell....

Once upon a time in a childhood far, far away there was a little girl. This little girl had one nightmare that sent her scurrying to her parent's bedroom over and over. It is the only nightmare I remember from my childhood. I was being chased by a full orange moon. Terrifing huh? I have no idea why I found that so frightening...or memorable.

I alway think of an orange moon as a blood or sanguine moon, though technically the name refers to the full moon in October, also known as the Hunter's moon. There is a much more technical and somewhat confusing explanation, but unnecessary for my purpose. So this is the image and name I chose for my blog...a sanguine moon.

As for my pseudonym...Echo. The sound of my own voice. My blog, my voice. Alone. Sometimes so alone I swear I hear it reverberate...echo in my own mind. Sometimes that echo of a thought, repeatedly, is what drives me to write. To clear my mind...to chase away the fears of a little girl all grown up.

blah. blah. blah.

I have sat down multiple times over the last week and started to write only to find a dead end. The words refuse to come, nothing flows. I start, stutter and delete. Here I am again. I think I realized the problem...I was trying to write about myself. Not what I think about...but about me. Apparently not one of my better subjects.

And here I am, stuck again.

No flash of insight.

No breakthroughs.

Nothing.

So why do I sit down to write? Habit? I don't know, there just seems to be something lurking in the recesses waiting to get out. It will come...eventually.