Tag: life

Thought of the Day

Gratefulness does not equal Contentedness

L.J. LaBree

A lot has been on my mind lately.

As well it should be, in my opinion. With the frustrations of the current Administration, the volatile nature of the rest of the world, and the constant feeling of being creatively burnt out, it’s quite understandable to feel as stressed, worried, and conflicted as I do.

If someone were to come up to me and claim to be calm and completely relaxed, I would wonder if said person were either in utter denial, under some heavy form of (insert something witty here), or worse, they had a hand in the chaos.

That being said, I have had several people tell me I should be grateful for what I have in my life. I’ve even heard some tell me some version of “be happy with the life you have” (cue the Disney’s Moana song, Where you are, playing loudly in the background. If you haven’t heard of it, I suggest giving it a listen.)

Yet, something keeps nagging at me from the back of my mind, as if it were some kind of gentle poking at the base of my skull – not painful per se, but very, very annoying.

To be honest, there is nothing wrong with being grateful with what you have. I am much luckier than most people in my generation!

For example, I have two parents who are supportive in everything I do, they would more than welcome me back into their home (free of rent, I might add – even though I have offered to pay more than once!), and allowed me to do whatever I needed to do to make my dreams come to fruition. I have known quite a few fellow Millennials whose parents have either demanded they pay rent, as well their share in utilities, or denied them from moving back home at all. I’ve even heard of some whose parents demand they perform all household chores themselves as a form of punishment for having the audacity of “failing” at their first crack at the world.

And yet, I can’t help but to feel as though this way of thinking is more detrimental than intended. Yes, I am grateful for my parents and the opportunities I’ve had in my life so far. I’m also grateful that I live in a time where I have the rights to vote! Yet, there is still so much more I want to do, see, and experience in my life.

I’ve since then come to the conclusion that many often confuse the word “gratefulness” to equal the word “contentedness”.

Again, I point to Disney’s Moana as a prime example. Her people sing of how happy and grateful they are with their lives, even going so far as to sing “Who needs a new song? This old one’s all we need”. In other words, they equate gratefulness to contentedness and encourage Moana to believe the same. And yet, there is that nagging feeling of foreboding they all feel – the crops failing and withering, no more fish to catch in their lagoons or any other parts of the island. They know something is wrong. And yet, they all try to avert their eyes and try to fix the problem with gratefulness and continuation of the same thing they do every day.

Just because I am grateful for the life I currently have, does not mean in any way shape or form that I am content with said life. And maybe, this life is not content with me.

Think of it this way: If we were to equal the two words to one another, and believe that everyone should be content with their lives, then nothing would ever be accomplished ever again. If doctors were content with their current methods of healing, then medical breakthroughs would never be discovered. If innovators were content with the way things were in life, inventions such as the steam engine, motor vehicles, and computers would never have been created.

When new problems arise, we need to look beyond what is in front of us – to see what is beyond the known – in order to figure out a new solution.

And in order to do that, we need to not allow contentedness to get in the way.

Thought of the Day

Who Left Hell’s Doorway Open??

L.J. LaBree

I knew this would happen.

It happens every year – everything’s spring-like, breezes are carrying scents of lilac and other pretty-smelling flowers, temperatures are a comfortable 60’s to a barely scraping 70, and there’s just enough balance of rain and sunshine to make the gardens grow into a lush paradise.

And then BAAM! Temps ramp up to 90-100’s, the air feels like a thick pea soup in the lungs, and I might as well be a portable always-on sweat faucet.

How? How do I always know that this will happen, and yet I’m always surprised by Summer’s intense presence?

Even as I’m writing this now, I know tomorrow’s the Solstice and official start of summer. And yet, I’ve just spent 15 minutes installing, rather reluctantly, my a/c so I don’t end up dying from heat exhaustion in my third-floor bedroom and cursing the heavens the entire time (which by the way, stays really warm in the winter months. I’ve actually had to turn the thermostat down to a comfortable 64 degrees!)

Don’t get me wrong – I am grateful for Summer and everything she has to offer. I enjoy going to the beach and lounging on the sands while drinking a nice tall glass of iced tea under a giant umbrella. I also enjoy watching the fireflies dance in my parents back yard and getting to catch them with my bare hands. No, I don’t kill them!

I also love the fact that I don’t have to bundle up in 5 layers and trudge around as if I’m impersonating a penguin and having to tread carefully so I don’t slip on ice, and end up slipping anyway!

But would it really be so hard to graaaadually turn up the temps and allow us all to acclimate? Is that really such a difficult thing to ask?

Thought of the Day

A Home is a Home…

L.J. LaBree

Everyone has a place they call home.

Whether it be in a bustling blinking city that never seems to need sleep, or out in the vast valleys of the west, nestled between the forests and mountains beneath a sea of stars, there is a place on this Earth where it feels like it was made especially for you.

Though I am currently in apartment #5 ( or is it 6?), I’m still in search of that one place where I can put my roots.

I’ve thought about it over and over, time and again, and I’ve decided I want a home that’s similar to the one I grew up in: someplace that is in the healing aura of the woods, but not too far away from the city life. A place where I can sit outside in summer nights and listen to the peepers* singing their songs, searching for their mates.

(*a small brown frog with markings to resemble tree bark and makes a loud shrill peeep peeeep noise as their mating call. They often live close to large bodies of water – ponds, marshes, and in my childhood, lakes. Get your mind out of the gutter.)

I dream of a place where I have a large corner fireplace, with a wide open mouth and space to bake bread by the fire. There’s a large plush couch nearby with a short sturdy table, capable of holding giant tea mugs and several thick books.

A wide porch wrapping around the entire house, allowing me to move around and follow the sun’s rays like a cat, or a sunflower. Several rocking chairs sit peacefully in pairs at each direction with a small table in between.

I dream of a room with several plush chairs and a couch covered with several fluffy blankets, each wall covered with books upon books from floor to ceiling.

Several bedrooms are on the second and third floors with enough room to fully stretch out in – not just physically, but mentally as well. Each room has enough space to fit two twin-sized beds, or one king-sized bed with leg room to spare.

The bathrooms (two at the minimum!) will each have the space to fit a claw-foot tub, a toilet with elbow-wide room, and a large sink. There will even be enough space for a small bench and a decent sized linen closet.

I can picture the main bedroom as a behemoth of a room, with a small reading nook in the corner, complete with a small table and a floor lamp.

I can picture the kitchen with tons of counter space, lots of storage, a large dishwasher (which will be a staple in my home), and a fridge large enough to hold an army’s worth of meals. There will definitely be space enough to have a pantry. Maybe even a second fridge. And of course the dining room with a table to seat eight people will be adjacent, complete with chairs that don’t quite match, but go with the style of the room.

The laundry room’s gonna have state-of-the-art washer and dryer, and space for not only a folding station, but for an ironing board as well. And there’s going to be enough room to have an indoor hanging space for sweaters and tops that really shouldn’t be in the dryer.

Of course when I do get a house of my own, some things will need to be compromised. I can only do so much with the actual square footage and how it’s set up. Though I do have to question how some houses I’ve seen while browsing were allowed to be built. Did the architect who built said houses actually live in one? A lot of the rooms did NOT have any functionality at all!

But whenever life gets a little too down in the dumps, or I have days where I just don’t wanna, I often think of my dream house. Because when I think of the place I’ll someday own, I feel a little bit better. And when I feel a little bit better, I can pick up where I left off. I can finish the day.

Thought of the Day

No Two 34’s are the Same I Guess…

L.J. LaBree
Daily writing prompt
What were your parents doing at your age?
View all responses

You ever wonder how similar or different your life is, compared to when your parents were your age? Granted, I’m sure we’ve all thought about this at least once in our lives, but to actually sit down and think retrospectively about it?

In little more than a week, I’ll be turning 34.

It’s such a wild concept – I always knew (and hoped) that I would most likely live until well into my 80’s/90’s, but seeing myself becoming an age I’ve long considered deep into adulthood, it’s absolutely mind boggling. I still have random thoughts of “I honestly didn’t expect to live this long”.

In honesty, I don’t feel like an adult at times. At least, not one who is responsible and has everything figured out.

And thinking about my age, I find myself thinking about when my parents were my age.

When my father was 34 years old, our family was living in an apartment building called The Revere House. I don’t remember a whole lot of that apartment, but I do remember having a pink fluffy rug and a white crib in my small bedroom. I also remember KitKat, our pet cat, used to climb into the crib when Mom and Dad weren’t looking and snuggle with me during my naps.

And suddenly in April of 1994, I wasn’t living in the Revere House anymore. I started living in a larger (purple, obviously) bedroom in the house my parents still own to this day. I think it wasn’t long after when we adopted our dog, Kaydee, from next door.

When my mother was 34, she was busy raising me, 6 at the time, and preparing me for the biggest milestone of my entire short life – Kindergarten. Dad was still working nights as a driver at AG, and would often take care of me during the day while Mom was at work. But with this new opportunity to send me to school, Dad would be allowed to actually sleep during the day, instead of snoozing and having the occasional hazard of me trying to play with his nose while he snored.

Today, I can’t say I have a house. Nor can I say I have a 6 year old to prepare for the next 12+ years of learning and educational opportunities. I also can’t say I have a significant other to help around the house and bring in a double-income. But I can say I’ve accomplished other feats. Feats that are just as important.

I can say I’ve accomplished two Degrees, something only a few members in my family have done. I can say I took a chance and moved several states away without prospect of a job. I’ve written two manuscripts, and working on several more. I ended up working for one of the best educational institutes in the entire world.

Just from those aspects, I can safely say my life is vastly different than my parents when they were my age.

But maybe that’s a good thing? They were 34 in the early 90’s, where boom boxes were prevalent and people were convinced a little thing called the World Wide Web wouldn’t take off. For them, it was a time of peace to raise their daughter the best way they knew how.

And for that, I am eternally grateful. They may not have known it at the time, but they prepared me for how my life was going to be when it’s my turn to be 34.

And someday, I’ll be preparing my children for when they’re 34 too. I can’t wait to see how different their 34 is from mine.