K is for Kenya

All my life, like anyone who has ever been to a zoo or seen a movie about Africa, I’ve had a fascination with the magnificent animals. Seeing them in their native habitat was a dream that became a reality in 2005 when Judy and I booked an African Safari to Kenya and Tanzania.

Except for the leopard, the rest of the “Big 5” -- lion, water buffalo, elephant, and rhino -- all showed up.  

Graceful zebras, impalas, and giraffes appeared on a regular basis. 

Our animal-spotting luck held as our knowledgeable guides put us in the exact spot to see the migration of the wildebeest.  

And, one day, we were up close and personal with a pride of lions. The animal life and scenes were every bit as wonderful as I’d anticipated, even more.

But, the most profound experience for me was being on African soil. I’d had no idea the effect it would have on me. 

Stepping off the plane in Nairobi, eager to negotiate through the airport to the baggage claim area, I noticed that the signs were in several languages, including English. That was a relief. Within a short distance, it struck me that everyone who worked in the airport was Black. The bag handlers, airline representatives, customs officers, everyone. I was surrounded by people who resembled me. This had never happened before. I took it all in. Then I noticed feeling an unexpected sense of overwhelming pride and belonging that brought me to tears.

As our days on safari continued, it became evident that many of the Africans with whom I had contact received me a little differently than they did the rest of the folks in our tour group. Workers seemed eager to chat with me.  “How are you liking everything?” several asked. Or, “Is this your first time in Africa?” One morning, a chef at the breakfast buffet set my made-to-order omelet on my plate, smiled and said, “It looks like you have been here before.”

And, indeed, I felt like I’d been there before. The surroundings, language, culture, and customs were different, but it sure felt like home.

~ xoA ~

Clearing the Clutter

From 1995 to 2000,  I was a grad student at  California State University, Bakersfield, in their counseling program. This week, I threw away my masters degree notes and papers. If they had been kids, some of those notes and papers would be old enough to drive a car.

I hadn’t intended to ditch my college notes, hadn’t even thought about them in several years. But, one thing does lead to another, and somehow I found myself doing the unexpected.

Observing that the encroaching clutter in the house was beginning to cause claustrophobia, Judy and I embarked on a marathon sort and purge campaign. I’d snatched long-neglected clothing off the hangers and out of bureau drawers and had taken them to the Discovery Shop, the local American Cancer Society resale store.

Clothing on its way to be recycled

Then, after hauling out everything in my office and three days of going through it, deciding what to keep and what to toss, I took a couple of boxes out to the garage, thinking I’d store them in the cupboard marked “Annis’s Stuff”. There was no place to put them. Every shelf was full. The next thing I knew, the dusty garaged boxes were strewn over the cement floor.  Lids off, or their four corner flaps untucked, the opened receptacles revealed yellowed loose-leaf and typewritten pages, ink-faded 3x5 cards, and rubber bands that had baked brick-hard.

I rolled our large brown garbage can into the garage and began following the “Clearing the Clutter” instructions that I’d written on a card for myself as a psych class assignment in 1996. (Every now and then, that card floats to the surface of my desk.) It reads like this:

* Remember to use the self-instructions while you’re working on those piles.
* Keep going. Don’t stop to READ the papers.
* Throw away or put away the stacks.
* ‘Atta girl! It’s coming.
* Great! That table (desk, floor, shelf) is cleaned off!
* Don’t worry. You’re getting there.

And, I did get there. Heaving and tugging and stacking, ruthlessly getting rid of Statistics 520 and other items that brought back memories of sweat and tears, failures and triumphs. Three hours later, there was space galore on the shelves, and I rolled the full, heavy, hard-to-steer garbage can to the back yard. I was glad I’d been working out at the gym.

Feeling a bit lighter myself when finished, I wondered, Why do we hold onto that stuff?  Sometimes out of necessity? Or comfort? Or just plain forgetfulness? Maybe all of the above.

Office closet -- everything in its place

One thing’s for sure: clearing the clutter feels good. Knowing that I’ve dealt with my stuff, and not left it for someone else to manage, is satisfying. There’s pride in accomplishment when I see the neatly-arranged treasures I’ve kept. Yes, there’s plenty more that needs to go. But, this week I’m on a roll and hitting par. 

How's your stuff? How do you keep it under control?

~ xoA

Standing Proud

Pride (n.) 1. Proper and justified self-respect  2. Pleasure or satisfaction taken in work, achievements, or possessions (American Heritage Dictionary)

Taking pride in our skills, talents, and accomplishments recognizes the unique power that we have within us to affect the world. This is the kind of power that builds communities, cities and nations. It raises children and creates art. This is the power that changes lives and gives rise to productivity in general.

I remember being a kid in the 50’s and hearing adults say that we shouldn’t be too full of ourselves, too prideful. But not our parents. They instilled in us a feeling of pride in achievement. So our self-esteem and confidence grew and more accomplishments followed.

Children are born with this feeling of pride as they grow each day, mastering yesterday’s difficult tasks and performing daunting feats. Then somewhere along the way, often around 3^rd grade, some become reluctant to “show their stuff” and retreat from expressing their pride of accomplishment. Others lost it completely during the teen and young adult years.

Spend a few moments thinking about things that you’re proud of: your heritage, your growth and accomplishments, the obstacles you’ve overcome. Write them down.  Read your list aloud and add to it often. When discouraging times come along, re-read it to remind yourself that you have lots to be proud about.

 Juneau, Alaska, zip-lining adventure

It’s not about bragging. It’s not about being better than someone else. It is about recognizing your successes, great and small, and allowing yourself to feel the glow that being proud brings.

Tell us just one thing that you are proud about?

~ xoA ~