Southern Nights

On the beach somewhere in Florida! Chillin’ out after passing Nursing School and the Boards I suspect!

Have you ever felt a southern night? Growing up in Alabama, I had the distinct privilege of touching, feeling, smelling, and living it. Back roads run through my blood. I travel along those rural roads that lead me straight to family and friends. Bringing back a simpler time, but also a mysterious time. What did my life have for me to hold? What was my particular destiny?
The mind is a powerful thing. It is unlimited. It is pure if you let it be. That is what is so beautiful about it. In Greek studies, reason was looked upon as divine. It was the glue and the influence to today’s thought processes on God and theology. Greek thought may have had some quirks, but it did help lay some foundation for where we are today.
My first big life choices evolved a southern night. Good thinking tends to happen when life itself is looked upon in simplistic fashion. It does not mean you do not weigh all the facts you have, but rather you include your emotional state in that equation. Logic may not always win. In my case, I can see mostly decisions based on logic, but those decisions were based on good people around me giving their share of praise to me and allowing me to feel a sense of purpose in my life.
Once I was on the back-end of a decision made by my superiors when I was employed at a hospital. The hospital leadership decided that all the nurses needed to rebid for their positions. This was a scary time for everyone because many nurses thought they were going to lose their job.
For whatever reason, I was concerned, but not overwhelmed by this crazy tactic being utilized by my employer to get rid of employees. I had a lot of seniority and it is what kept my position intact. Why do I bring this up? Essentially because a good leader would never do this to his team of employees. He would bring everyone on board so that folks do not think they have been hit over the head with a two by four.
This brings me back to my southern nights. It was those nights that brought me back down to reality. The memories of that simpler time reinforced my sense of purpose. It brought me rest and peace in my mind when all hell seemed to be breaking out in front of my eyes. Those southern nights have served me well. I hope you too can find your “southern night” and let it be an important part of your thought processes. It is no fun to be out in the dark and left without inspiration.

Wild Walls

Walls are a part of our lives in one way or another. There are the walls of your home and then there are the invisible walls people put up to close off the world. Both have the same distinction to protect a person from intruders.
When I was 14 years old, there was an enclosed tunnel made out of cement that I had to walk through everyday to get to school. The typical teenage writing was on it’s walls with some girl writing her undying love for some guy. It was a mystery to me that someone would want to be writing about love on a cold, damp wild wall. Yet here I was captured each day by its graffiti. There was no way to walk around it. It was the only way to school.
Reminded by my conscience that writing on a wall is destroying someone’s property, I never engaged in this activity. I did not want to wrangle with words that someone else would read anyway. It seemed pointless and leads to someone reading useless crap. Yet I wanted to write something, but not empty chatter as was the case with 90% of what was written on those stone walls.
One particular day I stopped as I was exiting the tunnel and said to the walls, “Give me 14 more years and I will show you something!” I then turned away from that tunnel to never walk through it again. It was my last day of junior high school.
As I have aged my childhood now holds some sacred truths. I learned that writing is good even if it is graffiti. Here I was a lonely girl holding on so long ago to those walls. They became a part of me without even understanding their impact. Every 14 years in fact I have taken stock of what I could show those walls.

Local newspaper clipping from my teenage years playing softball. Childhood memories are so important to who we become later in life.