~What will Matter~

I'm a poet at heart and that's no secret. Sometimes words ring so true and hit so deep that I feel inspired to spread them. This poem in particular really reached into my soul and enlightened the core of all I've been learning lately. Of course I simply must share it's wisdom!

What Will Matter
By Michael Josephson


Ready or not, some day it will all come to an end.
There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours, or days. All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten, will pass to someone else.
Your wealth, fame, and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance. It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed. Your grudges, resentments, frustrations,
and jealousies will finally disappear.
 So too, your hopes, ambitions, plans, and to‐do lists will expire. The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.
It won’t matter where you came from
 or what side of the tracks you lived on at the end.
 It won’t matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant. Even your gender and skin color will be irrelevant.
So what will matter?
How will the value of your days be measured?
What will matter is not what you bought
 but what you built, not what you got but what you gave.
What will matter is not your success but your significance.
What will matter is not what you learned but what you taught.
What will matter is every act of integrity,
compassion, courage, or sacrifice 
that enriched, empowered, or encouraged others to emulate your example.
What will matter is not your competence but your character.
What will matter is not how many people you knew but how many will feel a lasting loss when you’re gone.
What will matter is not your memories
but the memories that live in those who loved you.
What will matter is how long you will be remembered, by whom, and for what.
Living a life that matters doesn’t happen by accident. It’s not a matter of circumstance but of choice.
Choose to live a life that matters.

To someone in this world, I am TALL

So here I was walking down the condiment aisle at the grocery store, trying to justify the $9 price tag for organic syrup when this cute little voice behind me says “Excuse me Miss, but could I use your height to get something up high for me?” I looked to the left and then to the right, and then I realized she was indeed speaking to ME. She must have been mid 20-s, cute strawberry blonde, with a spritz of freckles on her nose, and she needed MY help. I have never ever in my entire life been called upon to reach anything that is high up. Ever.

“Yeah sure!” I beamed. Ha! Am I really tall? I was all ready to spin around and reach up for something, anything she wanted, but then she said, “Follow me, it’s in the freezer section.” You mean to tell me that this girl sought ME out for help to reach something?! The freezer section was like FOUR aisles over! There were people everywhere. I’m barely 5’7! I giddily strolled behind her, stretching my back up a little further and improving my posture, for I was now considered to be “tall” by someone. Would I even be able to reach this particular item? What could it be she needs? I was getting nervous...

We reach a freezer door of packaged vegetables and way in the back of the top row, there was one bag left of mixed peas, carrots, and broccoli and she said with a gentle point, “There. I need that bag of stir fry.” It was so far back that if I were to try and get it for myself, I probably would have just reached for another kind on a lower shelf. It looked impossible. BUT, I was TALL to this girl and my 4.5 inch heels were finally getting some credit other than being fashionable footwear. So I reached as far as my arm would stretch, and with one little hop upwards I grabbed it by the frozen corner. “YES!” she squealed,” Oh thank you so much, I knew you’d be able to reach it. You’re a life saver.” She happily bounced away with joy and I stood still and relished in my tallness.

I felt like a hero. A tall hero. I think I grew an inch with pride alone. My dream of being “tall” came true for a moment tonight in the grocery store. She will never know what that did for me. If I knew who in the hell she was I’d send her a thank you card.

Oh, and NEVER underestimate the power of high heeled footwear. Or perhaps I really AM going through a late growth spurt? One can dream! Think I’ll go look for the measuring tape...

A little dream about a hugging machine~

Days like these (long, hard, stressful, rude, etc.) make me want to do nothing more than step out of the work place and head straight into a hugging machine. By hugging machine, I mean a “feel good” contraption that you can walk into like a tunnel and emerge feeling revived and appreciated. Random arms would reach out and hug you, hold you, maybe even caress your cheek a bit. Tiny sweet voices would whisper out in angelic harmony saying how absolutely fantastic you are and how you are one in a million and appreciated and brilliant. A sweet breeze of coconuts and cream would drift through the tunnel and wrap it’s lovely aroma around your hair. Maybe you’d get a few pats on the back, a couple high-fives and a gold medal would drape itself around your neck upon exiting quoting “You are LOVED.”

Because some days? I’m just not feeling the love, even though I know I deserve it. I’m not told how I’m appreciated, and instead feel taken for granted. I keep my head high while others bitch and whine. I wear a smile on my lips, confidence on my hips, and don’t get all boo-hooey just because I feel a little overwhelmed at the moment. And then there are days like today where my hard exterior seems to crack and slowly I begin to unravel...

I don’t get enough hugs as I deserve and for this reason, I want to create a hugging machine. This can be the go-to spot for a quick pick-me-up refresher when you feel exhausted,defeated, or unappreciated. When you feel like crawling into a hole, the hugging machine will save you, embrace you, and put the warmth back in your face and your heart back in it’s place.

OR on the other hand I would like to create an ass kicking machine that I could throw all the dick heads into that are responsible for my need for a hugging machine. You know, random punches and kicks would fly out at them and they would emerge a bloody mess. Ok, now I’m getting pissed again.

Back to the hugging machine idea....