I feel more alive than any other time when I'm in a moment of decision making. I know that the decision I make charts another course of my life. Unfortunately realizing that I'm in one of those moments is usually when the train is leaving the station. By best thoughts are afterthoughts.
I had recently made a decision to follow a certain course and it turned out terribly wrong. In all aspects. So much so that I questioned why I would have been allowed the circumstance to start with. I gained absolutely nothing from the venture with the exception of three pounds and a surmountable dislike of some choice humanity.
I whined and wined with a friend this week and for several hours later I stewed over the situation, mentally vindicating myself of any wrong doing. Even though I had done nothing wrong and my angst fully warranted, I couldn't shake the situation. I felt like there would never be closure and I would always hold a grudge against them for their actions. If it had been 30 years earlier I would offered to share a little Cherokee pride with them.
"It doesn't have to be that way." a little voice says. "Who said that?" Ok, time for my IPOD. Somewhere between Bruno Mars and Anna Nalick it bled through again. "It doesn't have to be like that, maybe you can forgive them." "What? Forgive them?" I dismissed the "Voice" all morning, it kept turning back up like a Palmetto Bug freaking me out each time.
Forgive? I relished the thought with exuberance akin to eating a plate of fried chicken feet. I finally did what I do. Sitting down to the keyboard I typed out what I thought would be a good start at being nice. I vented, let them know exactly how I felt. After reading it over I realized it didn't sound very nice. But, I felt better. As the day wore on, I would creep back to WordPad replacing one word for another. By the time I edited me out of the situation and entered the author and creator, it became easier to do. By the end of the day the visions of their scalp swinging from my totem pole disappeared.
Clarity replaced the angst. It doesn't even matter if I made a point anymore, actually none at all. What does matter is that I was an available appendix. A pawn so to say, submissive to the powers of a creator who could change a nasty situation into something for a kingdom, if I allowed it.
And for now, the little Cherokee Indian in my veins is quieted. One of my favorite stories about ~The Little Indian In Me~ came from a discussion with my granddaughter about our heritage. My granddaughter was 7 at the time. One weekend visit we watched the Disney Classic "Pocahontas." Discussing the movie while driving home, I told her that Pocahontas was real. She replied "I didn't think Indians still lived"
Being a small part Cherokee, I told her "We have a little Indian in us." She was quite thoughtful for the rest of the ride home. Two days later my phone rings and my daughter ask "Mom, what did you tell Abby about Indians?" I ask "Why?" She tells me that my grandbaby had a ~Red~ letter day at school, a note was pinned to her sweater to have her mother call the teacher. She had talked excessively in class and when asked what was going on with her that day, she replied. "I don't know, it must be that little Indian in me."
