Intentions – Part 1

Photo by Lisa Fotios on

It is nearing the close of 2020 (see ya!) and the New Year is approaching and with it, the whole New Year’s Resolution or as I have adapted New Year’s Intention. This year is a four-part intention to help me work on the four areas of myself and my way of living that I feel need some change, which begins for me with the baby step of intention.

I want to clean up my soul, my karma, heal the wounds I’ve inflicted, either by negligence or intent, to others and to myself. I want to tell those I love how much they mean to me, how much our friendship has saved me from the dark and hungry seas of depression and lost faith and within that loss of faith, the loss of hope and the belief that I am worthy. I want to leave my life as I tried to live my life, simply and lovingly and without mess for someone else to clean up. So, that obviously isn’t going to happen overnight and certainly won’t happen without intention. 

See With Loving Eyes

It’s easy to be critical of others when you’re only thinking about yourself, or your ego is wounded and starving for attention or unfair, one-sided comparisons which are neither kind nor based on any sort of truth. What’s hard is when there is a person in front of you (or beside you, or on the phone or at work) who is unpleasant. Whether in nature, smell, attitude or all of the above, they are someone you do not wish to deal with, even for one minute. They are annoying, unsettling and wholly unwelcome.

The default setting would dictate to immediately judge and label and categorize their shortcomings “they smell badly, so they must not shower, so they must be lazy and a total loser”.

“She’s dressed in a short dress even though she’s old enough to be my mother! What a slut! Her tits are hanging out and she looks like she should be walking the street in those shoes. Why doesn’t she act her age? She’s embarrassing herself!”

“He’s dressed like he sleeps in those clothes. Didn’t he wear that yesterday? Doesn’t he know how to wash his clothes? Didn’t his mother teach him anything?”

What’s up with that loud guy? Why is he tailgating and yelling at me? What is his problem? What an asshole! I’m not moving. I’m staying right here, that’ll teach him.

Well, let’s break those down, reality-style.

The smelly lady is someone who isn’t lazy, but has a medical condition that causes her to perspire profusely, called hyperhydrosis. She has tried everything within her means to be able to control it, but she has been unsuccessful. She is not lazy, she works two jobs and rents a shoebox apartment she fights over floor space with roaches and other vermin. She smells because she can’t wash her clothes every day and sometimes has to wear the same clothes more than once or twice. She dreams of being “normal” of having little dots of sweat when she raises her arms, not overflowing lakes and streams. She dreams of owning her own washer and dryer, in her little bungalow that is just big enough for her and her dreams. No room for cockroaches or any vermin. Then, they won’t have any reason to judge her; they will see that she’s just like them, human.

The inappropriate lady dresser isn’t a slut, nor are her tits hanging out. She’s a gorgeous woman of a certain age who has already lived half of her life and spent it pleasing everyone but herself; following the rules, playing nice and doing what was asked (or told) of her, never asking herself what she wanted for herself. She was married to a man who dictated she dress like a nun, covered from neck to ankles, shoulder to wrist. No skin should show, although she had a beautiful figure that she worked hard to maintain. She lived this way for decades and when she would walk by a store window with a mini-skirt or even a demure cocktail dress, she felt a thrill run through her, like a delicious tiny lightning bolt of happiness. Long story short, she’s no longer married to him and has a budget that is the product of years of saving and doing without so that she can now do for herself, by herself and thanks to herself! She dresses to display that gorgeous figure she still has, tits and all, not for the rest of the world, but for her. She buys the brightest colors, the most intricate patterns on the most exquisite fabrics and she does not ask the sales lady or her shopping companion for their opinion, for it is not them she is pleasing. Her joy is hard won and she will not surrender it easily, or at all. Other people’s opinions of her are none of her business and she knows it and lives her life bearing that in mind. No one will steal her joy or dull her shine, ever again. She doesn’t care or wonder what they think, but if she did, she’s say she was just like them, human.

The smelly kid at work whose mother did not in fact teach him anything because she was a drug addict who overdosed when he was about 3. He doesn’t remember it, thankfully, but he also doesn’t remember her. He has been passed around through foster homes for as long as he can remember and hasn’t had a mother or a father to speak of. He is now 18, out of the foster system but no better off in the Life Sense. He is staying with whomever he can get a night on the couch or in the barn or wherever they will let him sleep. His foster brother from one of his last families he stayed with lets him sneak in and out of their garage when nights are really cold, but he cannot stay long and he certainly cannot be caught or it’s trouble for him and his brother. He knows how to use a washer and a dryer, but doesn’t yet have the money to do so. He refuses to steal or cheat anyone, which is honorable, but doesn’t pay in the literal sense. He has to decide whether to eat or wash clothes, have bus fare and go hungry, or eat and walk the many miles to work. He dreams of a day when he will arrive to work, clean and freshly shaven, smelling like those guys up on the top floor; that’s what success smells like to him. He’s not looking for a hand out, just a hand up. He prays that this job will see the last days of him coming to work disheveled and sleeping in fits and starts, waking up uncertain and afraid. He prays that he will be able to keep this job and they will see that he’s just like them, human.

The yelling and seemingly angry guy tailgating is acting like a madman because he just got a call from the hospital that his daughter and grandson were in a car accident. He’s trying to get to the hospital in the hopes of saying good-bye if things don’t go well. He’s trying to get there for his son-in-law, who is out of state and got the first call. He’s grief-stricken and this scenario is all too familiar to him; he lost his wife in a car accident and never got to the hospital in time. She was gone before he even got off the freeway; he can’t let that happen again! He is trying to keep it together, trying to get through traffic and trying to keep the fiery tears from falling, as the back of his throat closes and he feels as though he can’t breathe. Please God, let me get there in time, please God, let me get there in time. Please God, move these people, put it in their hearts to MOVE – GET OUT OF THE WAY! PLEASE GOD! He doesn’t care about anyone on the freeway, he doesn’t care about getting a ticket for speeding and in fact, wishes a cop would show up and take him to the hospital, sirens screaming and lights flashing. If he could take the time to tell you, he’d say he’s not an asshole, he’s not insane, he’s just like you, human.

Photo by Pixabay on

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