Soul mates.  True love.  What do you believe? 

On a cold night in 1996 I went clubbing with my then-husband, let’s call him ‘The Darkly Gifted Songwriter’, and some friends in downtown Minneapolis.  My husband was performing at a popular club that night…  

It happens that it was ‘Psychic Night’ at that club and my girlfriend wanted to get a reading in between music sets.  I was intrigued, but I didn’t know what to believe about such things.  I decided to watch carefully and keep my mouth shut.

When it was her turn, we ducked into a curtained corner, billowing with smoky incense, finding ourselves face-to-face with a little old lady who looked like a witch.  Classic.  On the table before her was a burning candle, a crystal ball and some cards with unfamiliar pictures on them. 

The witch started by accurately describing some very specific details about my friend’s life circumstances, which would not be obvious to a stranger.  I was somewhat shocked by the accuracy and specificity with which the witch described my friend’s current job and family life.  My friend asked about her love life.

The witch abruptly turned from my friend to me and said, “You… you are the one they want to talk to!”

“Me?”  I squirmed.  “I just came to watch.”

“It is about your True Love,” the witch whispered, reaching for my hand.

“Really?  What about it?” I asked nervously.

“I see him.  He is tall, dark and handsome,” she teased, stroking my hand.  I guessed she must have seen me earlier with my husband, who was tall and handsome, although not dark, except for his personality.

“My husband is 6’4” …” I offered.

“It’s not him!” she practically spat at me.  “This one is not that tall.  Almost six feet tall.  His name begins with a ‘K’ sound, like Kevin or … Ke- …. Ka- …. I can’t make it out … hmmm … You will not meet him for sometime … um-hmmm … you both have lessons to learn, before you can meet each other …”

“How will I meet him?” I asked.

“It’s looks like … hmmm … it’s not the phone, but something like the phone … hmmm …”

“When will we meet?”

“When the time is right.  Learn your lessons, so you’ll be ready.  That is all.  That is the message for you.”

After my divorce, I sometimes thought about that witch.  For a long time, when I’d hear someone call out, “Hey, Kevin! or “Keith” or “Carter”  I’d turn and look, and wonder.  But, then I forgot about it and I fell in love and married someone who’s name started with an ‘M’ sound.  Like, “Mmmmmm”.  And I learned more lessons about what does and doesn’t work in a relationship.  Mostly what doesn’t work.

Then, tonight I’m snuggling with Mr. C and watching the movie ‘Serendipity’, a love story about Soul mates.  I remember the night club witch’s prophecy from long ago.  In my mind, I run through the check-list of her description of my True Love, noting a profound number of ‘synchronicities’ which apply to Mr. C including his name, appearance and the way we met.  I’ve enjoyed the gentle slopes of my relationship with Mr. C through the years we’ve been together and specifically we often comment on how we’ve grown as the result of lessons learned in past relationships, so we could each bring a better self to this relationship.  I feel a little misty.  And I wonder.  But, mostly I’m grateful for the amazing mystery of it all.

Do you believe in True Love?  What do you wonder?  What do you know?       

.

PS The Darkly Gifted Songwriter’s new wife has recently published the book: Soulmate Hunting After 40: The Mature Person’s Guide to Finding and Keeping Love and Happiness.  I have not read it, but I love to believe that True Love wins again!

Other Posts You May Like:

It’s that time of year when every American mother is wondering what she’s going to get in return for the figure, the youth, and the sanity she traded for you, her beloved issue.  Will she get a card?  A hug?  Or a fancy brunch to thank her for the invaluable gift of giving you life?

It’s been a couple years since my last awkward visit with my mom, which you can read about in my previous post, ‘Mom? Dad? What Are You Doing Here?’  Our relationship is not complicated, really.  Mom is who she is and she doesn’t have much, if any, interest in who I am.  That’s why the only place I see her these days is in my imagination. 

For example, last night I had a wicked wild dream about my mom…

In my dream I’m fighting to save my family from a giant T Rex ala Jurassic Park.  I’m the only one who sees it coming, right?  Nobody believes me about the mutant monster stalking our fabulous family reunion until it’s too late and all Hell breaks loose. 

Cut to the last scene of the dream, I’m packing a car with my mom and a handful of scared and scraggly family members (note to my niece, the speech pathologist: you were knocked virtually unconscious by the beast and I carried you to the car, but you kept mumbling, “I have to go back for my art…”).  Anyway, with everyone safely buckled inside the only working vehicle in the whole nightmare, I tell my mom to take the car and bring back help — I have to stay and find my son who’s still lost. 

They drive out of sight.  As I turn to find my son, I know in my heart I cannot count on Mom to return for us.  I need a better plan, so I start making one… 

This is exactly what’s going through my mind when I sit down at my computer and open an e-mail message from Mr. C telling me to watch the following Mother’s Day video clip:

.

.

That’s pretty adorable.  And suddenly my relationship with my mother seems complicated again, because I don’t have any memory of my mom hugging me when I was little, unless you count holding me down for a whooping.  I, on the other hand, hugged my kids a lot.  In fact, I am known for hugging everybody a lot.  I hug my art students, my gas station attendant, my bartender, my aesthetician, if you’re reading this post and I’ve met you in person, I have probably hugged you too. 

The next e-mail I open, from my friend, T, contains my favorite Mother’s Day Video, so far, about confronting parental challenges:

.

In between chuckles, I like the depth of personal reflection this sweet ‘Mama’ struggles with in accepting her son’s sexuality.  Even moms of ‘straight’ kids, math majors, and super heroes will someday have to wrestle with the reality that their kid is not turning out exactly the way they planned.  Or, at least, moms who want to keep having a growing, vibrant relationship with their kids will go through this.    

Finally, I open an e-mail from my son, J., with the subject line “Happy Early Mother’s Day”.  It contains a link to Real Life Mowgli: Girl Who Grew Up In The African Wildlife with an amazing story and pictures by French photographers, Sylvie Robert and Alain Degre, of their daughter, Tippi.  I’m already familiar with this story, but I see it with new eyes today because my son thought of me when he saw it and he knew I would love it.  

My boys didn’t grow up in the wilds of Africa, but they did grow up wild and untamed compared to most of the people we know.  J. & M. had rainbow colored hair down to their butts, they wore tutus and super hero costumes to school every day as their regular clothes, and they were allowed to say, “No,” to adults, including myself, when they disagreed or felt their boundaries had been crossed.

So, this is my ‘new plan’ for surviving and thriving after the mutant monster attacks which ran rampant in my family for many generations:

My guys and I, including Mr. C, have come up with a fresh take on family where everybody gets to be themselves while getting to know and appreciate everybody else who’s also being themselves.  As the mom, I’m still by far the biggest hugger — some take it better than others.  It’s a pretty straight-forward lifestyle and not complicated at all. 

Are you one of the mother huggers?  How has the woman you call ‘Mom’ influenced the person you are today?  Please share your comments and photos below

Other Posts You May Like:

.

“The most I can do for my friend is simply be his friend.” — Henry David Thoreau

 .

.

I’m grooving on an amazing week filled with friendly get-togethers — old friends, new friends, groups of friends and tête-à-têtes.  It’s been a total blast, but today I promised myself I’d stay home and be quiet.  In the midst of this “alone time” — which is not really alone because my boyfriend, Mr. C, is here — I find myself reflecting on the nature of friendship.

What is a friend?  “Friend” is a word we all use almost daily, but what does it mean?  When I ask my friends to define friendship I get responses like these:

“A friend loves you just for who you are, no matter what.”

“A friend is someone whose company I enjoy, and vise versa.  It’s as simple as that.”

“A friend is someone who cares and who will ALWAYS care… always is the key word here!”

Although all these comments came from my own friends, I don’t completely agree with any of these definitions of friendship.  That’s weird, right?  Am I friends with my own friends if we don’t even agree on what a friend is?

Sometimes I feel like dorky Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory over-analyzing relationships which others seem to consider “perfectly natural.”  I love Sheldon’s Friendship Algorithm in this video clip:

I received this note after a coffee date with one friend this week which I found particularly touching and meaningful, “Talking to you was good.  I am surprised that we are much better friends now than we could have been back when we met [ten years ago].  I think we are both a little smarter or wiser or something.  We are the same people, but maybe fitting into our own worlds a little better.  In our talk yesterday, it was the best perspective that you’ve shared with me ever — or at least the one that I could most use or was in the right place to use.  At least that’s what it seems like right now.”

That‘s a far cry from “I love you and I’ll always be there for you” but it felt just right to me.  It felt good.  I like that. 

My recent meetings with my Art Discussion Group and Tarot Meetup were both awesome and inspiring!  There are ways to grow in community that simply aren’t available to the individual practicing on their own.  Many of these “friends,” however, are transients who would be hard-pressed to come up with my name if we met on the street.  I appreciate them nonetheless. 

Last night I met a new friend over cocktails and we laughed lots!  There is something attractive and exciting about the fresh start of a new relationship.  Fun, FuN, FUN!

I don’t know what it means to be “friends.”  A few ideas I’ve come up with are these:

– Friends should be interesting, entertaining and fun.  Some days we will be better at this than others.  It doesn’t have to be a laugh-riot all the time but it shouldn’t be a drag all the time either.

– We need to take time to be a friend, to keep up on each others’ lives, to some extent, and sharing common interests will make this easier.  Face-time is a valuable friendship builder. 

– Friends should like me the way I am and not see me as a “fixer-upper” and vice versa.    

– I need to know who I am before I can begin to know who my friends could or should be.  Beware of building self-esteem on the love of friends.  I am what I bring to the friendship NOT what I get from the friendship.      

There are qualities beyond these that may contribute to even deeper friendships but I think these might be the basics for me.  What does friendship mean to you?      

Other Posts You May Like:

“Show me your garden and I shall tell you what you are.” ~ Alfred Austin

“A garden is a grand teacher.  It teaches patience and careful watchfulness; it teaches industry and thrift; above all it teaches entire trust.”

~ Gertrude Jekyll

After a long, cold Winter it seems like Spring has finally sprung!  I’m super excited to celebrate the change of seasons by taking my first steps toward opening the garden.  The first rite of Spring in my garden is to go around and stand up everything Old Man Winter knocked down over the past five months.            

I begin by climbing up on a chair and lashing together the tree branches which form the tipsy trellis-arch over the garden path.  It’s the showpiece of the garden once it’s returned to its upright position, the portal through which guests enter, and the framework for taming my wild, climbing roses into an artful expression of pseudo-civilized domestic bliss.  What’s left of the roses, I should say, after the bunnies have been munching on them all winter long. 

I look up from kissing my own hand’s first bloody thorn pricks of the season in time to see the neighbor boy, J., getting off the school bus down the street.  Isn’t it amazing, with all the changes in the world, that wild pink roses and bright yellow school buses still look exactly the same as they did when I was a kid?

Children, on the other hand, do not stay children very long.  Unlike school busses and roses, J. does not look the same as he did even a short time ago.  It seems like only yesterday he was a cute, little boy who loved helping me in the garden, playing with the statues and listening to their stories.  He’s quickly growing into a strong, stocky, handsome young man.  

[Begin Flashback]

I remember eight-year-old J. giving his neighborhood friends a tour of my garden one steamy Summer afternoon as I trimmed and tidied the roses.

“Watch where you step!” he commanded them.  “Stay on the path so you don’t squash any plants.  Follow me and step where I step.  Like this.  Now, this is The Virgin Maria,” he explained authoritatively pointing to a terra cotta sculpture.  “She’s the Mother of God.”

Further along the path he gestured to a carved wooden bust of an African woman and explained, “This is Mother of Earth, Gaia, she is the Mother of Everything.”  His friends’ mouths hung slightly open in awe as he led them along.

“And this is The Bird King!” he announced proudly when they arrived at his favorite statue.  J. named this one ‘The Bird King’, because its miniature staff was topped off with a real bird’s skull left by the neighbor’s cat. 

J. shared stories with me, too, as we worked together in the garden.  For example, he introduced me to the chupacabra from his native Mexico.  The chupacabra is a monster who has a weakness for blood and strikes at night, eating household pets and small children.  As I pulled weeds, J. sat on the grass nearby, spinning imaginative and scary tales while sharpening a long, pointy stick with a rock to hide under his bed for protection against the chupacabra.

[End Flashback]

All these memories flash through my mind as J. approaches our cul-de-sac on his way home from school today.  Now, he’s twelve years old and, apparently, too cool to show up for my weekly community art classes at the kids’ center.  I haven’t seen him much since last summer.  Unexpectedly, I get a little choked up realizing he probably doesn’t even remember those hours, and days, and summers we spent digging in the garden together.

J. slows down a little as he passes my yard.

“Ola!” I call out.

“Ola.”  He pauses, his dark eyes taking in the garden from the distance of the sidewalk.

“How was school today?” I ask, knowing full well that’s what grown-ups who don’t know what to say to kids say.

“Fine.”  He shrugs, taking one step into the yard.  “Where’s Mother of Earth?”

I look over my shoulder, gesturing toward the back of the garden.  “I think she might have fallen down over there somewhere during the winter.  Maybe you want to find her and help me open the garden for Spring?”

Pause.  Shrug.  He drops his school books on the picnic table.  “O.K.”

J. finds the bust of Gaia and brushes off most of the dirt.  He looks around thoughtfully before carrying her out of the garden and up the steps of my tiny front deck, placing her atop the wooden railing, facing the garden.

“I think we should put her up here because it’s the highest place in the yard and she can watch over everything,” he explains.

“Brilliant!  Wanna find a place for Buddha & his buddy Abraham Lincoln next?”

“Sure.”

We putz around, not talking much.  J. finds and places many of the statues that have toppled over under the weight of the snow.  I can feel his excitement growing with each statue he discovers.   

“J., I’m so happy to be in the garden with you again,” I finally blurt out.  “I didn’t know if you’d have time this year because you’re getting to be such a busy guy.”

“Yeah.  I didn’t know if I’d see you either,” he replies without looking up.  “I thought you’d marry your boyfriend and move away.  Hey, where’s The Bird King’s staff?”

“Hmmmm….It may have disintegrated and gone back to the earth.”

“I’ll make him a new one,” J. promises.  “And I’ll make a little house for Abraham Lincoln and Buddha.  I meant to do that last year.  I gotta go do my homework now.”

“O.K.  Thank you.”  I want to give him a hug like I used to when he was little, but I’m trying to be cool so I don’t scare him away.  He gathers up his books and heads across the street. 

“See you later, Alligator!” I call after him, and then I scold myself for impulsively resurrecting our childish banter from the past.

“After while, Crocodile!” he calls back without looking.  But, I can see he’s smiling without even seeing his face.

.

How is Spring looking in your neck of the woods?  How do you celebrate ‘Mother of Earth’ and the change of seasons?  What would your garden tell us about you and your garden family?  I’d love to see your garden — It’s easy to upload pictures, too!                     

Other Posts You May Like:

“The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.”

~ Bertrand Russell 

“An unhurried sense of time is in itself a form of wealth.”

~ Bonnie Friedman

It’s kind of ironic that I spent Easter day at home by myself writing in my journal about how blessed I feel.  Earlier in my life, I might have viewed this exact same scenario as indicative of being somewhat of a loser.  Aren’t we all supposed to celebrate special holidays with family, friends, feasts and festivities?  I usually feel especially compelled to honor such a holy holiday in some personally profound way.

I had planned to spend the weekend with my sexy sweetheart, Mr. C.  I even have a little Easter gift I’m excited to surprise him with.  As I was preparing for my romantic rendezvous, I was suddenly overtaken by a strong urge to create a sort of personal retreat for myself, by myself, at my little lake house instead. 

Mr. C was flexible and accommodating to my spontaneous request for space, as I knew he would be.  As for myself, I had no official game plan at that point as to how I wanted to spend my weekend.  In fact, that was kind of the point, I guess.  I wanted to do whatever I wanted to do without a plan. 

I started by watching back-to-back episodes of my favorite, kind of trashy, T.V. show for a few hours:

. 

.

Several episodes, and new hairstyle ideas, later I was feeling amazingly comfy-cozy and carefree.  Totally fun stuff!  I’m actually kind of surprised I didn’t feel weird or guilty about it.  I really enjoyed myself!

I noticed, even though it was the weekend and I was free to do anything I wanted, I didn’t feel like drinking at all.  I was perfectly happy and relaxed without the traditional Saturday night wine buzz.  Perhaps it was the complete lack of guilt and/or stress which felt even more soothing than a glass of my favorite malbec.

At 9:30PM, it took amazingly little willpower to nudge myself into working out with my dumbbells for an hour.  Probably had something to do with spending the afternoon hanging out with my gorgeous, imaginary gal pals on T.V.  I was feeling mighty fit and fine after that.        

I spent the rest of the night putzing around the house, reading, happily missing my boyfriend and imagining our fantastic next date until I finally fell asleep around midnight.  After a great night’s sleep, I awoke without an alarm clock feeling even more rested and refreshed than usual.

I felt like a new woman!  Then, I remembered it was Easter.  I stretched out in bed and wondered wistfully if that was sort of how Jesus felt when he rose from the dead.  Renewed.  Refreshed.  Reinvigorated.  

During my morning contemplation time my mind flooded with new and exciting ideas for my business, my life, my art.  Occasionally, my cell phone chimed to announce another text coming in from one of my loving friends saying some version of “Happy Easter, Linda!  I love you!  XOXOXO”. 

By then I was feeling pretty mushy.  I turned Mr. C’s gift over in my hand and I wondered, for a split second, if I made a mistake by staying home and ‘wasting’ this precious weekend…

Nahhhh!  I still feel too good for that to have been considered ‘wasted time’!  And, oh, look!  In my Sunday morning journal, I inadvertently wrote this blog post which had been eluding me no matter how hard I tried to apply myself throughout the past week!  Imagine that

Right now I’m feeling grateful for ‘down time’.  It’s not frivolous.  It’s holy and precious.  It makes ‘up time’ possible and productive.  When was your last chance to do nothing?  Is it time for you to ‘waste’ some time?      

Other Posts You May Like:

“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.”

~ John Milton

“The true object of all human life is play.  Earth is a task garden; heaven is a playground.”

~ Gilbert K. Chesterton

.

“What if there is an afterlife?  What if, before you get to Heaven, you go to a special place — A place where you choose one memory to take with you forever?  What is the one memory you would choose?”  That’s an excerpt from the newest addition to my inspirational Magic Movie Clips Gallery, After Life (Hirokazu Koreeda, 1998).  Check it out:

This charming story from Japan uses the concept of death to nudge the viewer to consider what truly gives meaning to a person’s life.  It poses the question, “What single memory would you choose to relive for eternity?”  What experience do YOU remember as so enjoyable that you hold it up within your mind as the gold standard for happiness?

Was it the moment you clinched the deal by saying, “I do”?  Or, was it the first time your little rug-rat called you, “Papa”?  Maybe it was the magnificent moment when you won some prestigious award?  Or, perhaps the greatest moment of all was back in 6th grade when you stood up to the class bully and kicked her butt in front of all your friends!  

Then again, what if Heaven is not a place we go when we die, but rather an experience available to each person in every moment of life right here on planet Earth, as taught by many ancient traditions?  Now the question of choosing a favorite moment becomes more practical than philosophical.

Why should a moment from ten, twenty, or thirty years ago be idealized above all others?  The moment, itself, didn’t do anything special to stand apart.  Why not choose the moment you are living right now as your favorite? 

Here are five easy ways to discover new joy and fulfillment in each and every present moment life has to offer:

1.  Curb the complaining.  How many awesome moments are tainted each week by someone insisting things should be different than they are?  Why complain about the fact that it’s Monday instead of Friday?  Or because it’s too hot in Summer or too cold in Winter?  Or because Facebook made some new admin change?  Seriously, who’s not getting their money’s worth out of Facebook? 

Are you a fussy faultfinder?  As a scientific experiment, try imagining that everything is exactly as it should be right now.  Then ask yourself what you can enjoy about things the way they are.  This is a simple way to feel happier now and the only thing that has to change is your point of view.            

2.  Appreciate the process.  People who are overly attached to outcomes find it difficult to appreciate the creative steps along the way.  For example, most of us have planned a party or two in the past where we were so intent on creating the perfect event that we forgot to enjoy ourselves in the process.  Why did we decide to have a party again?

Then, when we finally give ourselves permission to relax, we may go to the opposite extreme and totally numb out with drink, drugs, food, sex or fill in the blank with your vice of choice for turning your brain into a fried egg. 

Break the cycle of abuse.  When we stop beating ourselves up, we reduce our need for self-medication.  Of course, this doesn’t apply to those who truly enjoy their hangover in the morning — that’s totally different.                                

3.  Reflect on different perspectives.  Sometimes I work with people who have enlisted my services to help them improve their lives, but ultimately what they want is for me to tell them they’re already doing everything perfectly and life is inexplicably screwing them over.  Like the woman who longs for the love of a strong man but she won’t stop bossing everyone around, including him.  And including me, whom she hired to help her.

Finally, she throws up her hands in frustration, crying, “I guess it’s true, men are intimidated by strong women!”  Um, hello?  Strong men are turned off by controlling women.  But, she’d rather be vindicated than be happy.  So be it.   

For those of us who truly want to be happy, we will feel a little discomfort now and then when life reveals an area of weakness or a challenge within ourselves.  This reminds me of the time my son, M.T., mused, “Mom, when I hear stories about things you did and said when you were my age it seems almost like you were stupid or something.”  I shook my head and replied, “Well, by the time you’re my age I hope you look back and think you seemed stupid, because that means you’ve grown since then.”       

4.  Focus on the flowers.  In my previous blog post, Change Your Mind, Change Your World, we observed the scientific proof that “Shit happens.  So do flowers.  Life is organic.”  The better we get at looking for the good in a situation, the more enjoyable the present moment.  When you’re going to the grocery store, for example, do you ever notice the stock clerks dusting and straightening the products on the shelves to enhance your shopping experience?  Maybe you feel grumbly about having to shop at the end of a long day, but can you appreciate their efforts and professional pride in working to create a more positive experience for you?  Each moment brings this choice about how to look at things.  What will you choose in this moment?   

5.  Recognize the details.  It’s tempting at times to switch our minds to ‘auto pilot’ for those boring everyday tasks like waking, dressing, eating, walking the miniature giraffe, etc.  But, when we zone out, we miss the magic of life.           

Photography’s a good way to develop the practice of seeing beauty in ordinary moments.  That’s why I like to take the Rebel with me everywhere — life becomes an adventure for those willing to look! 

Recently, when I dallied in a public restroom shooting the self portrait at right, some people raised their eyebrows and asked warily what I was doing in there that took so long.  Another added benefit of playing each moment to the fullest is the fun of making ‘em wonder some       

I met and fell in love with my friend and client, Mary, while capturing these images of her chasing this manic munchkin around a local restaurant!  We were laughing so hard we were crying!  I knew I wanted to know more about this wild woman who squeezes the juice out of every moment of life!  Which brings me to another benefit of photography, it connects me with the world around me.

.

.

The truth is, the present moment can always be a favorite moment.  Our imaginations, which determine the quality of all our past memories and all our future dreams, can only be engaged in the present moment.  The present moment can be the best moment of our lives because it controls our perspective on all the other moments.  Think about it.

What amazing moment are you experiencing right now or in the last day?  Please share your stories and photos in the comments below!  Thank YOU!      

Other Posts You May Like:

“The camera is an instrument that teaches people to see without a camera.”

~ Dorothea Lange

In my recent post, My Black History – Part 1: “I Was Born A Poor Black Child…” I introduced you to my rather polite, socially acceptable, upper-middle class, Caucasian, American racist roots.  Today I offer a glimpse into my adult journey toward true racial integration in my life. 

Thirteen years ago I decided to follow my dream of becoming a professional portrait and wedding photographer by opening my own studio.  During the first year, 1999, my business grew by leaps and bounds.  Satisfied customers told their friends about me, who told their friends, and so on.  I was thrilled with my early success!

I soon noticed that my photography portfolio was missing something.  It seemed that all my portrait and wedding clients were Caucasian.  “Why is that?” I wondered.  I recognized not only a deficit in this, but also a likely snow-ball effect, because people of color who visited my web site may not readily relate to my work.  I made a commitment to myself to remedy this situation — pronto! 

The next phone call I received, inquiring about wedding photography, began like any other.  The young bride-to-be asked about my availability, equipment, and photography style.  Everything was going well until I quoted her my fee.  She told me she admired my work and wished she could afford me, but the financial investment was simply beyond her budget.

I took a deep breath and then I took a chance.

“This might sound kind of weird,” I began, awkwardly.  “But, I’m trying to expand my photography portfolio to include more people from different ethnicities and cultures.  Are you, um,….”

“Black,” she said.  “I’m Black.  We’re Black.”

We talked the situation over candidly and came up with a plan that satisfied both of our needs.  She got her dream photographer and I was on my way to diversifying my art portfolio.         

The months that followed became a wonder-filled time of expansion for me as my multicultural project gained momentum.  I enjoyed this fresh perspective which brought my photography to a new level of achievement.  It was, in fact, during this time that I began to think of myself as an artist, even more than a photographer.  

The more Black people, as well as other races, that I worked with, the more of a variety of clients were drawn to my work.  In the process, I was getting to know new and interesting people from all different walks of life.  Although, I’d never considered myself prejudiced, I did wonder why I didn’t have any Black friends.  I realized there is a type of racism born from not going out of one’s way to meet different kinds of people. 

As my body of artwork continued to grow and evolve, I was very pleased with the results.  Then, I developed a new longing — for images of people of all different races who weren’t obviously dressed up for a professional photography session.  In other words, I wanted pictures of them in their ‘natural habitat’, so to speak.  So, I struck out on my next adventure as a flâneur photographer.

I continued to grow as an artist through the process of looking for beauty in neighborhoods and establishments I wouldn’t ordinarily frequent.  Some of these areas, quite frankly, were not considered ‘safe’ for a petite White woman with a fancy camera.  I received a fair amount of criticism for my risk-taking from some of my friends and family.  Nevertheless, I felt driven to pursue my vision.

I distinctly remember the day I took this picture, Summer Sidewalk (above).  I was driving around looking for my next great photo opportunity and this scene grabbed my heart!  The jump rope, the sun dappled sidewalk, the amazing beauty of the subjects all conspired to draw me in.  I parked my car, walked over and asked Auntie, in her slippers on the porch, if it was O.K. to take a picture.

She looked me over suspiciously and sneered, “You want to take a picture of them looking like that?  Why?”

“Because they’re beautiful,” I replied, meekly.

I still find it hard to believe she gave me permission to take the picture.  You can even see her scowling at me in the photo.  Although, one thing I learned about many Black people is that they don’t seem to feel the same need to ‘smile pretty’ for pictures like most White folks do.  The image I captured that day is still one of my all-time favorites.

As months, and even years, continued to roll by, I pressed forward in bringing my artwork to increasing levels of mastery.  I came to see photography as more than an artistic endeavor.  It became a form of spiritual practice for me.

At some point I realized it was still apparent in my pictures of African Americans that I, as the photographer, was an outsider visiting their world.  I aspired to capture photographic images that were so intimate in nature that the observer would not be able to discern by looking at them if the person behind the camera was White or Black.

I met my next muse in the form of a new teller at my bank.  Deidre was stunning and I immediately thought I would love to take her picture.  Trying not to be a scary person, I reigned myself in and proceeded with my business transaction.  Deidre looked at the name of my company on my deposit slip and said, “You’re a photographer?  I want you to take my picture!  I have a certain way I want to see myself!”  Talk about synchronicity!

It turned out that Deidre and I collaborated on many portrait projects together over the next couple years.  Shortly after her initial photo shoot she found out she was pregnant.  She became the star of one of my most celebrated images, Diva With Child (above).

Finally, in 2009, 10 years after I began this project, I captured the following beloved image of Mr. C and me on our first Valentine’s Day together.  Look at the little White girl now, who told her friend, “They’re real nice.  As long as they stay with their own kind…”  Thank God that didn’t happen!  As you can see, my Black future is looking even brighter than my Black history                 .

“In our lives there is a simple colour, as on an artists palatte, which provides the meaning of life and art.  It is the colour of love.” ~ Marc Chagall

How do you celebrate diversity in your life?  Do you have a story you’d like to share in honor of Black History Month?  Remember it’s easy to upload photos along with your comments below!

Other Posts You May Like:

How about this dubious dating dope from The Huffington Post: “…one of the greatest powers we women hold is between our legs…” ~ Susan Rosenzweig, Are We Giving Our Power Away?  Possibly this explains why I’m bow-legged?  After all, that’s a very small space to contain such a large and awesome power!

And who wants to date the guy who follows the pick-up protocol offered by relationship gurus at Gentleman’s Quarterly: “…here’s how you should open: Glance at her face, her torso region, her shoes, and then back at her face while smiling a medium-size smile.” ~ Mary H. K. Choi, Take It From A Lady: How To Take Home A Lady.  Careful, Casanova, there’s mean girls out there, like the one at right, who will do things to throw you off your game just for the fun of it!    

For those who manage to fall in love and sign on the dotted line, in spite of the likes of the above advice, you may then be feeling the need for even more paperwork in your life, and according to Redbook’s marriage experts it’s time to: “…draw up actual marriage contracts on everything from the amount of time [you] can spend golfing to learning to love each other’s pets…] ~ Erin Zammett Ruddy, Should You Sign a Happy-Ever-After Contract?  And while you’re at it, don’t forget to draw up the contract designating who gets custody of all the little contracts in the impending divorce.

So, you’re a woman who thinks you hold your greatest power in your va-jay-jay?  You’re going to keep attracting partners who are controlled by sex, which will also support your belief system, and so on.  This might seem exciting in the beginning, when you’re high on his insatiable desire for you.  It becomes less fun for most women when he cheats on you with your sister and every other woman who holds power over him between her thighs, too. 

Our greatest power is in our minds.  Would you believe this is one of Mr. C’s favorite photos of me?  I hate this picture, but I love that he loves it.  What does that tell you about our relationship?  On my first date with Mr. C we talked about our passions, not our fantasies, and that attraction to subjects of meaningful authenticity stokes the fire between us –- physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

As for men who don’t know how to approach women, my advice is to stop with the creepy, pre-packaged pickup lines.  You will not need a facade of self-confidence and a formula if you do the work you need to do to be your own man.  That may mean you need to learn self-reflection skills, or get more exercise, or land that better job, or reach for that distant dream of yours — you will exude authentic self confidence and you will attract a partner of similar sensibilities when you know who you are as a man who is giving life your best effort.

Finally, contracts are the last thing we need more of in intimate relationships — assuming, as I am, that my most intimate partnership is with my closest of friends.  One reason I don’t believe in contracts is because I don’t believe in asking my partner to do things he doesn’t want to do.  I know many people find this incredible.  My philosophy is that when you ask, or demand, others to do things against their nature you should expect to be disappointed.  In fact, you deserve to be disappointed.  My policy is this:  He gets to be exactly who he is, and so do I.  As he continues to reveal who he is to me, I may choose to continue in this relationship or not, but I may not choose to tell him who he should be or how he should be.  And the same goes for him.

Obviously, a ‘till death do we part’ vow isn’t going to fly in this type of relationship.  On the other hand, I’ve had more than one person take that vow with me who parted before death and the person who has not taken that vow with me is still here.  Something I think about sometimes.         

Some suggested strategies for creating lasting love may seem logical, or even desirable from a certain perspective, but that doesn’t mean they work.  At this stage in my life I enjoy my relationship with my Sweetheart more than I thought possible under circumstances I would have thought unlikely.  I’ve discovered a few tricks for success along the way.  How about YOU?  What’s your secret to success in LOVE?

Other Posts You May Like:

To celebrate I’d like to begin by saying, “I was born a poor black child.”  Except that I wasn’t.

But, I got to thinking that even though I’m white, maybe my personal ‘Black history’ is relevant, too.  Because, the better we understand where each other is coming from, the more genuine empathy and compassion we will have for each other.   

I was, in fact, born into a family of polite, socially acceptable, upper-middle class, Caucasian, American racists.  The truth is that my family has a long history of weird racist hypocrisies which can be traced all the way back to our distant ancestor on my father’s side, President Thomas Jefferson.

My earliest recollection of any personal exposure to a black person, or even a reference to a black person, is this joke my uncle used to tell: “Why did the Polack marry a Negro?… So, his kids could have chocolate milk!”

Growing up in the 1960’s and –70’s I remember watching my father watch the news each evening.  We lived in a small town, less than an hour from Boston, when the forced busing of Black children to White schools, and vice versa, became a very hot topic.  My father would shake his head at the reports on television and say, “Who would put their kids through that?  That’s just plain wrong!  Why can’t they see it’s best for them to stay in their own schools?” 

After that, we eventually ended up with one ‘Negro’ family at our school.  There was a boy my age in that family, named Archie.  I thought he was really cute and he was my very first crush.  If my father only knew…    

Coincidentally, around that same time a Black couple moved into my grandparents’ rural Michigan neighborhood.  Although I never actually saw them, my grandma was telling all the family about it at the annual reunion.

”Now, they’re real nice folks,” Grandma explained in her sweetest voice.  “Real nice.  As long as they stay with their own kind, that’s the important thing.  You’d be surprised, they’re real nice folks.”  Much nodding, pursed lips and “Hmmpfs” ensued all around.

A couple weeks after that the subject of Negros came up at a sleepover party with my BFF, Andrea.  I parroted, almost word-for-word, what I had heard my grandmother say, “…as long as they stay with their own kind…”  13-year-old Andrea looked me right in the eye and said, “What?  That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard!”

I knew she was right and I felt immediately ashamed for having said it.  Looking back, I’m glad I had such a sensible friend to set me straight.  I realize my life experience could have taken a different path if my friend had nodded, smiled and agreed with me instead of challenging me at that naïve and impressionable age. 

Now that I’m an adult, I teach and work with kids and adults of many different ethnicities.  I have two grown mixed-race offspring of my own.  And, I have a (totally hot) mixed-race boyfriend, who is part Black.  I have seen so many changes and improvements in the world of race relations in the past 50 years.  Yet, perhaps some of the most challenging work is still ahead as we address the more subtle nuances of racism.    

For example, I recently witnessed a conversation between a white, female teacher and three racially diverse teenage boys. The teacher mentioned something about throwing a party with traditional foods from different countries and cultures all over the world. One of the African American boys said, “That’s racist!” in a joking manner and all the kids laughed. The teacher seemed miffed and called the boys’ behavior inappropriate. A psychological power struggle ensued and when the situation escalated the boy who made the remark was finally escorted out of the classroom.

I feel confident that this teacher has the best of intentions about teaching these kids to respect and appreciate diversity.  However, I wonder if she’s inadvertently teaching intolerance by virtue of demanding they communicate in politically correct ways that she condones.

The incident reminds me of Jane Elliott’s amazing “Brown Eyes vs. Blue Eyes Study” from the 1960’s:

I have more to share on this subject in an upcoming post.  In the meantime, I’m interested in knowing about your Black History?  Where have you come from?  Where are you going?  What were your important turning points?  Please share your wisdom in the comments below.

Other Posts You May Like:

So, Aunt May told you if you make a vision board you’ll go to Hell, eh?  Well, God told me you won’t — who are you going to believe? 

I work with clients from diverse religious and spiritual backgrounds around the world who are getting amazing results with Celestial Visioning/Vision Boarding.  Still, this question pops up every once in a while, especially from people who have a more literal interpretation of the Bible. 

Their misperceptions are a myth, like the one that says, “God hates Gays.”  Or, “God hates Jews.”  Here’s a news flash: GOD DOESN’T HATE.  Period.   

There are powerful principles for personal growth which are common between Celestial Visioning and the wisdom found in many ancient stories, including those found throughout the Bible.  The stories of heroes such as Joseph, Moses and Jesus are archetypal tales offering valuable messages of overcoming obstacles in life and living to the fullest.     

Joseph, for example, was a son born into a large family of sons, but he had a unique view of the world which was not accepted by his family.  Joseph understood the deeper meanings of Life expressed through the metaphors of dreams.  Joseph’s brothers were jealous and hated him so much they sold him into slavery and told their father he was dead.  Long story short, after many years of isolation he learned valuable skills that would help other people better their lives.   

Like Joseph, and many people, I’ve experienced feelings of being isolated and alone.  Some of us have embraced our uniqueness and discovered unexpected gifts.  Better yet, a few of us have discovered gifts that can actually help improve lives for ourselves and others.      

Celestial Visioning/Vision Boarding is a mechanism for magnifying the wisdom of your subconscious mind, translating it into meaningful understanding in your conscious reality and magnetizing your highest good in the experience of the physical world for the benefit of your personal growth.  Exciting, Transformative, Exhilarating, God-Blessed Stuff.   

So, what’s all this dark God-fearing worry about?  Why do so many people express their religious conviction by being afraid of the deity they’re supposed to love?  How about focusing on some bright God-loving joy?  Let’s party for God with 70’s heartthrob, Donny Osmond in the starring role of ‘Joseph’s Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat’ — I love watching it, even though it’s weird:

Although Celestial Visioning is not a sin, possibly Donny Osmond singing and dancing in a diaper is a sin.  But, who am I to cast the first stone?  

Jesus tells us in the New Testament: “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock and it will be opened to you.  For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened.” ~ Matthew 7-8     

Don’t be afraid.  Be inspired.  Feel Empowered.  That’s what God really wants for you!

Have you ever felt alienated from your ‘clan’ for being different?  Did you discover gifts inherent in your uniqueness? How did you find your way to higher ground?  Thank you for sharing your experience and wisdom in the comments below.        

.

.

If you’ll be in the area, please join us for the next Super Celestial Vision Boarding Workshop in St. Paul, MN on 2/9/2013 — You’ll be glad you did!

For those too far away to attend in person, or if you prefer a private session, I’m available by phone or internet to support you in reaching your heart’s desires!  Contact me TODAY to find out more!

Other Posts You May Like: