¿Eres Tú Feliz?

¿Eres tú una persona feliz? ¿Eres feliz haciendo lo que haces? ¿O eres mentalmente exhausta o fiscalmente fatiga? Muchas veces existe un sentimiento de estar atrapado en la vida, atrapado por falta de dinero o por falta de amor.

La sociedad nos acondiciona a ver el lado negativo de la vida. Para estar saludables debemos alimentar las emociones positivas. Utilizar afirmaciones nos permite elegir pensamientos de calidad y implantarlos en nuestro subconsciente para sentirnos mejor, combinando el poder de las palabras con el poder de los pensamientos. La expresion ´’no puedo´´ no es apropriada porque nuestras palabras determinan lo que recibimos. Debemos estar preparados para hacer el esfuerza necesaria porque nuestras palabras afectan nuestro desempeño, ellas afectuan el subconsciente y la memoria está ligada al subconsciente. Helen Keller no permitió que el hecho a ser ciega y sorda le impidiera dedicar su vida a ayudar a otros menos afortunados que ella misma. Limitárte a abrir la boca solo cuando tengas algo positivo o constructivo que decir y tu actitud mental va a mejorar en todas las áreas, todos los dios. No nos gusta admitirlo, pero la mayoría de personas criticamos mas que alabamos. Somos presos de la nostalgia, de la melancolía y el abandono, de la culpa y del tedio. No podemos quedarnos allí! Somos portadores de luz. No dejes que el temor o la culpa o la soledad se conviertan en tu amigo porque estas emociones solo vayan a sabotear tu futuro. ¿Cual es la respuesta? Elegir a caminar en amor y perdón. Es una elección. La luz, en donde brilla, tranquiliza el temor, la melancolía y la soledad. En la oscuridad tropezamos y nos caemos, en la luz nos sentimos seguros. Cuando hablamos negativo frenamos todo el poder creativo. Proyectarnos hacia adelante viviendo lo que tenemos con gozo y contentamiento, valorando lo que tenemos y enfrentando ´´gigantes´´ en nuestras vidas, podemos prosperan. No importa lo que hayamos perdido. Date cuenta de quien eres. Estás capacitado para cosas grandes. Tu eres un vencedor. No te dés por vencido. Haz un inventorio de lo que tienes… no te desanimes. No tengas odios, rencores, falta de perdón, envidia, resentimientos, amargura…. rompe ese archivo. Cambie el disquete. Declárate libre de preocupación – la preocupación te mete en un lazo de temor. Di, ´´soy una persona de valor y de éxito. Voy hacia un futuro victorioso. Puedo enfrentar cualquier situación sin temor porque soy un ser libre.´´

Yo sé que el miedo oprime el corazon cuando enfoca en la seguridad y la reputación y cosas cómodas. He sufrido la pérdida de una mano y parte de un brazo  por accidente y tenía un corazón pertubador. Ademas, me crié en un hogar trastornado por alcohol. Cuando enfocaba en mis problemas, mi debilidad, lo que otros me dicen de mi, o me hacen, mi espiritu empieza a marchitarse. ….. Tenía miedo de subirme en un carro…. Y por eso había estado deteniendo a causa del temor. Mi autoestima y mi dignidad habían disminuido drasticamente. Era un tiempo muy difícil. Y sigo luchando. El manejar a veces me llena de temor. Es mi piedra de tropiezo.  Mi corazón late fuertemente y mi boca se seca; escapar o huir es una sensación a lo que sentimos como un peligro, pero necesito escoger…… puedo estar encerrada en una sensación de miedo o puedo hacer cambios significativos en mis pensamientos y comportamiento.

Tu mereces estar feliz y saludable. Atrévete a vivir hoy como el día mas importante de tu existir, dispuesta a ejercer tu libertad. La triunfador ve una oportunidad cerca de cada obstáculo: un perdedor ve dos o tres obstáculos cerca de cada oportunidad. Los problemas pueden  movernos a aprender y ponernos en acción.  Consiste en vivir o existir. Los ganadores hacen mas riesgos que los perdedores….. El que no riesga, no gana. Hay que abandonar la búsqueda de seguridad – los ganadores lo saben.  Esté feliz!


The Story of J.R.

I first met J.R. when we were neighbors living next door to each other on one of the canals in Barra.She had a huge home comprised of two lots, the second lot allowing boat access to the canal by means of a ramp, for her late husband had been a sports fisherman; and her home of two storeys with winding stairwell, elaborately providing for the couple and their pets, was just as unique and as colorful as she was. I liked her instantly when we met each other on the street one day and I asked her for dinner.

It must have been her sense of humor and her wonderful energy that I loved so much – it was not long in our friendship that she let me know that she was 84, and that the word ‘old’ had been stricken from her vocabulary and that I should do the same. J.R. had ‘class.’ She talked to all the Mexicans in town with her New York accent, using her ‘best’ Spanish, addressing her friends with ‘Buenas Noches’. She entered all the shops along the way to the restaurant if my husband and I were taking her to dinner, greeting the merchants in typical Mexican style with a kiss, enquiring about their businesses and their families and picking up and swinging the babies. Her manner of dress was as meticulous as her good manners, impeccable both. What a fine lady. Her dresses and blouses were made of strong white cotton, sometimes embroidered in yellows and reds, and she wore jewellry always matching her outfit, gold on her fingers and heavy baubles on her poor, sagging ear lobes, and necklaces of bright color which stood out prominently against her white Scandanavian skin.To me she seemed like a tropical bird, not only because of the bright colors she wore but because she seemed to take flight in her new-found independence. She was, at the age of 84, discovering who she actually was and what she wanted to be doing with her life. J.R. didn’t have to look after a sick husband any more or endure his abuse. And while it felt good on the one hand it also felt scary. Bill, her third husband, had finally died. When we met J.R. it had scarcely been a year since his death.

During the time we had our house built, J.R. graciously invited us to stay in her suite, a large room off to one side of her entrance.. At first we declined – there were hotels in the area – but she insisted with words and expressions that left no room for debate. We took her to church on Sunday mornings and very quickly she was welcomed into a circle of friendship. The pastor’s sermons fueled her search for meaning, for there was fire in her soul and she was discovering courage to live her life with freedom. She thought of the church body as her family and referred to them with great love.

For a lady of 84 she kept very busy. She became a member of the church board and the Rotary Club. She loved her Spanish classes with me, she loved her bridge game with the girls and she loved her happy hour with Jack Daniels.. She was a Mexican citizen and proud of it, and I think that over the years of living in Mexico she took on Mexican driving habits, for she drove her SUV. so fast that people lept out of the way when they saw her coming. If someone cut her off on the road it produced a string of profanities in Spanish, one of her favorites being ‘pinche pendejo’, or even use of the verb ‘chingar’, the equivalent of our ‘F word.’….. ‘chingue a su madre!’ Sometimes the latter was accompanied by a crude gesture with the fist of one hand raised and clenched. Had anyone else dare say those words to the other driver there might have been bullets flying, but it was sweet little old J.R. When she was angry, cussing was a form of punctuation.

‘Where did you learn those words?’ I asked her one day after a customary road rage attack.

‘From Bill, of course.’

She often spoke to me about him, how he’d invite guests for a Saturday night feast around their wonderful table and how, after they were all sufficiently inebriated, he would ask his wife to tell a story to the guests in Spanish. And with the grace of a lady she complied with his wishes, to tell a little anecdote as well as she could, to the pleasure and amusement of Bill and the guests; for she told a story in a rush of incomplete language, with no verbs – she hated verbs – and with some words better suited to a brothel than an elegant home, a story they found hilarious for the descrepancy between what the story meant and who J.R. was preceived to be.

J.R. had a great vocabulary – this was confirmed in class – but she had developed speed to cover up the gaps and her lack of ability to string the words together in a way that made sense. We had fun with her in class. One student referred to her as a ‘pistol’. Her behavior on the whole though was marked by simple acts of kindness and generosity. And tremendous love. She used to often tell me how much she loved me. That was amazing to me because I knew she meant it. We as women as not invited to live from our hearts, to be who we truly are, so we put on false selves hoping to offer something more acceptable to the world. There are arrows lodged in the place of our identities. With Bill she had survived living under a hail of life’s arrows. He lived a quick-tempered, high-on-the-hog, hard-drinking and volatile lifestyle. He was jealous of her friends and stopped her from seeing them. He thought he was hot stuff – he believed himself to be ‘el ultimo Coca-Cola en el desierto’, the last Coca-Cola in the desert, or ‘la ultima chupada del mango’, the last suck on the mango. And she, J.R., now lives with inarticulated anger and a rift in her heart caused by his abuse.

J.R. suffered a stroke last year. She’s living in Gringolandia with one of her kids. She doesn’t know her friends down here in Barra and Melaque. I picture her at her big dining room table carrying on conversations with her friends, wearing her favorite pearls, forever the gracious hostess. And when she dies, I picture a banquet of wonderful food, with a tablecloth of bright oranges and yellows and reds.

She’ll be free at last.