Fingerprints

I woke up this morning to the steady beat of rain pattering against my window. On mornings like this, all I want to do is sleep the day away in my warm, cozy bed- but, as they say in show biz, “The show must go on, Toots!” Well, unless it snows or there is a chance of snow for that matter, then, the whole city shuts down and only the brave souls with hefty auto insurance plans get out of their houses. Anyway, I reluctantly dragged myself out of bed to go to my mentor’s house for some coffee and food for the soul. I be-bopped up her steps and knocked on her lovely red, wooden door. I waited- no answer. I knocked again. I waited-and again no answer. I decided it was time to implement the use of the door bell. Success! I heard her hurried foot steps drumming down the stairs. Unfortunately there was some miscommunication, on my part of course, and when she greeted me with wet hair and a face covered with shock, I said, “I must have the wrong day.” Since she had to get to work, we agreed to try again Thursday.

Instead, I went to Bruegger’s and headed to school early to see if I could catch up on some homework. It is not impressive that we are only a week into classes and I am already behind. I digress. As I was merrily trucking down the parkway, sipping on my delicious French vanilla coffee, traffic began to slow and back up for at least a mile in the lane of my exit. It seems as though if there is any other element thrown into the driving equation, (rain, sleet, snow, fog, wind, ect.) people go bizerk and immediately forget how to operate a motor vehicle. Carrying on. I decided it would probably be quicker to take the long way. Getting off on the “long way” exit, there is a spy store, which always catches my eye. Perhaps it is their alligator mascot who is dressed in a trench coat, spy hat, and has a magnifying glass in his hand tracking footsteps. But, I think it is probably the mysterious tinted black windows, which do not allow you to see what the contents are on the other side. I think it is human nature for our interest to automatically be piqued by something we have to figure out. My itch to satisfy my curiosity usually gets me into trouble. I want to know so badly what is behind those black windows, that the itch is almost too much to bear. Nonetheless, I looked over at the shop and saw that the marquee read, “Finger print cards sold here.”

It doesn’t take much to make my mind start rolling. While I was stopped at the red light, I looked down at my hands and examined my fingers. I studied the swirly, ridged patterns that are uniquely mine. I thought about how many works of art I created out of these prints. “Oh, look how sweet! You made a flower out of your hand.” “Isn’t that just adorable?! You made a turkey out of your palm print and your fingers are the feathers.” I think I have a sweatshirt with a reindeer made out of my footprint for the face and my hands as antlers for every year that I was in elementary school. But not only are your finger prints tools for art class, they are also personal identifiers.

I began replaying scenes from movies where they bring criminals in to have their prints taken, or investigators finding finger prints at the scene of the crime. It is so amazing to me that you can identify a person just by these squiggly lines on your fingers. Then, I thought about how everything you touch- there your finger prints are etched. I mentally went through a typical day and what all I touch; my alarm clock, kitchen appliances and dishes, my tooth brush, my wardrobe, my phone, door handles, computer keys, car keys, radio player, workout equipment, and the list goes on and on. But most importantly, I touch the people around me- with every high five, fist pound, hand shake, hug, and kiss.

To me, your fingerprints are your legacy. They are what you leave behind, no matter how large or small the impact. I want my fingerprints to be found all over the lives of my family and friends.  I want my fingerprints to be on the important things in life and not wasted on the insignificant things of this world like money, social status, career, and the endless pursuit of stuff. For where your fingerprints are, your heart will be also. So, my legacy will be my finger prints and the evidence will be imprinted on the hearts of the people around me.

Bridge to Reconciliation

I feel like everyone has their ideals of how relationships, that is any kind of relationship: family, friend, romantic, acquaintance- should be properly maintained. And with each of these types of relationships, there is a specific level of responsibility.  A certain amount of effort is put forth with how much you value that relationship. Relationships are the mutual agreement to let your guard down and allow yourself to be increasingly vulnerable with the other person(s) in congruence with the depth of the relationship. You are constructing a bridge from your heart to their heart- a passage way into your deepest most thoughts, feelings, and dreams. Relationships can be lovely and bring great joy to your life, but when they are not properly cared for, they can bring such despair that you wish you were the tin man from the Wizard of Oz- hollow on the inside.  In short, building and maintaining a relationship is tough work! This is no new concept. Throughout history, you can see the rise and fall of nations due to a relationship gone sour. Everyone knows how difficult the task is in the architecture of intertwining the hearts and emotions of two people, and increasing that number, ensures that things are going to get tangled.

Today, two of my girlfriends and I had breakfast at Shea’s Express- catching up on the ins and outs of each other’s lives- mainly the relationships that have come and gone over the past couple of months. The conversation took some twists and turns, until eventually, it came to a bridge, where we began discussing the art of bridge burning. I have had my fair share of broken relationships in which I happily took the kerosene can and slathered that bridge down from end to end- then, with a vindictive smile, I would strike the match and torch it to the ground, n’er to return. I was an arsonist armed with bitterness. The pleasure I received from this fiery act was always short lived though. And actually, it brought me more trouble- in other relationships, as well as anguish within myself.  

I recently read the quote, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” This resonated so loudly in me. I can testify, first hand, that this saying holds true. A woman will stop at nothing to appease her vengeful soul! A woman’s heart is not to be toyed with- it is to be cherished and cared for with the utter most delicacy.

Not too long ago I had a relationship go awry, where I felt as though I was an Aztec sacrifice and my heart was ripped out from my flesh still beating. Needless to say, fury welled up in me like water to a dam. Not saying that this execution was not for the best. Sometimes, relationships need to be severed, but that does not mean that it is any less painful or that the wound is not left gaping for all to see. And what makes matters worse is when your lives are so intertwined that all ground is common ground making relationships with mutual friends strained. So, what do you do? Well- I am still trying to figure that out, but one thing I know for sure, burning bridges shore to shore is not the answer La Roux. If I have learned anything from my past, it is the sweetness of reconciliation. Sometimes people need time apart to grow, and then later, can be brought back together as if nothing had ever gone wrong. This I know to be true. So, if you are like me and are bearing the burden of a broken relationship, put down the gas can and matches, and embrace the power of reconciliation.