Kindness & Compassion

SENSITIVE STEEL

I have bipolar disorder.

I am constantly challenged by my own intense emotions.

I feel everything you feel . . . times a thousand.

The good, the bad, and the ugly . . . times a thousand.

The loneliness and depression can be devastating, and the endless and exhausting struggle to cope, pure torture.

The statistics confirm it. One out of every five people afflicted with bipolar disorder successfully takes their own life.

My life consists of agitated anxious thinking and tormented isolation, with brief intermittent bursts of joy.

Even the happiness is heartbreaking. So erratic. And fleeting.

When I feel a joyous moment, I try to grab hold of it and capture it like a lightning bug in a jar. I embrace it. I consume it and feed it to my hungry heart. I am a quiet little hoarder of happiness.

Because I don’t know when I’ll see another lightning bug again.

Maybe never.

When most of you meet new people, you get to know them and then you judge whether or not to trust them and let them into your heart.

I do the opposite.

I take people at face value, and after a quick scan of my instincts, I pretty much let everyone in. And then I judge, as they prove dramatic, unstable, or hurtful, which ones are unhealthy for me.

It’s an awful way to live, but I’ve tried being careful and guarded, and it’s just not my nature.

I love quickly and with a wide open heart.

I view everyone as being unique and magnificent, and I let them come in, and I celebrate them loudly. That’s how I am.

But I forget.

I forget that people don’t always say what they mean. And sometimes they’ll say what they mean all day long until you need them to, and then they won’t. People are funny like that.

I also forget that people misuse the word “love”, and when they hug me and say it, they mean it casually like, “It’s been nice to see you”. They don’t really love me.

And I forget that people don’t feel as intensely as I do.

And when I am reminded, it breaks my heart.

I am a constant victim . . . of my own brain.

So I strive to make better choices about people. Who I let in. Who I believe. And trust. And love.

And when I get hurt, as surely I will, because I will always love quickly and hugely, I will take the hit to my heart, lick my wounds, adjust, and then get right back out into the world.

But I will remember this pain.

For a little while anyway.

And then I’ll forget again.

Because that’s just my nature.

I love quickly. And I have a terrible memory. Sheesh.

The irony is, that as sensitive as I am . . .

I am as strong as you are . . .  times a thousand.

We bipolars are funny that way.

*****************************************************************************************************************************************

(Read, “Being Bipolar” at: http://wp.me/p2ckKM-hF).

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Categories: Bipolar/Depression, Friends, Inspiration/Motivation, Kindness & Compassion, Mental Health, Suicide | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 21 Comments

ABOUT ME & MY JOURNEY

In this blog I bear my soul. I’ve suffered some rather traumatic family losses in my lifetime and have overcome some rough stuff: the loss of my only child; an infant son, a 40-year dysfunctional, (but comfortable), relationship with grief, suicide and drug addiction in the family, and everything from quitting a 35 yr smoking habit, to overcoming prescription drug addiction, to my challenges with bipolar disorder. smiling glasses allieGOOD

Now, at the age of 54, I’m facing a whole new world through clear eyes! Everything is fresh and exciting, and challenging and scary . . . and I’m embracing it all!

In this blog, I share (purge) my past experiences, however painful, raw, or revealing. And I share new adventures . . . both emotionally and physically out in the world. I take you into the world of bipolar disorder . . . or maybe to the local cancer center to meet cancer patients who heal through their art, or to an art gallery exhibition, to the local park to snap pics, or maybe downtown to our wonderful City of Detroit!

I’m on the cusp . . . of change.

I believe in celebrating the people and places around me. I will seldom vent, rant, or approach something in a negative way. If I don’t enjoy an art show, or a new business, or a new artist, I simply won’t blog about it. Anything else is just too easy. I look for the good, the funny, the kind, the loving, and the inspirational things; and they are EVERYWHERE! I hope to make you laugh, or cry, or maybe even think about things a bit differently.

So, please, join me on this beautiful, incredible, painful, and amazing journey called life. And please, share your thoughts with me by leaving a comment on my blog! Also, to “Follow” me on my journey, just enter your email address in the “Follow” box and you will be notified by email each time I post a new blog entry.

Thanks for visiting! Be safe. Be careful. And please . . . remember to be kind. xoxoJulia

*Blog content & photographs © 2013 by Julia Kovach, unless otherwise noted.

Categories: Addiction, Bipolar/Depression, Downriver/Detroit, Michigan, Humor, Inspiration/Motivation, Kindness & Compassion, Mental Health, Suicide | Tags: , , , , , , , | 13 Comments

AN itty bitty PAY IT FORWARD

I had family come into town and stay with me for a holiday weekend. I drink a cheap brand of instant coffee, and knowing that they had already silently choked through one morning of it, I decided to sneak out early the next morning to Tim Horton’s to pick up some real java.

With puffy late night eyes, disheveled early morning hair, and clad in sweats and a hoodie, I sat at the drive-thru window basking in the afterglow of an enjoyable evening with family.

As the young male employee at the window handed me my change and a cardboard tray containing my order, I had a thought.

“Hey, buddy” I queried with a smile, “what’s the total bill for the car behind me?”

“$1.75” he said.

“I’ll pay it!” I said as I handed him my money, “Tell the guy that I said, ‘Happy Holidays!’”

And off I went, grinning big, and feeling giddy and mischievous.

I thought about it as I quietly snuck back into my apartment and placed the rich, aromatic coffee on the counter to surprise my niece. And I remembered again later that day and smiled at the thought of the unsuspecting recipient sharing his experience with a friend.

I probably enjoyed this small gesture even more than he had.

That’s the funny thing about giving – you always receive more than you give.

Secretly I hoped that maybe he took a cue from me and paid the tab for the car behind him in line.

But, no matter. The deed was done. And complete in its entirety. No strings. And no expectations.

That was the best part. He couldn’t even thank me.

A random act of kindness . . . it doesn’t have to cost a lot of money or be some grand elaborate expression; all it takes is a little creativity and a moment’s thought about someone other than yourself.

One Tim Horton’s small cafe mocha: $1.75.

My return on investment: Priceless!

Categories: Family, Holidays/Birthdays, Inspiration/Motivation, Kindness & Compassion | Tags: , , , , , | 11 Comments

PLEASE, MISTER, CAN YOU SPARE SOME CHANGE?

PLEASE, MISTER, CAN YOU SPARE SOME CHANGE?.

Categories: Addiction, Family, God/Spiritual, Grief/Healing, Inspiration/Motivation, Kindness & Compassion, Love, Mental Health, Suicide | Leave a comment

WHY LIVE IN OKLAHOMA? I KNOW WHY!

WHY LIVE IN OKLAHOMA? I KNOW WHY!.

Categories: Family, God/Spiritual, Inspiration/Motivation, Kindness & Compassion, Nature | 2 Comments

WHY LIVE IN OKLAHOMA? I KNOW WHY!

I have never been to Oklahoma, but my niece lives there with her husband and three children. She tried to tell me once how special the people are, and being a Michigander and just a bit miffed, I said something stupid like, “Honey, we all think that of where we live.”

oklahoma-map

The State of Oklahoma highlighted on U.S. map.

I didn’t know . . . so much.

I’m embarrassed to say that until I Googled this map, I didn’t really know exactly where Oklahoma is. My uneducated impression was that it looks hot and dusty, has lots of snakes and big spiders, and gets a lot of tornados.

I could never wrap my brain around the whole tornado thing, even when I see them on television. I just can’t imagine.

moore-OK-5-20-2013

Then, on May 20, 2013, it hit a little closer to home. Moore, Oklahoma, a suburb of Oklahoma City, was hit with a monstrous cyclone, called an EF5 tornado. It was 1.5 miles wide, traveled approximately 210 miles an hour, and was on the ground for nearly 44 minutes.

It was a monster.

It tore through tracts of homes, two schools, and a hospital. And it killed 24 people. Nine of them were at Plaza Towers Elementary School, of which seven were very young children.

Oklahoma Tornado

The destroyed Plaza Towers Elementary School is seen in aerial photos during a mission flown by the Civil Air Patrol Sunday, May 26, 2013, in Moore, Okla. (AP Photo/Charlie Riedel).

Thankfully, my niece and her family were safe. We talked that night for three hours.

We cried together in relief. And for the fear she had felt for her husband who was out working and almost didn’t reach a shelter. And for her in-laws who were away and didn’t know if they had lost their home or their cherished family dog. We cried for the children. And for the heroes.

I waited until the next day to watch the news coverage. It was heartbreaking.

Journalists interviewed residents wanting to hear about the massive storm, their near escapes, their fears, and their heroic stories. And they wondered, as many of us Americans have:

Why in the heck would anyone want to live there?  

I don’t wonder anymore.

I know why.

They call it The Heartland. And the Bible Belt. And there’s something to all of that.

I watched the interviews and I heard some incredible stuff.

There was a man and his wife standing in front of a pile of rubble that was once their home. It was just flattened. There was nothing recognizable. They stood in front of the camera looking dusty and winded and grey. We would expect them to be overwhelmed, exasperated, and emotionally devastated. And they were. But there was something else.

I listened to the stories; teachers lying on top of children and using their bodies to protect them from debris, a neighbor getting harmed trying to help another neighbor, emergency help being right there immediately afterwards. In interview after interview, I saw the same people, with different faces, saying the same things over and over again.

They were devastated. And they were standing in front of the wreckage that used to be their living room, or bedroom, or bathroom.

“It is just stuff.” They said.

Long before the government appeared or produced any help, the many Churches of Oklahoma had already hit the roads with food, water, supplies, and help. They were ready. And they didn’t waste a minute.

“I thank God that my family is safe.” They said.

Some of them ran towards the storm, knowing that their help would be urgently needed.

“We were much luckier than others were.” They said.

It just blew me away.

I cried as I heard the stories.

But I was never so proud to be an American as I was watching them.

They are so genuine and humble, so strong and devoted . . . and so grateful.

And although I am quite the liberal gal, and I imagine these Bible Belters to think quite differently than me, none of that matters. Not a bit. We could all learn a lot from them.

They are our fellow Americans.

They are Oklahomans.

And they are a beautifully unique breed of something I have yet to see anywhere else.

“It is just stuff.” They said.

I’ll never forget those words.

********************************************

TO HELP THOSE IN OKLAHOMA:

American Red Cross

The American Red Cross has several shelters open in Oklahoma and Red Cross Emergency Response Vehicles have begun delivering hot meals throughout the affected areas. The Red Cross is also working to link loved ones in Moore who are OK through a website called Safe and Well. Text REDCROSS to 90999 to give $10 to American Red Cross Disaster Relief, donate online or by phone at 1-800-RED CROSS.

Salvation Army

The Salvation Army is activating disaster response teams and mobile feeding units to help residents and rescuers in Moore, as well as in other locations in the Plains and the Midwest that were impacted by tornadoes. Donate online or text STORM to 80888 to contribute $10 to the Salvation Army’s relief efforts or make a donation by phone at 1-800-SAL-ARMY. If you’re sending a check make sure you put the words “Oklahoma Tornado Relief” on the check, and mail it to: The Salvation Army, P.O. Box 12600, Oklahoma City, OK 73157.

AmeriCares

AmeriCares has a disaster relief team working with first responders and local health care organizations on the ground in hard-hit Oklahoma City suburbs. Shipments of water, medicines, and emergency aid have been sent, with more shipments underway. You can help by donating through the AmeriCares website or by phone at 1-800-486-HELP. Text LIVE to 25383 to make a $10 donation. You can also mail a check or money order to: AmeriCares, 88 Hamilton Ave., Stamford, CT 06902.

 

Operation USA

Los Angeles-based international relief agency Operation USA announced it’s providing emergency aid where needed to community-based health organizations across Oklahoma. Donate online, by phone at 1-800-678-7255, or by check made out to Operation USA, 7421 Beverly Blvd., PH, Los Angeles, CA 90036. You can also donate $10 by texting AID to 50555. Corporate donations of bulk quantities of disaster-appropriate supplies are also being requested.

Oklahoma Baptist Disaster Relief

Oklahoma Baptist Disaster Relief says it has deployed at least 80 volunteers to respond to severe weather in Oklahoma. Those interested in helping can make a tax-deductible donation to the BGCO’s Disaster Relief ministry online or call (405) 942-3800. You may also send checks to: BGCO Attn: Disaster Relief 3800 N. May Ave. Oklahoma City, OK 73112.

Feed the Children

Feed the Children, which is headquartered in Oklahoma City, has transported bottled water and food to the impacted area. The organization is accepting diapers, canned goods, non-perishable food, snack items, water, sports drinks, and cash donations. Text “Disaster” to 80888 to make a $10 donation. After receiving a confirmation message you must type “yes” to complete the donation. Cash and corporate donations can be made online or by phone at 1-800-627-4556.

Samaritan’s Purse

Samaritan’s Purse, which provided relief to residents of Moore after the devastating tornado in 1999, deployed two Disaster Relief Units from their North Carolina headquarters before dawn on Tuesday. One will be based in Moore, and the other in Shawnee. Samaritan’s Purse is looking for volunteers to help with the relief effort. You can donate online or by phone at 1-800-528-1980. To give by mail, please send donations to: Samaritan’s Purse, P.O. Box 3000, Boone, NC 28607-3000.

Save the Children

Save the Children is mobilizing staff to provide support, relief and recovery services to communities and families in Oklahoma. The organization is prepared to deploy their Child Friendly Space kits in shelters, creating safe play areas for kids. They are also ready to deploy infant and toddler hygiene materials to support young children displaced from their homes. Text TWISTER to 20222 to donate $10 to Save the Children and help the response effort. You can donate online or call 1-800-728-3843.

Operation Blessing International

Operation Blessing International, a Virginia-based humanitarian group, is deploying to Moore, after working on tornado relief in Granbury, Texas, following last week’s storm there. A caravan of OBI emergency equipment was sent to Moore, including a construction unit, mobile command center, trucks full of tools and supplies, and a team of construction foremen. You can donate to the group online or donate by phone at 1-800-730-2537.

PLEASE DON’T FORGET THEM. THEY NEED OUR HELP. THANK YOU.

Categories: Family, God/Spiritual, Inspiration/Motivation, Kindness & Compassion, Nature | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 21 Comments

IT DOESN’T HURT & IT’S FREE

My Pomeranian, Baxter, likes hanging outside on our small fenced-in patio. Today, when I go to the door to let him in, he is carrying a piece of unopened mail. It looks like an invitation.

baxter w mail

And it is addressed to my neighbor.

The one who called the Police on me for parking too close to his car.

It was a couple of years ago. I was in my apartment and heard a commotion and walked outside to find the Police and my neighbor and his wife standing next to my car.

And yes. I was guilty. I had gotten home unusually late the night before and had carelessly pulled right up tight to him; almost touching my bumper to his bumper. There was hardly air between us.

But sheesh, he didn’t have to call the cops on me. Of all the shady things I’ve done in my life, this is when I see the cops? Too much.

I walked up and looked at the bumpers up close. They were not touching.

I looked over at the cop, who was still in his car, and threw my hands up in disbelief.

“Really?” I said, flabbergasted, “this is all a lot of nonsense!”

The cops shrugged, I advised the man to take a breath, gave his wife my sympathies, and walked back into my apartment.

There is just no such thing as communication anymore. Technology has created new ways to talk and it seems that actual face-to-face conversation has gone right out the window.

What a shame.

So today, Baxter delivers this unopened mail to me. I don’t know how it ever got over my fence and into my yard because my neighbor and I have several feet of lawn between our buildings. And I am not even sure if it is his.

But I have a feeling.

So I write a post-it note explaining how his mail was delivered to me by my dog, Baxter, and after confirming his address, I walk over to his building and put it in his mailbox. Maybe it will make him grin.

I walk away feeling a little pleased with myself.

Why be so nice to someone who was obviously wrapped a bit too tightly?

Oh, what the hell. I’ll show him how it’s done.

Neighbors. . . Kindness. . . Nice and simple. It’s an old-fashioned concept.

And I’m helping it make a comeback.  🙂

Categories: Inspiration/Motivation, Kindness & Compassion | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 26 Comments

THE OTHER SISTER

There were four daughters born to my parents. The eldest died of lung cancer at the age of 52. The second eldest took her own life at the age of 39. Then there is me. And then comes my youngest sister who, although very much alive, has always seemed fragile and unreliable.

I was the strong one, the confident, unshakeable, unafraid, independent middle child and the fixer of all things unacceptable or unjustified. And I proudly wore that label for most of my life.

Until it caught up with me.

Until all of that self-imposed responsibility chipped away at my boulder-like core and I began to diminish . . . one small piece at a time, until finally crumbling, when I was needed most.

I am great in a crisis. No kidding. Point me towards an explosion and within minutes, I will assess the situation, determine the damages, and map out a plan of action. Because that is what I do. I fix things.

And I expected no less from myself when my Mom recently suffered some sudden and very serious health issues.

The moment she arrived at the hospital, I went into work mode. I made inquiries, recited the millions of memorized bits detailing her medical history, confirmed information, and ensured that the greatly appreciated hospital staff was doing their jobs.

I did not know it, but that was the easy part.

What I did not anticipate was the change in Mom’s behavior. It was due to hospital psychosis, a temporary psychiatric condition that affects many older patients who become hospitalized. I learned that it is an elderly patient’s involuntary negative reaction to the overstimulation, confusion, and unfamiliarity of a new and hectic environment, coupled with the debilitating effects of their physical ailments. Its symptoms present in irrational and sometimes violent behavior such as hallucinations, depression, attempts to climb out of bed, removal of intravenous tubing or other devices, paranoia, fear, or a demand to return home.

And Mom delivered it all . . . full blast. And man, was I unprepared. And ill equipped. Even though I knew that this new condition was not her fault, I reacted badly.

I suffer from bipolar disorder. (Read, “Being Bipolar” at: http://wp.me/p2ckKM-hF ). I am hypersensitive to sounds, my brain obsesses, races, and rarely stops, I’m over-emotional and often prickly and annoyed. Hospitals, grocery stores, and nightclubs are three of my most difficult environments, in terms of sounds and the frustrations and difficulties of interacting with the public.

Now, take the unique ingredient of hospital ambiance: the bright, harsh lights, the steady barrage of sounds – like beeping machines, sounding alarms, blasting intercoms, and the boisterous staff who assume that everyone has a hearing deficiency, and add to that the challenges of having bipolar disorder, and then add to that the stress of a critically ill family member who now suddenly seems out of her mind . . . and what you have is the perfect recipe for a mental breakdown.

Mine.

I am not kidding. I am terrified that I will awaken one morning in unfamiliar and padded accommodations and not know how I got there. I’m pretty sure that’s how it happens – you just awaken in that room. I don’t think you feel it coming on. And if so, it probably feels something like this.

I remember standing, trembling, in the doorway of Mom’s hospital room. She was on a ventilator and could not be sedated because of her dangerously low blood pressure. She was highly agitated and was trying to remove the vent. She was still irrational the day after its removal and was demanding to leave.

Everything negative and bipolar triggered in me. Even though I knew that Mom could NOT help it, I was angry with her for being difficult and for struggling. I was horrified at the tubing, the fluids, and the sound of the ventilator and her gurgling. I felt tortured by the alarms that went off each time she tried to sit up. I resented that she had not taken better care of herself. Hell, I even resented her for being old. And then I really saw her . . . looking so thin, frail, and helpless, and I hated myself for feeling as I had. The guilt was overwhelming. I wanted to run away and hide. Or to just die.

I watched Brenda, my remaining sister, the younger less competent one, as she stood at Mom’s bedside and gently held her shoulders down while explaining to her why she could not leave. She stroked her hair and lovingly whispered her reassurances. And Mom quieted.

Hysterical and unable to bear it, I went home and cried myself to sleep.

But Brenda stayed at Mom’s side and calmed her down, over and over again, throughout the entire long night.

The next morning, I arrived early to find my sister exhausted, but still there.

I hugged her and began to cry.

“All this time . . . I thought I was the strong one. But I was wrong. You are. I have never given you any credit for anything. I have always criticized you and judged your choices. I am so sorry. I was wrong. I didn’t know.” I said.

In the days since then, Brenda and I have talked more and have become closer. We know that when it comes to the medical care and daily living assistance now required by my reluctant, stubborn, and sometimes selfish parents, we both have different strengths. I am the one who remembers every single medical detail, handles the quick decisions, and ensures a plan of action; and Brenda is the one who is patient and compassionate. She is the understanding and calming force, the one that gets my parents to listen and to accept. After all, none of my action serves any good if they will not listen or receive our help.

I was the fixer for way too long. It was impossible for me to learn anything new because I already knew it all; I had the answers to everything. My ears were not listening and my mind was not open. Nor was my heart.

But I have corrected that.

Mom is currently, somewhat stable. But she is not well and she is not out of the woods yet. We have a long journey of unknowns before us.

And I am suspecting that along with bipolar disorder that I may be suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder. I have seen first-hand, too many dead bodies, sat with too many dying ones, and witnessed too many collapses and injuries. The images flash through my mind. I jump out of my seat if someone twitches. My heart races if the phone rings. And I cry the moment I open my eyes in the morning. I do not know how long this level of anxiety can be sustained or this constant stream of adrenaline can be tolerated before something in me just . . . goes.

But I am trying to take care of myself. I have an upcoming appointment with my therapist, and meanwhile, I have learned to say a few things I have never said before:

  • “I have a mental illness. I am bipolar. I can’t handle someone else’s instability.”
  • “No, I am sorry, but I can’t do that”.
  • “Please, help me”.

And I am not alone anymore.

I have some really terrific friends who love and accept me, keep me in check, and sometimes can even make me laugh; they are good medicine .

And I have a really wonderful and compassionate little sister who steps up to the plate and accomplishes what I cannot.

Her name is Brenda.

She is the strong one.

Categories: Bipolar/Depression, Family, Inspiration/Motivation, Kindness & Compassion, Mental Health | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 41 Comments

WE ARE ALL RESPONSIBLE

I had a brief unpleasant encounter with an obnoxious drunk person at a social thing recently. He kept punching me in the arm, and he loudly got right up to within inches of my face. Others dealt with him pretty well and seemed able to shrug him off; I could not.

I have tried to let it go. But it won’t go . . .

Why?

Because I suffer from BIPOLAR DISORDER and the encounter rattled me and then took hold. It triggered my latest downward spiral and I am having a really hard time pulling out of it.

A few moments of someone’s drunken stupidity messed with my state of well-being and opened up some old “mean-drunk” wounds and memories of abuse. Not to mention the effort and energy it took for me NOT to smack him and tell him to grow the fuck up.

Being exposed to these careless kinds of people really takes a toll on me, and I’m beginning to think I need to stay home and isolated from the rest of the world. And that breaks my heart.

Honestly, I love to party as much as the next gal does, maybe more even, and I understand that not all of us deal with our problems in the same way, but aggressive and intrusive behavior is just not acceptable.

A few weeks ago on Facebook, I witnessed a friend bully someone who she knows has mental health issues. She disagreed with his inappropriate and offensive post so much, that she jumped on him HARD . . .  and she became an abuser. Afterwards, I asked if she thought her behavior would affect his mental well-being and she said that she could not be responsible for how someone reacts to what she says.

Bullshit.

We are ALL responsible for our words and actions and how we affect those around us. Seriously, do you think your right of free speech entitles you to say anything to anyone, and not be held accountable?

Double bullshit.

Almost a week later, I finally forced myself to leave the house and decided to deliver three crocheted afghans I had made for some friends. I put each into a white garbage bag, attached a note, and threw them into the car.

bags of afgans                 

I drove to Trenton and stuffed one in the door of a friend, and left. I then crossed the Grosse Ile Bridge to deliver the next one.

GI FREE BRIDGE

Afterwards, while crossing back over, a thought crossed my mind.

“I could drive off of this bridge right now. Today could be the day I drive off of the Grosse Ile Bridge.”

Although the thought was hardly a consideration, and I couldn’t actually drive off of the bridge even if I really wanted to because it has long been reinforced with concrete barriers and high railings, I glanced at the last remaining bag in the front seat.

afgan in bag

“I can’t”, I thought, “She would wonder why everyone got their afghan but her.”

The thought seemed silly and I almost grinned.

But I didn’t.

Because the truth was right there . . . teetering on the edge.

My point?

No matter your intentions or how your words come wrapped, in spirituality, positivity, in the name of everything love and light, in your own cloak of self-absorption or instability, or even wrapped in the name of God, you had better be careful with them. Because you are responsible for your impact on others.

That’s not my opinion. That is the truth.

Although I won’t go so far as to say that someone else is liable for my action of, say, driving off a bridge, I will take the leap and say that they can certainly be the car behind me, riding my rear bumper and giving me that extra little nudge into nothingness.

We are all responsible for what we do and what we say. We have the potential to cause pain. Everyone affects everyone else.

I completed my goal that day, safely making all three deliveries, and later that evening, I wrote my daily post-it note for my “2013 Kindness Jar”.

note glasses pen

Categories: Inspiration/Motivation, Kindness & Compassion, Mental Health | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 31 Comments

MY KINDNESS JAR

This is my 2013 Kindness Jar. mixed nuts

Each day I will write a note about a kindness, a good thought, or an inspiration and I will put it in this jar.

At the end of the year I will read all 365 notes and see how I have done. At the very least, for a moment or two each day, I will focus on something positive long enough to write it down.

And that is a good thing.

I found this container at my Grandpa’s house after he passed away several years ago. I use it for post-it note-ideas, but will empty it to make room for all of the upcoming daily bits of happiness.

Notice the jar’s label. Appropriately named. Just for me. Ha ha. You gotta love it.

mixed nuts upclose

2013 is going to be a great year.

And this nut wants to ensure that she takes a moment out of every single day to notice and appreciate the good things.

So here goes . . .

And Happy New Year, my friends! Thank you for your laughter, inspiration, support, and comfort. You mean the world to me. Please be safe and be well.

Until next year . . .

(p.s.  This is not my original idea. I saw this idea of a jar online, tweeked it, made it mine, and ran with it!)

Categories: Inspiration/Motivation, Kindness & Compassion | Tags: , , , , , , , | 27 Comments

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