Unabridged Version

With presents packed into leftover retail bags placed strategically in the trunk, and a homemade potato dish releasing its scent throughout the entire vehicle, we headed out for our traditional holiday travel destination. After several minutes of temperature control adjustments made solely through indirect comments from each traveler indicating an uncomfortable state, the radio's tunes and the repetitive sound of the tires on pavement began to lull me into an isolating fog. Although every now and then the voices in the front seat pulled me off my train of thought, I mostly found peace in my stare out the back seat window.

I have found that my travels in the back seat of a vehicle allow me to really see my surroundings. Not that I do not physically see the same things when in the front passenger seat, but I feel as though my obligation to the driver as a companion of sorts somewhat distracts me from the immediate environment's details. In addition, the front seat experience does not allow me adequate processing time to appreciate these details as I feel I could. This holiday was no different.

While riding along, I saw rearview windows blocked completely with beautifully wrapped presents; brightly colored paper and metallically shiny bows. I saw dogs of all kinds moving frantically back and forth in their spot of the vehicle, pacing almost with a curiosity of the excited energy spilling out onto the roads this very day. There was an older man and a boy walking alongside an outer road, bundled up from head to toe, holding hands and moving forward with intention. There were even other faces in the backseat of cars looking out into the world with expressions that, too, symbolized inner reflection and thought. With each passerby, I couldn't help but wonder about his or her story; who are these people, really? Even within my own traveling vehicle, I wondered this very question.

A couple weeks ago, during my visit to Barnes and Noble, I was meandering through the Bargain Books section of the store. It was then that I came across several unabridged collections, and the very notion of my own unabridged version; the unabridged version of Rachelle. Does anyone really know this version of me? Do I?

There are so many aspects of our life, while maybe not forgotten, are certainly edited…removing the raw experience and all the emotion and thought associated…so that we may move forward and focus on the now. It seems that holding on to each and every detail of the past would cloud the present and future; maybe making the ability to grow a struggle in itself, if not impossible. But even in the chance that we truly know and embrace the unabridged version of ourselves, is it even possible to share it with another? This then begs the question, "Do we really know each other?" I sometimes think I know just as much about my own family as I know about the stranger in the back seat of the vehicle passing by. Yet, somehow, the titles and frequency of exchange have convinced me otherwise…despite the lack of personal disclosure.

Birds on a Wire

Here it is; the official first day of winter. And, I can honestly say, I have spent an abnormal amount of time today trying to stay warm. According to the weather folks, it is negative-something degrees outside. And whenever the weatherman says, “Minus,” I automatically visualize my important limbs…minus fingers, toes and the tip of my nose. At one point today, I was actually wearing my stocking cap…INSIDE my apartment.

My heater is on. I stare at my fireplace imaging warmth since I ran out of heat-producing materials a couple days ago and have yet to acquire more. I have even placed a down comforter on my couch for cocoon-like preservation when in a non-movement state of being. None of this, however, has seemed to alleviate the arctic tundra that is now my living environment (and I’m pretty sure the Ben & Jerry’s I had for dinner didn’t help any either). Maybe I just have a cold? If so, I’d like to trade it in for a warm! All joking aside, the colder weather has definitely affected the behaviors of all living creatures near and far.

Every morning on my way to work, I can’t help but notice a flock…maybe a group…possibly a collection of birds that gather on a particular telephone wire. While I cannot be certain it is the same birds every day, I can be certain of their presence; same place, same time…approximately same amount. It might even be the exact same amount, although I have never taken the time to count.

Just last week, I noticed a slight change in the birds’ placement. They were closer together. It was as if they were snuggling to stay warm on their wire. I chuckled and thought to myself, in tough times even the birds stick together. They do what they have to for survival; for a better existence.

This thought just happened to coincide with a demanding time at work. With the help of a new computer software system, coupled with a traditionally busy time of year, our office staff was buried in task with little to no end in sight. It almost seemed hopeless. But just when emotions were running high, our leadership rallied the departmental troops. And with a couple days of cross-training, and a few more days of hard work, the office load was tackled. What would have taken weeks to finish, was completed in days.

Just like the birds gathering for warmth, this teamwork effort exhibited in a time of crisis brought me great joy. It truly is amazing what can be accomplished when living creatures work together for the greater good. Anything is possible. Although this time of year usually makes me overly sentimental, these kinds of actions make my heart sing year round. I truly believe that when we allow love and kindness to rule our actions, we leave less room for the stuff that prevents us from greatness. Collectively, our greatness is redefined.

My Cheatin' Heart

After I parked my car, I hesitated briefly before reaching for the door handle to exit. Was I really going to do this? Will I really be able to enjoy myself? The uneasy feeling, although subtle at first, was now penetrating my thoughts loud and clear. Surely the sensation I will experience after walking through those doors will be worth this initial guilt.

As I approached the doors, I found that the excuses I had made for my behavior in this moment during the walk from my car to the entryway were starting to work. I was getting excited. Once my feet crossed into the environment that brings me so much pleasure, I let go of all my worries. That is, until I was asked for my proof of commitment.

Almost instantly, my smile vanished. The excitement was replaced with shame. I glanced down into my wallet and saw my true companion staring back at me. It was in that moment, when my eyes looked longingly at my Borders Rewards Card, that I vowed to never step foot in Barnes and Noble again (no promises). I paid for my soy milk Chai Tea Latte with a simple debit card, knowing in my heart that refusing the acquisition of a Barnes and Noble Rewards Card was the right thing to do. This was a test of my loyalty, and I think I can confidently say that I passed with flying colors…minus the part of seeking another’s companionship, spending time and money happily.

While it is clear that I didn’t truly have hesitations about venturing into a Barnes and Noble, it IS true that I would have preferred a Border’s experience. And that got me thinking about the impact of our preferences on limiting new experiences. Is it possible that our preferences are formed more out of habit than pleasure, with pleasure deriving from comfort? Sure. Is it also possible that our preferences are formed strictly out of comparison of isolated experiences? Of course. In conclusion, as long as my preferences don’t falsely impact another experience negatively and are open to being replaced, I will continue to enjoy them as such.