You Raise Me Up

Last weekend, I went to a really sweet wedding of two people who have been through a lot in life.  The groom is a widower with several children and multiple grandchildren. The bride had been single all her life and as a 50-something year old, had pretty much given up the hope of being married.  Somehow their paths crossed and as they got to know each other, they began to envision their future with each other in mind.  I was fortunate to witness their vow and commitment to each other.  It was hard to find a dry eye in the room as the bride walked down the aisle.

For the ceremony, the couple had chosen to say their own, personally written vows. When it was the bride’s turn, she said something that I’ll probably never forget.  She said, ”Sometimes I have to pinch myself to believe that I’m here, with you. I’m so thankful for your love and total acceptance of me. Your love… it’s changing me.”

I used to think that being with someone who changes me is a bad thing.  After all, if that person really loved me, they would accept me just as I am.  I guess there are definitely instances of change in a bad way, but I’m not referring to that here.  I’m thinking more about that simple and profound gift of being totally loved by someone… It changes us.  Love allows me to be who I am without pretense. Love takes down my defenses and nudges me to look into the eyes of another. Love leaves me vulnerable.  It leave me open and unguarded, and it also feels altogether safe and freeing.  Love gives me the courage to try.  It makes me a stronger person.  True love accepts me as I am but doesn’t leave me the way I am.

Love changes people.  Earthly marriage isn’t perfect but it can certainly be a glimpse of true love.

How appropriate that the couple asked us to sing this song during the ceremony:

Congratulations, Judy and Bob.  May your love for each other raise you up and change you.

Just Another Day

My heart is so full tonight.  And in more ways than one.

We had a very special and memorable Good Friday service at New Life Fellowship tonight; two, actually – at 5pm then again at 7pm.  The services were in the Tenebrae style and, I must say, I’ve never experienced anything like that before.  I was in the pit playing flute so I probably didn’t get the full experience but it was still quite powerful.  After 7 years of attending this church, I remain utterly thankful for the ways that our community honors traditions of churches that came before us and at the same time for the new and fresh ways that we pursue God.  Tonight, during one of the scenes when the crowd yelled, “Crucify him!”, I was struck deeply, transported to that place, and reminded that I participated in the death of Jesus.  Tonight’s services captured those moments leading up to the death of Christ so profoundly.

It’s hard to talk about these services without mentioning, Rosy, our Pastor of Contemplative Arts.  Rosy’s a former trial lawyer and artist at heart.  Tonight was her brainchild and through rehearsal after rehearsal, we knew we were in for a special evening.  It was going to be a holistic experience of sights and sounds.  5pm came quickly.  Musicians, narrators, candles, attendees all in place, it was time to start the epic service.  Then right at that moment, our main projector stopped working.  Just like that, the visual aspect was stripped away from us.  Several people took immediate action to fix it, to no avail.  As they say, the show must go on.  So on, we went.  With only audio to bring us through, it actually ended up being an altogether unique experience as we went through the journey to the cross by sound.

Of course, as the service went on, the frenzy behind the scenes ensued.  There was a lot of shuffling in the back to get that projector working again.  Per usual, our resident fix-it man, Peter Rohdin, who also happens to be our tried and true Worship Pastor, was determined to get that projector working.  As Pete Scazzero gave his message, Peter put on quite a show for those of us who had view of him in the back.  In fact, it was so amusing, I couldn’t help but whip out my iPhone and videotape the fiasco:

If you can make it out, those dangling legs are Peter’s.  The little clanking noises are him probably trying to replace the bulb (which didn’t even end up being the issue).  To Peter, it’s just another day at New Life.  Props to Felipe for being Peter’s prop.  No pun intended.

Oh, I love this church so much.

And still the service continued, most people completely unaware of the frenzy.  After this service, I gave Rosy a hug and asked her how she was doing.  She looked relieved that it was over but overall she was calm.  I sensed a kind of surrender from her; not surrendering to the aspects that fell out of her control but surrendering to God who actually is in control.  It was a beautiful moment.

Then it was time for 7pm service to begin.  The projector was back in order and that service went without a hitch. At the end of each service, we had 5 minutes of corporate silence.  During these 5 minutes, I couldn’t help but think about the people who buried Jesus and wondered if that was the end.  I sensed fear, grief, confusion, uncertainty.  It takes incredible faith to believe and hope when all we see is darkness and death.  But without darkness, there is no light.  And without death, there is no life.

And so this Good Friday, I embrace the God who died to bring me life.

Keeping Track

This season leading up to Good Friday and Easter is quite significant for me.  I assume most everyone reading this is familiar with the season but for those who aren’t, these few weeks represent a time of reflection and remembering, specifically of Jesus and his last days on earth in flesh and blood. The season culminates into the commemoration of the untimely death by crucifixion and resurrection thereafter of this Jesus, who I believe to be God, for the salvation of humanity.  I admit, it’s not a story that’s easily believable and yet, altogether amazing at the same time.

Though there’s a seemingly happy ending to it all, most of this season is clouded with an over-current of grief and uncertainty (at least, that’s how I imagine it would’ve felt back when it was actually happening).  It’s a rather solemn season. I mean, think about it – someone predicts their death, and though they also tell you that’s not the end, that there will be resurrection, I’m pretty sure I’d focus on the death part a LOT more.  That’s my tendency in general anyways.  I tend to notice and hang onto sadness or impending gloom much more than happiness or pleasure or enjoyment. Isn’t a lot of life like that, though?  Don’t we remember the hard times much more than the good ones?  When we enter seasons of grief, doesn’t it feel like it’ll last forever, whereas seasons of happiness seem fleeting?

Traditionally, Christians enter this season of Lent with a some form of fasting, giving up certain luxuries or items of indulgence.  These days, I hear about people giving up meat, sweets, and caffeine, among other things.  I tried to give up sleeping in for a little bit but then I got the flu so that went out the window.  I sometimes wonder about this exercise of fasting from something during Lent and how it’s usually something that’s actually beneficial for us to give up.  I think we could all use less meat, sweets and caffeine in our lives.  So then it makes me wonder if that’s actually sacrificial.  Cuz sacrifice should cause some pain.  It should hurt to give that thing up.  Maybe it does for some, maybe it doesn’t for others.  When I wake up earlier, I’m not really reminded of Jesus and his suffering.

For those of us who have plenty of suffering already, maybe it’s not a healthy exercise to add to it.  People who live in a state of sadness are pretty desperate already.  We’re either desperate for God or we’re desperate for another life or both. I read something really beautiful today.  It comes from the New Living Translation of Psalm 56.  It says God keeps track of our sorrows.  Okay, well, this guy, David, says that to God, that God keeps track of his sorrows.  David’s a cool guy and all but he’s also just as broken as the rest of us, so I’m gonna go ahead and say that if God kept track of David’s sorrows, that he keeps track of ours, too.

I had to read that line over and over again.  I’m still reading it, actually.  I kinda knew in the back of my head that God knows all of my suffering and pain but I never thought he keeps track of them.  That kinda puts our relationship on a whole different level.  I’ve noticed that whenever I learn about someone’s pain, I feel more drawn to them.  It helps me understand that person a little more.  That means this omniscient and omnipresent God sits down with me and actually takes time to wipe away my every tear.  (Actually, David says right after the “keeping track” statement that God collects all of his tears in a bottle, which, to me, is pretty much the same sentiment.)  And it’s not a once and for all act. He keeps coming, every time I experience pain.

Why… is for another day.  For now I take comfort in the God who cares about my every pain. And I attempt, as much as I know how, to remember the pain and suffering that he endured, and continues to endure on humanity’s behalf.

Five Hours

It’s quite dangerous for me to be up at this hour… but sometimes (or oftentimes) I find myself occupied with something while the TV is on in the background and the time will drift to about 2 or 3am.  The danger, you ask? Well, I don’t know if you’ve ever watched TV at this hour, but if you have, you’d know right away that they play a ton of infomercials in the wee hours of the night. And I’m a sucker for infomercials.  What?  That little contraption can mix, dice and chop? Before you know it, usually in the next 5 minutes (since that’s the time limit I’m given until the special offer expires), I’m on the phone giving my credit card number to some customer service representative who is eager to sell me one more product for just $29.99 plus shipping and handling of some obscene amount.  Okay, it’s not that bad anymore since I’ve learned my lesson one too many times.  But I admit that my eyes still widen and my ears get a little extra attentive when an infomercial comes on.  Man, these people know what they’re doing.  Especially to poor, little, weak, innocent consumers like me. (Right.)

Most recently, I’ve noticed commercials very late at night for 5-Hour Energy.  It’s not an infomercial, per se, but it’s a rather strategic placement for an audience still up at 3 in the morning.  I have nothing particularly against 5-Hour Energy.  People need a boost sometimes, and there are situations when it’s important to be wide awake and efficient.  Some people drink coffee, others take 5-Hour Energy.  I’ve seen some controversial reporting on this product, but it’s not any more or less than the confusing messages we receive daily about the latest harmful or beneficial food or drink.  Plus, I’ve never actually consumed 5-Hour Energy so I have no basis for judgment. 

Tonight, between 2 and 3am, I saw this 5-Hour Energy commercial about 5 times; the last couple of times it was on, I tried to distract myself.  Something about this commercial really, really bothers me.  The premise of this commercial is that one can maximize productivity and efficiency for 5 hours when supplied with the nutrients of 5-Hour Energy.  This guy in the commercial does it all… and I mean ALL.  As in, he runs 10 miles while knitting a sweater, for crying out loud.  And then he says at the end, “Wait ’til you see the next 5 hours.” 

Who doesn’t appreciate some productivity these days?  Time is absolutely of the essence to me.  It seems amazing to be able do so much in just a few hours so I can get a lot more done in the next few hours.  That almost seems like a dream come true, especially because lately, I’m finding that I’m not much of a multi-tasker (not exactly anything you wanna say at a job interview).  Though I do love to sleep, I also confess that I stay up late into the night because somewhere deep inside, I believe sleeping is a waste of time.  After all, if I was sleeping right now instead of writing this I’d have one less blog post in the morning.  Am I wrong?  

It’s hard to argue with a self that values productivity.  I was groomed this way, by way of family, culture and society.  More is better.  I do more so I can get more so I can have more. More, more, more. 

What I find ironic is that while doing more, I tend to miss that much more.  When I prioritize productivity I miss out on the things that actually matter in life.  Like sitting with a friend over coffee and catching up on life without keeping an eye on the clock. Or getting engrossed in a really good book while curled up on the couch.  Or enjoying some greenery at the park.  Or petting a really cute doggie on the street.  Or really listening to an album (yes, an entire album!) of blissful music, paying attention to the melodies weaving in and out, harmonies and instruments and voices and lyrics.  Or just sitting with someone who is grieving.  Or grieving myself.  Or looking into the eyes of someone I love and letting the gaze do all the talking.  Or asking a hard question about an age-old belief that will probably never resolve but so helpful to discuss at length.  Or appreciating a delicious dish before me and recognizing the effort, ingredients and care that went into preparing it.  I can go on…

Reading that list over again, none of it seems very “productive”.  I don’t feel efficient doing any of that, and if I did, I would probably feel very wrong about it.  I never want any of those things to be an item to check off on my To-Do-List.  So how would 5-Hour Energy help me really improve this quality of life?  Of course, I’m not in any way suggesting that we do away with productivity altogether, but I am suggesting that we pause for a moment and look at productivity through a different lens.  Hold it with vulnerable hands.  Breathe life into it and not let it be bigger than it actually is.  

We aren’t meant to run 10 miles while knitting a sweater.  At least, I’m not.  And I don’t want to.  Part of life is accepting that I can only do one thing at a time and if I don’t get to that other thing, learning to let go.  And the next time someone tells me that I need to do more, I want to have the courage to pause and reflect, no matter which way I decide to go. 

When that last 5-Hour Energy commercial I saw tonight ended, the next commercial was for ‘Unisom’, the sleeping aid.  Go figure. 

That in itself is a whole other blog post but it’s 4:10am now and it is time to go to bed. 

28, 30 and Sandy… Hook

Today, for some reason, life seems much more complicated than I ever thought it was.  I know I’m supposed to enjoy the simplicities of life.  In fact, I remember really connecting with Henry David Thoreau’s famous words, “Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity!” in high school.  I’ve tried to live by those words as much as possible but days like today simply confound me instead.  Today I woke up to news of a shooting. Another one. This time at Sandy Hook Elementary School just 1.5 hours away.

With a heavy heart I went about my day, but because no details were released in the morning, I was mostly unaffected by the news save a couple of passing conversations.  I still had meetings to attend and people to see.  Then I came home around 5pm to find out that 27 were confirmed dead, including 20 children.  I was in utter shock and tears.  I wanted to keep watching but I had to run off to a friend’s birthday celebration.  Yes.  Celebration occurred; and though my heart was deeply troubled, I genuinely felt happy to celebrate my friend’s 30th birthday.  Then it suddenly dawned on me.  This is life.

I used to go around with a heavy heart all the time.  For more reasons than one, I chose to focus on the brokenness of life and defaulted to a state of sadness.  It seemed to me that suffering was unavoidable so something inside me decided it’s better to live in it, through it. Breathe it in and out.  I made it a point to connect with all of life that was broken.  I strove to see beauty in brokenness.  But now I see, brokenness isn’t beautiful at all.  It’s ugly.  Sometimes, it’s terrible.  And sometimes it kills 28 people.

About a month and a half ago, Hurricane Sandy devastated so many people’s homes in this area.  I remember feeling a similar sense of turmoil inside.  My heart ached for those who lost everything.  Just around that same time, and in stark contrast, my parents purchased their first home.  While some people experienced their worst nightmare, my parents’ lifelong dream came true.  My grief for those affected by Sandy did not overshadow the joy I felt for my parents.  I held both experiences and emotions together, awkwardly but both intact.

Joy and pain are not mutually exclusive.  This is a part of life that I’m just beginning to realize and accept.  I can live life trying to numb one part because it’s difficult to balance both but I’m starting to think that my growth as a human being has a lot to do with learning to fully embrace both.  For me, because I err on the side of sadness, it’s been quite a process allowing myself to be happy.  I have to intentionally extend grace to myself in order to feel joy.  And I never thought it would be like this, but I feel much more whole, and even more human. Because as much pain and brokenness as I have in my heart, there is just as much joy and life bursting through.  And it doesn’t make sense to push any of that away.  They all join together and create a unique melody that is life.

Today, that melody turned into a lament for Newtown, Connecticut.

We’re with you in thought and prayer.  And we will be with you when you rise again. 

Long and Windy Road

I just read a New York Magazine article about psychotherapy and strangely, I connected with it deeply.  I don’t know the first thing about psychotherapy (except that I could probably use some) but from what I’ve gathered in the article, it seems the plight of the modern psychotherapist is something I can relate to in a major way.  I highly recommend the article, but if the implications of the article hold merit, the vast majority of people won’t have the patience to read through the 6 page account of this one psychotherapist.

Over the years, I’ve become absolutely convinced about the transformative power of inner work and going deeper into the soul in order to be a healthier and more content individual.  A healthier self can be a great gift to the people and world around us.  I’d even argue that it is the best gift. This journey takes a lot of work and time and energy, not to mention uncovering of old wounds and a lot of pain – and I have a feeling many of us opt to go the shorter route to avoid a lot of this painstaking inner work. I do it myself all the time.  I know what’s good for me, but I choose the shortcut, for whatever reason – it’s quicker, easier, less painful.  And as much as this term gets overused in our day, this all really is instant gratification.  I can say with much confidence that most of the time, instant gratification does not benefit us in the long-term.

The author in this article tells her story about how her career is on the brink of extinction because many people no longer want long-term sessions of deep inner work but instead, subscribe to more of a “5 Steps to Happiness” framework.  She spoke with branding consultants who continued to tell her that she has to market herself as an appealing brand, with short-term solutions, one-time sessions, more coaching and advice-giving rather than going into one’s history and psychology in depth.  Once she started to re-brand, she generated more interest in her practice and gained more clients.  But at what cost?  Her values and genuine interest in actually helping people seemed to be compromised down this road.

There are so many parallels to draw from this psychotherapist’s story to my own journey.  I know for myself, the temptation to skim through life has become overwhelming.  When I am given the choice to take a quicker route over the long, more arduous journey, I tend to choose the shorter road. When it comes to music, I don’t practice nearly enough because I don’t see immediate results. I’d rather get to the performance and enjoy the limelight.  When it comes to relationships, I find myself avoiding the harder conversations because it will be awkward for a little while.  I’d rather laugh and enjoy our time together, albeit somewhat superficially. I seem to lack a certain sticktoitiveness and workingitoution that I value so much.  Okay, those are hardly words but you know what I mean.

And so I’ve been generally very unsettled lately, and have become more and more withdrawn from the dizzying pace the world around me seems to be marching.  I do not want to go down that path.  I want to read every word of that 1,000 page book and hear out the long versions of people’s stories and take 20 years to write a really good song and recount and rehash that painful memory so that I don’t, in turn, wound someone else and ask some tough questions about my faith and forgive and forgive and forgive through and through. And then be okay that none of this seems very productive or fruitful or gets any results to which I can point and stand proud.

Because that is life.  The good and true and beautiful takes time and we must fight for it.  And if I microwave my life away I won’t know how deep and how wide and how vast the human soul is.  So I choose the long and windy road, knowing I’ll be on this path for awhile.

Standing Together

My office was closed all week because of Sandy so I stayed home.  I don’t like the fact that the name “Sandy” will be forever associated with devastation and tragedy, at least in this area and in our lifetime.  I was not affected whatsoever, except that I got a week off from work.  My internet went down for a day, but that’s hardly an issue.  I am immensely grateful.  So that I didn’t completely waste this week, I did a lot of previously procrastinated house-stuff while the TV remained on as the backdrop all throughout the day, all week.  I just wanted to know what was happening in the area.  Once in awhile, when I noticed my brain going numb, I turned it off, only to turn it back on again in a couple of hours.  I didn’t want to miss any important announcements or reporting.

After a week of hearing story after story and seeing image after image of the aftermath of Sandy, I confess that I am not in a good place.  I feel overwhelmed.  I am sad.  I feel helpless for those people who lost everything; for some, even loved ones.  I do what I can, donating here and there, signing up to volunteer as I hear about opportunities.  Last night, I went to band rehearsal for this upcoming Sunday’s services at church, and ended up changing half the set because I had planned songs in there that mentioned rain, hurricane, trees bending, sinking… all before I knew what this week would be like.  How’s that for irony.  I was a bit of a wreck inside and anticipate this Sunday to be heavy.  What can I possibly do in front of the congregation to alleviate the pain and suffering of our city?

I feel weak and unprepared to lead.  But I am encouraged to see people standing together.  Before Sandy came, I was at the end of my rope with election season.  It took Sandy to unite us.  Why does it take tragedy to bring us together?  Before Sandy, I would’ve written something about the privilege to vote and the importance of loving each other despite differences in our beliefs and values.  After Sandy, it seems as if that all goes without saying.  More importantly, I see, once again, how much we need each other.  And ultimately, how much we, individually and corporately, need God.

So we will stand together, this Sunday, at New Life Fellowship.  If you don’t have a place to go to stand with your neighbor and are able to come to Queens, please join us.  Services are 9:15a, 11:15a and 6p.  Looking forward to standing with you.

[If you want to help, please donate to the American Red Cross here.]

Bearing Witness

In the context of a compassionate embrace, our brokenness may appear beautiful, but our brokenness has no other beauty but the beauty that comes from the compassion that surrounds it. - Henri Nouwen

———————–

The other night, Steve and I stayed in and we were casually flipping through channels, hoping to find something good to watch. I’ve come to feel blasé about television lately.  I haven’t found much of it compelling to watch.  I watch the news, some sports and maybe some late night talk shows if I feel up to it.  So as we channel-surfed and paused on Law & Order: SVU, you can imagine, I wasn’t too excited about it.  But Steve watches the show every now and then, so I decided to give it a shot.

Needless to say, it was a disturbing episode (I’m thinking most, if not all, of the subject matter in this show is quite disturbing). Without getting into specific detail, the character who was represented as the victim brought her alleged perpetrator to court and testified about the night of the crime. After all the turmoil of trial, the defendant was eventually found not guilty. Upon adjournment, the victim became furious that she had to disclose to the public and, essentially, relive the horrible experience, and directed her anger at the detective who had urged her to testify. The conversation went something like this:

“You told me this was going to work out if I came forward about it! This was all pointless!” the victim exclaimed.

The detective then looked straight into the her eyes and said,

“Healing begins when someone bears witness.”

***

Some terms lose their meaning over time when they’re used too frequently.  ”Bearing witness” has a lot of grandiose connotation to me.  It’s a term that was used often as I grew up in the Christian church.  But I realize it simply means to tell one’s story. A few years back when I tried to be more intentional about inner healing, one of the first things I felt inclined to do was to tell my story to people I trusted.  Being honest with other people helped me to be honest with myself.  It also helped me to see that they accepted me for who I am which helped me to accept myself.  I had begun a journey toward healing.

But then somewhere along the way, I stopped telling my story. Honestly, it’s easier not to. It’s less awkward and less heart-wrenching.  It also lacks depth and truth. It takes intentionality and effort to tell our story.  I wonder how many relationships I lost because I stopped telling my story.  I wonder how often I am quick to assume and judge because I have not heard someone’s story.  I wonder how many people out there are hurting because they haven’t told their story.

Telling our story moves us from isolation and loneliness to companionship and community. We see each other as altogether human, creating opportunities for compassion and connection. 

I won’t be watching Law & Order again any time soon, but I did learn a valuable lesson.

Tell your story. And let the healing begin.

Revenge, Revenge

I’m the failure, I’m everyone’s fool.  And I’m losing my cool in the end. I’m the loser, my numbers come up. I’ve been hung up on thoughts of revenge, revenge, revenge.  - Jon Foreman, “Revenge”

——————

I’ve become increasingly irritable lately.  Maybe it’s the extraordinarily hot summer that we’ve had, which has inevitably led to sticky, sweaty people (including me), or the most awful driving conditions that I’ve ever experienced since I moved to NYC in 2003, or maybe I’ve simply run out of patience.  This kind of irritability isn’t just apparent in the day to day but I’ve also noticed it creeping into some of my relationships.  Irritability, when put under a microscope, reveals something much bigger and deeper than just a lack of patience.  I’ve found that for me, it’s rooted in a self-serving, self-righteous mentality.  And when I think about it like that, my eyes get wide and I want to run far, far away.

Recently I was having a conversation with a close friend and we were talking about friendship.  A lot of the conversation revolved around the topic of quality time and how important that is for a relationship to thrive. Then she expressed that she finds herself initiating quality time more often than not with many of her friends and wondered if that means the other person doesn’t care enough to initiate.  I told her it’s okay to wonder that and also that it’s okay to tell people in her life that she’d like them to initiate scheduling time together.
She then proceeded to tell me pointedly, “I’d like it if you would initiate some of our hangouts, Cate.”

I’ve been thinking a lot about the people with whom I like to spend quality time. I have to confess that I’ve felt a similar sentiment with certain friends.  It seems I am the one always pursuing the friendship and if I stopped, I wonder if I would ever see or know these people very well. I’ve found myself tempted to take revenge in some small way by not reaching out and not initiating. Why should I be the one always seeking this person out? In some way, it feels like a form of rejection when that person never initiates. And there is only so much rejection this heart can take.

I admit I’ve said my share of, “Let’s hang out soon!”, without the follow through. But in this instance, I’m talking specifically about those people who, time and time again, wait for me to reach out to them. Those people who I genuinely wonder if they feel the same way about me as I do about them; if I matter to them as much as they matter to me. It hurts. So I want to stop. I want to stop e-mailing and texting and scheduling our next time together.

I am afraid of what might happen if I do. I don’t trust them to come to me. And then I wonder if that is any kind of solid relationship at all.

Revenge – it feels justified and even satisfying.  After all, I was wronged and therefore that person deserves it.  Is that how life works?  Is it really an eye-for-an-eye world?  For a long time I subscribed to this theory of revenge but I usually ended up in a place of distance, disconnect and isolation.  I found myself very alone.  And then I came to know of a life-transforming idea called grace.  Grace calls us to reach out, to pursue, to place ourselves in the way of rejection and vulnerability.  I need grace as much as I need to give grace. And so this time, instead of taking revenge, I step into the vast, mysterious world of grace.

Somebody Special

I have a distinct memory that I recall regularly when I think about my life from about 10 years ago.  I got onto a shuttle bus on campus at the school I was attending at the time and I felt really, really lonely.  I didn’t really think anyone cared about me and that I was worth getting to know.  I felt like a nobody.  That particular day, however, I didn’t resign to that feeling.  Instead, I resolved to become someone everyone would want to know.  I wanted everyone to wish that they knew me and wanted to befriend me.  I had to prove that I was a somebody.  Somebody special.

I don’t know how successful I was at becoming that “somebody” in the next 10 years.  All I know now is, that’s the last thing on my mind.  It doesn’t matter so much that I’m a somebody to just anybody.  Now, it really only matters that I’m a somebody to people I’m close to and care about.  And to those people, I don’t have to prove anything.  To those people, I am somebody not because of my perceived worth, but just simply because I am.

I think a lot of us go through life trying to prove our worth to the world.  It’s really important to us that someone tells us that we are somebody.  When we feel worthless, we end up hurting ourselves and sometimes, even others.  It hurts too much to be alone or feel like we don’t belong so we keep trying to be something, to be someone.  We use people to maintain our self-worth.  We end up being defined by our successes and failures, and our sense of self is based much more on what we do than who we are.  We define others by what they do, how much they can offer to us, how they benefit us.

I wish for a world different than this.  I wish for us to accept each other without having to prove anything.  I wish we can look at each other and see each other for who we are.  So now I go around wondering who people are when they don’t have to prove anything.

Who are you when you don’t have to prove anything?