Money or the Mind

How often have we heard that, “I’d like to do my own thing, I just don’t have the capital’? There goes another dream that might have been an inauguration waiting to happen.

I was sharing with a friend that I was contemplating setting up my own outfit: ” but do you have the funding?” was the inevitable first question. I said “No” and I averred that funds were the least of my problems.

My mind is what I have to contend with. In conversations with it,it’ll,at times,tell me “This dream,Chris,that you say’s in your heart is awesome and you should go for it.It’s about time someone did it!It might as well be you.” then when I’m just getting used to the inspiration that’s filling my heart,then it says,”who the *@#% do you think you are Chris to think that you can do this?You are just a loser!”

Again, I believe what it’s telling me. Either way,It’s oh so convincing.’Yes,we can!’,’Dare to Dream’,’Anything’s Possible’.Those thoughts are quickly vanquished by self doubt.My mind quickly becomes my best friend turned greatest enemy.

This is especially when I am asked to ‘be realistic’ or ‘start small’ when this wide chasm separating bondage, fear on one side to freedom,love, happiness, prosperity, joy,whatever on the other, can only be crossed with one giant leap of faith.

So, my friends, availability of funds is really the least of my concerns.

Eulogy vs Resume

I confess that I dread eulogy readings at Kenyan funerals.(in truth, they are the only ones I’ve ever attended).They are almost always CV recitals.They tell you what they DID not who they ARE.I know this is sensitive and I know we want to remember only the best of the dearly departed.

In the spirit of keeping it real,I’m writing my own eulogy just like I do my own CV.Only difference is that the eulogy will bring out the bumness as well as the greatness.With the CV,only greatness.An eventual interview usually brings out the bumness.I hope to read it out before that inevitable event.

Why?you may ask.Well,because eulogies,Kenyan style,like,say, autopsies do not benefit the ones to whom they are bestowed.And,trust me,at my funeral,I definitely will not be auditioning for anything.

I’ll even take it further…I am now taking it upon myself,a resolution if you will,to authentically acknowledge at least one person and their greatness on a daily basis.

Yeah,that’s worth living,and,yes,dying for.

The Power of Forgiveness

“Please forgive me. I promise it won’t happen again.”
If those words were an airline’s slogan then I was a frequent flyer, and the whole world seemed to be the travel agent and my sister was my favourite one.
I resented my sister for a very long time; A very very loong time. I have heard it said that resentment is a poison I take hoping that the other person dies. I had died a thousand times when it came to my sister.

The road to forgiveness started when I was sick and tired of playing the victim role or of taking too much poison; and the more poison I took the more she seemed to thrive. I just couldn’t understand it until I started owning my resentment nay hatred. I went into therapy to figure out why I was so angry. I had turned a new leaf in my life, given up the drink, embarked on what seemed an adventurous exciting journey and yet I was still angry at every one, at my sister especially. I couldn’t understand it at all. I had owned my alcoholism and besides, the stuff that I had done was now in the past .Or wasn’t it?

I was increasingly thankful that I didn’t have to hear my words always countered by her “Until when? You are sorry until when next?” I discovered that I had resented the fact that she was my disciplinarian as well as being my sibling. I always felt the justice meted on me was always harsh and did not match the misdeed. I hated her and I was afraid of her. Fear and resentments certainly shut out any peace of mind and hopes of a contented sobriety. I needed help. More than that, I wanted help. The anger was too much and violence was no longer an option. It had got me locked up before.

In therapy I realised that my anger, legitimate or otherwise, was eating me up, it was killing me. I didn’t want to die, not just yet; I had just gotten a new lease of life and I was determined to live it out.

My family denied and continues to deny that I was abused by my sister through her “discipline”. To this day I hear that word, I shudder.

But lo and behold, I prayed, I cried, I made my amends; I said “I am sorry” for the last time when I knew I meant it; I journalled a thousands of pages, I read the self help books, I attended support meetings, seminars, I shared and shared and shared, I lost hope countless of times. Until the breakthrough.

I forgave. I was free at last. I have no claims, and hold no grudges. We are not the greatest of friends but she is now my sister and I her brother .As it should be. As it should have been. I do not regret it all now simply because I learned the power of forgiveness.

The freedom of this true power is she does not realise what it has taken, what I have been through. Maybe one day I will share with her, right now, I don’t need to. Because, I now accept it was all about me; after all I was the one drinking the poison not her.

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