To be Humble and Tolerant

To be Humble and Tolerant
Image provided by Myra Khawar

After my last post, in which I discussed arrogance along with some other attributes that usually aren’t too pleasant, I thought a discourse about humility and tolerance was in order.

I’ll stand up for myself when I feel I’m being wrongly accused–in most instances that is. Every time I’ve waited for someone to stand up for me, I’ve been sorely disappointed. But is my action the right one to pursue? Are all those situations so dire I must make sure I’m not misunderstood or blamed? Why can’t I accept lowliness?

I was taught, from the time I was a little girl, to be self-reliant, truthful, and persistent. There isn’t a time I remember when I was advised to be  unassuming or allow anyone to take advantage of me.

I’m extremely modest about many personal aspects, but I do lack meekness. I like being courteous and respectful. Acknowledging a person’s better qualities and being kind makes me feel incredible. And, let’s face it, reverence and manners are necessary in order to get along with people.

Nonetheless, the jury is still out on whether humbleness or tolerance are all that worthwhile to have at traits or not with me. Should I wait for someone else to blow my horn for me? Should I readily and blindly assume someone I barely know has the one and only right answer? Should courtesy and respect be doled out like candy on Halloween? I just can’t imagine myself being subservient to anyone or brown-nosing anyone.

Notwithstanding, I should try harder to be tolerant of people’s differences and shortcomings. After all, I’m far from perfect and I do have more than my share of quirks. I can learn so much from people who are different from me, things I could never learn from someone who mirrors me.

During the 1960s and the first years of the 1970s, there was a movement worldwide trying to teach humility and tolerance. Of course, it never would have sold being called such, so it was addressed as love. Both young and old bought into it for a few years. I remember taking friends over to my grandmother’s to listen to her stories about when she was young. My friends were learning something new from someone who was old. Who would think the young would do such a thing? Who would think an elderly person would be so patient? Unfortunately, the movement didn’t create a creed that would last through the years beyond that unique time. People went back to being arrogant, self-absorbed, and deceitful by the corporate years of the 1980s.

Are humans naturally narcissistic and deceptive? This is a possibility, maybe even a probability. Does humility or tolerance have any chance at all of surviving?


Please voice your opinions. Don’t be shy.

“Listen more than you talk. Nobody learned anything by hearing themselves speak.” – Sir Richard Branson


Strung Out on Results

Strung Out on Results
Image provided by Ruben Alexander

I’ve come to realize I don’t put as much emphases on forming a better version of myself as I’m sure I should. Oh, I’ll make plans to do it. I do that all the time. But much more often than not, the plans end up someplace in the dark back corners of my mind.

One of the things I do to prepare these plans is read advice, both blogs and articles. The other day I was reading an article (one of many) about how I should reach for my future and make it happen the way I supposedly want it. The more I read, the stronger I felt about the negativity of the topic.

How much am I missing by continuing to gaze on the horizons of my endeavors? I have this terrible habit of thinking about the actions themselves after I’ve exhausted all thoughts about the finished consequences. The actions involved are more of an afterthought. Has it always been this way for me? I don’t think so, although I’ve had to go pretty far back in my past to remember when I’ve thought about the activity itself first. My guess is that it’s been about thirty years, maybe more. That’s a lot of years of thinking first about the benefit or lack there of instead of really experiencing the task as I perform it.

It’s a dismal state of affairs. The outcome seeking attitude is taking away from the effectiveness and enjoyment of my life, both for myself and the ones I come in contact with. I’m not giving of myself with this sort of behavior. It’s all get, get, get and take, take, take. It’s an awful thing to admit, but it’s true.

The holidays are coming up. When I sit down to one of the celebrated meals, will I be in the moment of that festivity? Or will I be looking at and thinking about the results of the well-laid out food on the linen tablecloth and how I’ll feel after the day is over? I’ll miss out on the camaraderie surrounding the occasion with this type of attitude. The love I may feel will be superficial. I doubt that I’d really appreciate or relishing the time with those I love.

I can’t help but think of life the way it’s portrayed in the classical books, like Sense and Sensibility, A Tale of Two Cities, and Little Women. The authors showed the characters of these stories as actually engaging in life, savoring the very moment they’re standing in. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve lost the capability to really be in the here and now the way those characters are.

Even during a half-hour meditation, there’s a little part of me that is contemplating on what my next task is after I come out of that  abstraction and what that will accomplish. Every minute of my days seem to be filled with deeds not yet achieved, apparently always think about what comes next.  Have I gotten hooked — strung out — on results? What has happened to what is happening right this minute? Has it gotten lost in an invisible void somewhere?

The only answer I can come up with to stop this regrettable behavior is to consciously take the time to purposely put myself into the moment I occupy and pay closer attention to those in my life. I shouldn’t think of this as being difficult or easy to do either. After all, it doesn’t make any difference. The focus is and should be on doing better, nothing else.


Do you focus on the here and now? Or do you center your thoughts on the results?

Life is now. There was never a time when your life was not now, nor will there ever be. – Eckhart Tolle


Dissecting the Science of ROMANCE – chemistry, physics & biology…

I would have wanted to reblog this no matter what day it is. However, with it being Valentine’s Day, it certainly is appropriate.

Makeup & Breakup

In today’s fast paced world, romance is wrapped in gift and once the gift is unwrapped…the mythological cupid flies away with it’s wings. Love is in the air literally. The love relationships are getting corrupted with bribing of materialistic gifts, giving expensive gift for exchange of love…the agenda of gift is endangering the purity of romance in love. It is spiritual and it is emotional, and it is this internal connection in romance that needs no such external coronation.

Is it in our mind or in our heart?

Romance is a state of mind. Inherently paradox, as in prevalent common parlance romance is associated with heart. In fact this is the heart of the matter.

Romance is satisfaction but romance can be frustration. Romance is attraction but it can also be distraction. Romance could be infatuation. Romance could be anticipation. There are opposite forces working in the state of romance…

View original post 1,163 more words

It Was My Black Cloud – part 1

It Was My Black Cloud
Image provided by
zk47 @

I’ve been trying to convince myself that the reason I didn’t writing anything in my blog for this last weekend is because I can’t think of anything worth writing about; and maybe what I tell you here isn’t all that interesting, but a couple of you have been waiting for me to write this. Why have I been avoiding this story? The time was devastating to me, and yet, because of all the years that have passed, I find myself incredibly bored with the telling. What happened to me changed my life so drastically within a blink of the eye.

During the last half of my senior year of high school I dated several guys. Although I enjoyed their company, my thoughts were centered on how I was going to make music a feasible major in college. Let’s face it — having a successful career in music must be one of the hardest things to do, if not the very hardest. I was already sure that I was not going to be a flutist that become a celebrity. I’d be lucky to get one of the first chairs in a city orchestra.

One guy I dated several times during that last semester was Robin. I told my mom that he was nineteen, when in reality, he was twenty-two. I’m not sure why I decided to date him. It wasn’t to rebel against my parents. And it wasn’t because he took me anywhere that guys young than he had taken me. And it certainly wasn’t because I loved him because I knew that I didn’t. He didn’t take me out often, maybe about every six weeks or so. Although he never said, I was quite sure that he had other girlfriends.

After graduation, my plans were to spend that summer at Eisenhower Park on most days and not to have a part-time job for once. I had a strong feeling that summer would never be the same again once I was in college so I wanted to make the most out of this one.

The first day enjoying the pool at the park, I got together with all the friends I had in previous years. There was also a boy I had met five years before, but he hadn’t been around enough to really click with our brood. I was told that one of the guys in our group had a falling out with this other guy. Obviously, whatever was between them had changed for the better. His name was Tim.

Tim and I were the same age, just went to different schools. He was tall and burly, and also sweet and fun to be around. We hit it off right away. On most days, we were spending six to twelve hours with each other. Yes, I was falling in love for the first time.

I knew that Robin would call at some point that summer. Because of the way I felt about Tim, I knew I had to break it off completely with him. The point of that call came on Independence Day (July 4 for those of you outside of the US).


I thought about going on with this story until the end, but I find myself having trouble wording what I was to tell you. I guess I could just tell it like it is but that might be an entire book. I need to condense it. If I don’t do it right, there are going to be misconceptions, which is something I can’t allow for this story. Be assured that I will be back with the rest of this.

Read part 2 here. | Read part 3 here.

My Heart Is At Work

This is the second lesson in the email course, Inner Journey by Writing Bliss. If you missed my first post for this course, you can read it here.

This assignment, My Heart Is At Work, explores emotions through writing.

“When tears come, I breathe deeply and rest. I know I am swimming in a hallowed stream where many have gone before. I am not alone, crazy, or having a nervous breakdown…My heart is at work. My soul is awake.” — Mary Margaret Funk, Author of Thoughts Matter

As it was with the first lesson, I had my choice of which of five questions to answer.


What is the greatest intangible gift given you?

Until I was an adult, even after my son was born, I could not wrap myself around the thought of unequivocal love. My parents told me that they loved me of course, but I lived under the impression that I had to behave in a certain way to get that love. Mind you, I wasn’t getting this notion from my parents per se. What happened was that I would see their frowns when I’d do something I shouldn’t, and interpreted it as ‘They don’t love me now.’

As I grew up, I began to understand that their disappointment didn’t last forever, yet I still, somehow, felt that all love is conditional. I felt this in my first marriage too. Oddly enough, it wasn’t this feeling that broke up our marriage. (I’m still not sure if I’ll ever tell that story.)

During most of the time that my son was growing up, I worried about if he loved me or not. As before, it wasn’t anything that I was actually seeing in him. It was my own interpretation of what love is that was hanging me up.

When I married for the second time to the man that I call ‘Hubby’ here in my blog, I knew what I felt was love. At first, I wasn’t all that sure about him loving me because of this burden I had been carrying around with me for what seemed like forever.

Late one afternoon, I felt that I was losing it. I felt that I was going to explode if I didn’t find a way to release the tension in me. Hubby was already home from work, sitting in the living room watching TV with his daughter and my son. I stood at the west end of the living room close to the kitchen and announced that I had to leave. I said nothing about coming back or where I was going. I got into my car and drove until twilight hit. I sat there in the car that I had driven out of the city to heaven knows where. The tension had finally diminished.

By the time I got home, it was pitch black out. Hubby met me at the back door. He took me into his arms and asked me if I was all right now. My answer was yes of course, but I also added at question. ‘Do you still love me?’ His answer – ‘Of course I do.’ And he hugged me tighter.

To tell you the truth, no one had ever answered that way before. Everyone else would say something like ‘Don’t be silly.’, ‘What do you think?’ and other such lines.

I, now, know that I am unequivocally loved.