The Silent Warrior

Be kind to everyone you meet, for they are fighting a silent battle you know nothing about.

I was recently working late-- and by late, I mean working 8am to 9pm.  I was sitting in my cubicle, the only one in my department who was subjecting herself to the post-workday blues.  Working till 9pm?  Not fun.  Working till 9pm in a basement?  Even worse. 

So there I was, mid-evening, pounding away furiously at my computer, working to finish whatever project I was tackling, when I heard the door to our office area open.  Who was coming in at such an abominable hour?  I looked up to see one of my coworkers fly down the hallway-- and in such a hurry that she didn't even notice me sitting there.  I shrugged and kept working.  Soon I could hear her heading back toward the door, and this time as she passed my cubicle she noticed that I was still working.  She popped in to say hello, just as surprised as I was to see another human in the office.  Frazzled, she explained to me that she had forgotten something important at her desk and didn't realize it until she was all the way home.  (That's happened to me before, so I know it's not fun to have to drive back to work... I could understand her frazzled state.) 

This was someone with whom I had worked, but never very closely.  We'd had a few conversations here and there, but never anything really important and our interactions had always been sort of obligatory, breezy, and "polite."  Tonight, however, she took a seat in the chair opposite me and proceeded to tell me everything that was going wrong in her life.  Naturally, this took me by surprise because we'd never had a deep conversation like this.  I was having a rather poor day myself, so I could understand her need to vent to someone.  An hour later, she concluded with something like, "Okay, there's my sad story.  I don't know why I just spilled all that, and I'm sorry.  I'm sure you never expected any of that."  Well, she was certainly right-- I truly had never guessed that she would waltz into my office for an impromptu therapy session.  I didn't really offer any advice, because I wasn't actually sure that's what she wanted.  I just listened, nodded, and agreed with her. 

The only verbal support I offered her was something that I heard during my first year of college, and it's stuck with me ever since:  "Be kind to everyone you meet, for they are fighting a silent battle you know nothing about."  It's so true... we're all struggling with something, aren't we?  Sure, some are very vocal with their battles, and some are totally silent.  And as much as we might be inclined to take a stand against that loud warrior, they deserve kindness just as much as the silent warrior.  Philosophers compare personal struggles to battles for a reason: they're horrible, and they can completely break you down. 

I had no idea that my coworker was struggling so badly.  Although I'd never been hurtful or rude to her, I'm not sure that I ever really went out of my way to show her genuine kindness, either (which I'm ashamed to say).  Hearing about her own battles made me feel very badly for her.  I started to think about the people I know who seem like they have their life in perfect order-- I feel like I'm less likely to show them genuine kindness, or even really care when I ask how they're doing.  They're okay because they never complain, right?  Maybe.  But it's far more likely that they're dealing with their own demons, just very quietly so that no one knows. 

Everyone you meet is indeed fighting some sort of battle, whether you know it or not.  A little kindness goes a long way.  Be sincere and genuine when you interact with someone, even if it's not your favorite person.  You never know what one little smile might do for someone who's having a rough time.  Treat everyone as if he were a silent warrior - with compassion, love, and genuine kindness.  It's amazing what a little bit of sunshine can do for someone on a very cloudy day. 

Rock Me to Sleep

I've been browsing through the book of poetry (my proud garage sale purchase) that I referenced in an earlier post, Half Dollar Humility.  The book is divided into different sections.  For example: Part I: Love & Friendship, Part II: Inspiration, Part III: Patriotism and Heritage, etc. 

Last night, I was reading through the section entitled "Home and Mother."  One poem that caught my eye was "Rock Me to Sleep" by Elizabeth Akers Allen.  As with all poems, this piece can be interpreted in multiple ways.  At its core, however, the poem is a letter written to a mother from her child.  The child is now grown, and the trials and tribulations of adulthood seem to be wearing her down.  She longs for the simplicity and frivolity of her childhood, where all pain could be eased and all sorrows could be soothed with just one motherly embrace. 

A mother's love is a very powerful thing-- it starts before she's even seen her child, and it only grows exponentially from there.  I know not everyone is as blessed as I am.  There are individuals who have no mother, or perhaps for some reason they have a strained relationship with their mother.  Granted, my relationship with my mother hasn't always been perfect (I admit, I was a teenage nightmare...  and also, is any mother-daughter relationship perfect??).  But I'm happy to say that I'm very close with her and she's the most wonderful and supportive mother a girl could have :)  My mother is always thinking of my sisters and me, and she's always praying for us.  She's never hesitant to help her daughters, and she loves us unconditionally.  That's really all you can ask of a mother, isn't it?  And in the end, the only thing that one should expect from a mother is unconditional love.  My mother has never wanted anything for me and my sisters but peace and happiness.  She's only wanted us to know love and joy, nothing more, nothing less.

I thought of her when I was reading "Rock Me to Sleep" last night.  If you want, you can read the entire poem here (it's a bit lengthy, but worth reading).  The stanza that stood out the most was the fourth:

Over my heart, in the days that are flown,

No love like mother-love ever has shone;

No other worship abides and endures,—

Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:

None like a mother can charm away pain

From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.

Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep;—

Rock me to sleep, mother,—rock me to sleep!


This stanza truly defines a mother's love -- there is nothing like it in the world.  A mother's love lasts forever.  It is faithful, unselfish, and patient.  As much as I pride myself on trying to be independent and strong, I would be nothing without my mother.  There are days that go by when I think I've got life all figured out.  And it just takes one bad day to make me realize how much I miss my mom...  A mother is a woman's eternal best friend, and mine is always willing to listen to any gripes I have, or offer her advice for any obstacle I encounter.  I sent this poem to my mom today-- an excellent vehicle for expressing my appreciation for her mother-love.  She responded with this:

"awww...lump in the throat...thanks for sharing, m'ija. Loving mothers are pretty special :) I'm grateful I have mine.  kind of on the same note...i rec'd a text from amanda the night before she started her new job..."it's nights like these when I wish I still lived with my mommy"--sometimes, when life is making you crazy, nothing can take the place of your 'mommy.'  I will always be here for you, Melanie Lynne! God bless you."

That sums it up.  Nothing can take the place of your mommy. 
 
 
 
Side note: My sisters and I generally make a point to refrain from calling our mother 'mommy...' that was simply a cutesie text from my sister.  We're not 'that family.'

In Perfect Harmony

I'm in Frankenmuth this weekend for a wedding. The wedding took place yesterday (a beautiful wedding - the marriage of my best friend Stephanie to a wonderful man named Matthew). Today is Saturday and it's a gorgeous day to be touring Frankenmuth. You know the saying "you don't know what you've got till it's gone?" That saying rings true for me when I visit Frankenmuth. I don't travel back here nearly enough-- and my mom will back me up on that.

My sister (who still lives in the area) went camping this weekend and my mom is out of town today. Which leaves me to entertain myself all day. Luckily, Frankenmuth is the Land of 1,000 Festivals, so there always seems to be something happening in town. Today I left my mom's house, and within minutes saw plenty of tents set up around town. There is an art/craft show here this weekend, so I browsed through it for a while. Then I crossed the street and shopped for a while in the quaint (overpriced) shops of the Riverplace. Didn't buy anything, because I didn't need a personalized keychain, a riverboat tour, or a pound of fudge (though the chocolatey breezes were horribly tempting). I opted to walk back to my car.

Walking past the Bavarian Inn Restaurant on Main St, I passed Fischer Platz, where Linda Lee and Wild Bill were entertaining Hofbrau-sipping patrons with some good old polka music. Most people were drinking, eating, laughing, and clapping along as they sat under umbrellas, seeking shelter from the harsh midday sun. Howeer, one couple (appearing to be approximately 80 years young) took to the dance floor. The tall chap and his tiny little wife were spinning and 1-2-3-ing their way around the makeshift dance floor as though they were the only two people in Frankenmuth. I noticed them dancing and stopped to watch... for the duration of 3 entire songs! As a former resident of Frankenmuth, I admit to having scoffed at pedestrians who stopped to watch the local entertainment; I would rather have been caught dead than be caught watching some Bavarian Inn entertainment. And yet, here I was, awed at this couple showing off their mad (and well-rehearsed) polka skills.

It wasn't just the dancing. It was the way they moved with one another. Don't worry, I'm not getting lewd. On the contrary, I'm actually getting a bit sentimental. Mr. and Mrs. Polka were dancing in perfect harmony, all the while looking at one another. Not once did they look at their feet, nor did they look at their surroundings. To this couple, it was very clear that the only thing that mattered was being with their other half and spending time doing something that they both (clearly) loved. This seemed like a fabulous match... had probably been going strong since the beginning of time. This man completed this woman, and this woman completed this man. Yes, this was love.

So I popped in to the Platz, ordered some French fries (the only vegan option on the menu) and a water, grabbed some brat sauce to dip my fries in, and sat down at an unfortunate umbrella-less table to watch Mr. and Mrs. Polka and their perfect harmony out on the dance floor.

Sure enough, no sooner had I ordered my food and taken a seat than the dancing couple also decided to sit down. Not only that, but Linda Lee and Wild Bill ended up taking a 20-min break as soon as I sat down. No matter, it allowed me time to sit down and blog about the couple.

Granted, I'd only just witnessed a few minutes of them dancing, but this couple looked as though they had it all figured out.  What young woman doesn't dream of having someone like Mr. Polka -- someone with whom she can do the things she loves, and together do them so well that strangers are unable to walk by without staring?  Someone with whom she will move in perfect harmony for decades to come?  Someone to whom she can cling when the rest of the world seems to be spinning?  Mr. and Mrs. Polka knew love, and they were displaying it for all of Michigan's Little Bavaria.

I'd made decent progress on my fries and brat sauce (and in perfect Lanie style, splattered some bright red brat sauce right across my lap... in white shorts, of course) and the ice in my water glass had succumbed to the brilliant rays of the sun when Linda Lee and Wild Bill took to the stage again.  They once more entertained the crowds, she on her accordion and he on his fiddle... the perfect setting in which to be writing.  I was smiling to myself, waiting impatiently to see Mr. and Mrs. Polka command the dance floor once more after their brief intermission, and to my dismay, a group of preteen Little Leaguers (in town for some tournament, no doubt) rushed the dance floor in an attempt to Macarena to a traditional Polish polka.  So much for romance.

And there you have it: the diverse world we live in.  From lovestruck dancers to rhythm-less Little Leaguers, our world is a wonderful place.  And our world wouldn't be nearly as interesting without the variety we have.  The song of the human race is a unique melody indeed.  Not always in perfect accord, but a beautiful song nonetheless, once we find our harmony.  Harmony is an amazing thing-- something that humans will spend their lives searching for, yet very rarely will it be found in its purest form.  Here's hoping you find love, peace, and perfect harmony in all you do :)

Half Dollar Humility



Alas, it is May.  I wake up every morning to birds chirping, geese honking (yes, really, they wake me up!), and a warm apple blossom breeze blowing through my bedroom curtains.  Serenity?  Yes.  This is spring.  The onset of spring also marks the beginning of one of my favorite times of year: the glorious garage sale season.  Though I pride myself on not stuffing my house with useless finds (ever seen the show Hoarders?  that'll turn you around right quick when waffling over whether you really need that oil lamp for fifty cents... and for the record, I don't need that oil lamp). 

Last weekend was the Westnedge Hill neighborhood yard sales.  For those of you not familiar with the area or the event, Westnedge Hill is an area of charming older houses just a few miles from downtown Kalamazoo (fun to drive through and house-gawk, if you're into that sort of thing).  This is a very well-known event around here.  Area business even market their weekend sales specifically for garage sale hoppers (Big Apple Bagel, for example, advertised: "Westnedge Hill garage salers, lunch with us!").  Streets are completely lined with parked cars, toddler-toting moms are rifling through the wares at hundreds of sales, the ice cream man rolls his van through the neighborhood (I was incessantly tortured for the next four days with my inability to quit humming the first riff of "Pop Goes the Weasel"), and cops are in their glory, slapping parking ticket after parking ticket on illegally parked cars.  It's a fun place to be.

I was flying solo through Westnedge Hill, though I eventually met up with my sister, mom, and grandma closer to the end of the day.  When garage-saling was over, I made my way back to my car (parked about 3 miles away), exhausted both physically and mentally from fighting the crowds and haggling over my purchases.  Proudly displayed in my apartment are my trophies from the Battle at Westnedge Hill:

• a real silver tray (desperately seeking some major polish-renovation, but still totally worth $1.50)
• a bread knife (which I wielded post-purchase as though it were some Amazon machete)
• a Trivial Pursuit game (like-new condition... and no wonder, for does anyone actually play this game??)
• a couple books (one chosen because of the color - a fun teal hardcover entitled Timepiece, by Richard Paul Evans; the other [The Best Loved Poems of the American People] purchased for multiple reasons:  a) its essence being an anthology of poems, b) it's a beautiful old book, and c) the inscription inside the front cover is poetry in itself:

Check out the date: February 1961 -- 50 years ago, "Denny" was totally fascinated by "Sue's" remarkable humility, and made it a point to tell her so.  Makes me wonder about Sue.  What makes her so fascinatingly humble?  And this book was perfect for her, huh?  So I bought this book for a whopping 50 cents-- it's an interesting reminder to strive for humility and keep one's feet on the ground.  Humility is a positive trait that's rarely mentioned, or often goes unnoticed.  Think about it -- when you hear a glowing description of someone, you'll often hear words like "caring," "gentle," "compassionate," "friendly," "intelligent," "energetic," "calm," etc.  Oh, that's So-and-so; you'd like her.  She's really ____  (fill in the blank).  These are all remarkable traits, and if you can be described as such, BRAVO TO YOU.  Now, try and think of the most fascinatingly humble person you know (and by the way, I don't expect it to be me, but thanks).  Take a cue from Denny: tell that person how special they are, and try to learn from them.  Imitation is, after all, the most sincere form of flattery.  Yes, flatter that humble person -- they likely deserve it!

Note: If anyone has any idea of how DART II (Deep-Ocean Assessment and Reporting of Tsunamis, maybe?) relates to humility/ inspiration/ poetry, let me know...

Here Comes The Sun, Do Do Do Do

Well, it's May.  Singing birds and sunbeams wake me up every morning through the gauzy curtains on my bedroom window... spring has sprung, and I'm happy to be experiencing all the splendor of a glorious new season here in western Michigan.  Lots to write about!

It's been almost exactly 4 months since I've last written... and ironically, the point I was making in my last post was that I enjoy blogging -- keeping family and friends updated -- and that I would continue to write.  Guess I dropped the ball on that one.  I am going to begin writing again.  I've got loads to tell, and wonderful things happening in the world of Lanie.  Life is good :) 

My Point Exactly

This past weekend, I attended a family Christmas party hosted by my mom.  And yes, I know it was the second weekend in January.  Uncles/aunts/cousins from all over Michigan (and even out of state) showed up.  I love seeing my extended family, especially the out-of-towners, whom I don't see very often.  We were all so engaged with one another, and it was like no time had passed since we were last together.  It's always great to meet with family and friends, and events like holiday parties/weddings are a great way to catch up on what's happening in everyone's lives.

I had anticipated the inevitable questions from my extended family (What have you been up to?  How do you like Kalamazoo?  How do you like your job?  Where are you living?  What are your roommates like?).  Sometimes it seems boring, having to answer the exact same questions twenty times in a row.  Little did I know that I had sufficiently covered all my bases without even realizing it.  Blogging is indeed a great outlet to let family/ friends stay up to date with everything that's going on in my life.  Well, not everything (it is, after all, a public blog).  But nearly everything.  It was very entertaining to hear my family throw MY stories back and forth like they were discussing a sitcom.  Entertaining and a bit of an ego boost, actually. 

Someone asked me why I initially started writing a blog.  I thought I'd mentioned it in my very first post, but I guess not.  The credit goes to my eldest sister Elizabeth.  About a year ago, I was recently graduated, practically unemployed (occasional substitute teaching), living with my mother, bored to tears in Michigan's Little Bavaria, and in dire need of a project.  Liz, knowing my passion for writing, told me to start a blog.  It would give me something to focus on and perhaps prove to be entertaining/informative for my friends and family.  Lo and behold, I think it's done its job.  My dear blog has in fact proved to be a remarkable outlet for me-- through which I'm able to voice my triumphs, my losses, my frustrations, praises, likes, dislikes, etc. 

Friends, family, strangers, anonymous coworkers: thanks for taking the time to read my thoughts.  It's hard to believe that my life can seem interesting enough to make for enjoyable reading.  As I learned this weekend, though, I've left some stories rather open-ended.  For example, what makes my one roommate so odd?  (There isn't enough free space on the WWW to fully describe her oddities... but I'll try in another post.)  Why do I like movies like Indiana Jones and Star Trek so much?  (I can't believe I've never confessed this:  I've NEVER seen an Indiana Jones movie, or Star Trek, or Star Wars, or Superman, or Batman, or Transformers, or the show Band of Brothers.  My infatuation is solely with the theme songs.) 

I guess I'll keep on keeping on with the blogging.  My life is apparently quite entertaining, so I'll keep sharing my stories-- crazy roommate and all.  Happy reading :)

Day 21: A Work in Progress

"Life is half spent before one knows what life is." --French Proverb


Day 21: I made it.  I like setting goals for myself.  What's more, I love reaching those goals (bonus points if I exceed my own expectations).  21 days of blogging didn't seem so hard.  Did I take into account the fact that I never wake up after 6:00am and often find myself dragging through yet another 14-hour workday?  Probably not.  If I look through the last 20 posts, I can without a doubt pick out the ones that I wrote after a long day (no need to look at the time it was posted... just need to read through the first few lines).  I can even pick out the blogs I wrote in between nodding off to sleep.  Diligent?  Yes.  Reader-worthy?  No. 

Making a commitment to write a blog every day will indeed turn that person into a true blogger.  A true blogger will live every waking minute of his or her life, thinking the entire time, How can I write this in a way that might interest my blog audience?  It's like trying to take every single life experience (even the uneventful ones) and finding a way to recount the story so that every reader, despite his background or interests, will be captivated by the story you tell.  It's not easy.  I found myself driving home for Christmas, thinking of how I could turn that lnely 2.5-hour drive into an interesting blog.  NOT EASY.

Goals are great-- fulfilling any goal you set for yourself will yield an incredible feeling of accomplishment, no matter what it is.  I  was thinking today about my goals in life.  What is it that I want?  If you would've asked me five years ago, "Where do you see yourself in five years?" I would never have guessed that I'd be where I am today.  Five years ago... where was I?  I was a pre-med student at MSU.  My goal back then was actually to be a gynecologic oncologist.  Funny how things change.  Imagine me pursuing a career in medicine.  Me, the girl who nearly passes out when I get a paper cut!  Clearly not the right option.  I quickly changed my major to International Studies/Business-- probably a much better (and more enjoyable) choice for me. 

And look where I am now, working in the artwork group for a packaging engineering department.  Did I ever guess that I'd be doing anything with graphics?  No.  Even so, I still have no idea what i want to do with my life.  I can rule out certain occupations (clown, heart surgeon, engineer, etc.) but I feel like I'm left with far too many options to allow me to whittle the list down to a few of the things  I do want to do.

In the past week, I've been given career suggestions from a few people.  A good friend told me to quit my job and just start taking pictures because I've got "mad skill."  Another friend told me it seems I have the talent to earn a living with my writing, and asked me if I'd consider that.  A coworker suggested today that I open a bakery.  Interesting-- all three are activities that I absolutely love: photography, writing, and baking.  Funny how that works, isn't it? 

I don't know where I'll be in ten years; I'm not sure where i'll be in five years.  You know, I'm not even sure where I'll be in one year.  My life is an ever-evolving work in progress, constantly reshaped to fit me and my world.  Goals?  I really don't have any specific long-term goals for my life.  My only stipulation is that I'm happy and secure in whatever I set my mind to.  Joy and security-- what more could you ask for?  I'm a work in progress, yes, but someday I'll have an idea of where I belong.  Looks like my blog is quite appropriately named: "Finding My Way."