Doing What I Love

Life is short.  I do what I love.  If I don’t know what I love, I’ll figure it out.  Sometimes what I used to love, I don’t care so much for anymore, and other things that I never dared to try before, I’m finding I really enjoy.  I have to be careful not to put myself or my ideas in a box, else I’m going to miss out on something beautiful, or terrible.

I have to be careful and protect my time, my access, my money, and my tribe circle, because life has a way of putting obstacles between me and what I love.  But, one of the things I’ve discovered in life is – those things I’ve had to fight for, I’ve had to sacrifice for, I’ve had to achieve through perseverance – were much more rewarding and worth the struggle. If it came easy or was given to me, I may have enjoyed the experience, the thing, or the moment, but there’s always this ‘other’ moment that follows all those moments – and that is the moment I don’t want to experience again in my life – and that moment was when I wasn’t proud of what I had received or achieved because it cost me nothing. I didn’t appreciate what it was, because it had no value.  It wasn’t earned.

I sometimes underestimate the value of a thing, an action, or even a person – and think my pride and esteem doesn’t matter, but it really does. It matters a lot.  I would rather be valued, respect, appreciated, and deeply loved than be wanted, desired, or a momentary fascination.  I want those accolades – but I am much better than that. I’m not cubic-zirconium – I’m a hardcore diamond.  I want to be told I’m beautiful, but not because I have a pretty face – but I have pretty, caring, and loving soul. 

The more I value a soul, the more beautiful that person becomes to me.  NOTHING is more beautiful than looking into a pair of eyes and seeing an amazing, beautiful soul.  A kind spirit. A warrior. A great body is nice, a healthy body is even better. But a beautiful soul – transcends the body.

I once fell in love with a man because he had shared a meme with me that said he fell in love with souls, not faces.  That turned out not to be true for him, but for me it’s the very core of my existence, it is the true center of my heart. I could never love someone for a shallow reason like their looks, sex appeal, body shape, or any kind of physically attractive attribution.  Don’t get me wrong – a beautiful sexy body is nice to look at and fantasize about, but my Superman could be a paraplegic like Christopher Reeve – and I would fall hopelessly, deeply, madly in love with him if he had a beautiful soul. It’s just how I’m made and it’s how I love, and I’m on a journey to do what I love, to appreciate the important things in life, because I only get one go around on this big blue orb.

I’m becoming happier and happier every day, because I’m now doing the things I love.  I just had a recent discussion about camping. I love camping. So, guess what I’m going to be doing soon???

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Lovin', and Huggin', and Kissin', and Squeezin'

I grew up with a skewed sense of touch.  I was never hugged as a child.  It wasn’t that my parents didn’t hug their children, my mother couldn’t hug my brothers enough. Perhaps I was an odd child and didn’t allow the interaction on the onset, because she never hugged me. I spent so much of my life angry and hugging just wasn't an acceptable affection.  Everyone that knew me noted my reluctance, earning me a few nick names.  I didn’t trust people, especially enough to let them touch me. 

In school, I was the same way with my friends.  While many of them hugged each other, (I thought it seemed odd to me the way girls were always going around hugging each other) they didn’t hug me, nor did I hug them back.  I’m sure that was also some unconscious decision on my part. I’ve purposefully tried to change that habit over the years, especially since getting published and going to signings and meeting fans. 

I don’t like to be touched on a regular basis.  It took me years to get okay with the people at church, especially here in the Deep South who have no concept of personal space and without permission would just wrap their arms around me and squeeze, to always hug me on greetings and salutations.  Well, quite honestly, I've never become okay with the action.  I just tolerated it because I understood it was the custom.

I don't have to worry about hugging at work, because I an a professional, and professionals shake hands. That’s usually my first response when I meet someone – to push my hand out there.  It serves as both a greeting and a barrier to protect against an invasion of my personal space.

For the twenty years I was married, my husband was a gentle, caring man, but we rarely hugged and never kissed. Yet, he knew the boundaries and knew what forms of touch would calm me.  He had this way of sitting next to me and gently rubbing my arm.  It was a small amount of touch, but it had a huge result, because it would calm me, reassure me everything was going to be okay, and let me know he cared.  There were times I was afraid, and all I needed was that little bit of contact, and my fears would go away. 

When my children were little I covered them with hugs and kisses and told them I loved them all the time.  We used to have these early morning sessions before school where they fought over who got to be beside me and who loved me most.  But as they grew, I apparently taught them to hold back when it came to touching me or showing affection.  Sometimes this hurts my heart.  I know they love and care for me, but somehow I still managed to build this barrier between us. They don’t hug, kiss, or touch me, nor do they tell me they love me. When they do, it's awkward.

I don’t believe I’m opposed to being hugged, touched, squeezed or told I'm loved, but I sure do make it hard. I dream of it often. I desire to be kissed, to be caressed, and to be cherished, to be romantically persued. My fantasies are most often very simple, surrounding the act of being held. There are so many nights I curl into a tight ball and hug myself because I’m scared, lonely, and physically ache for human contact. I have wonderful friends who are always quick to give me words of encouragement when I’m down, and I love them for it.  But the ones I love most can’t put their arms me when I’m scared.  The ones I trust most can’t hold me when I’m hurting.  The ones I desire most are very far away.  Part of me wonders if that too was a subconscious decision. I’ve only ever felt comfortable and trusted one person’s touch, surely there’s another out there.

I know there is something special about human contact.  There’s something special about lovin’, huggin’, kissin’, and squeezin’. I just haven’t found the key to making it a reality, yet. I'm very comfortable being on my own now, and know that I don't need anyone in my life to be happy.  I WANT someone in my life... to hold me. If you have someone in your life you can wrap your arms around, do it, and be thankful.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

The Rumble of Thunder

The rumble of thunder and the tapping of raindrops atop a tin roof stir my imagination, and make me smile.  My sweet, you know the music I love best. Sing to me.  Stir my passions.  Take me away to where only the imagination can travel. Let us dance together heart to heart, soul to soul, spirit to spirit. 

The rumble of thunder and the tapping of keys atop my keyboard stir my imagination, and make me smile.  My sweet, you know the words I need to hear. Write for me.  Stir my passions. Let your prose be birthed from my heart, travel through my veins, and flow from the tips of my fingers. Let us write together heart to heart, soul to soul, spirit to spirit. 

We dance, we write, we laugh, we cry, we kiss, we sigh, we live, we die, together, you and I. 

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray