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What I desire most in life is to live authentically, courageously, and for that, I realize that I have to look fear in the face. I am convinced that I will know dark moments, but I am trusting that a power greater than my own won’t leave or forsake me. The name of this power is love. Love changed and transformed my life in countless ways when I started on the path of authenticity. I think that my family and friends noticed the changes because miracles happen. Love dissolved all the fears by creating opportunities I couldn’t imagine before I began the search to discover and recover my authentic self.

Sometimes doubt, despair, and denial threaten to dismantle my dreams, but love rears up in my protection. When I feel frightened and fragile, I stand very still. One of the hardest lessons I learned was accepting that all fear came from within regardless how extreme the real life’s circumstances.The closer I get to share my dream with the world, the fiercer the struggle to bring it forth because I will be changed and my life will never be the same.

I consider that courage is the fear that has said her prayers and dreams are gifts meant to alter us. The power that gifted me with my dream knows how to help me make it come true in the end.

Emily Bronte said:

“I’ve dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas. They’ve gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind.”

Traducere in romaneste:

Ceea ce imi doresc mai mult in viata este sa traiesc autentic, curajos si pentru asta am realizat ca trebuie sa apuc taurul de coarne. Sunt convinsa ca voi intampina momente grele, dar am incredere ca o putere mai mare decat a mea nu ma va lasa sau uita. Numele acestei puteri e iubirea. Iubirea mi-a schimbat si transformat viata in nenumarate feluri cand am pornit-o pe calea autenticitatii. Cred ca familia si prietenii mei au observat schimbarile deoarece miracolele sunt adevarate. Iubirea disolva toate temerile creind oportunitati pe cale nu mi le-am imaginat inainte de a incerca sa descopar si sa-mi recuperez originalitatea.

Uneori neincrederea, disperarea si indoiala ameninta sa darame visele, dar iubirea imi vine in aparare. Cand ma simt infricosata sau delicata, stau nemiscata. Una dintre cele mai grele lectii pe care le-am invatat a fost sa accept ca toata frica vine dinauntrul meu in ciuda situatiilor extreme din viata. Cu cat ma apropii mai mult de a-mi impartasi visul cu intreaga lume, cu atat lupta de a produce este mai indarjita deoarece ma voi schimba si viata mea nu va mai fi la fel.

Curajul este un fel the teama care si-a spus deja rugaciunile iar visele sunt daruri menite sa ne schimbe. Puterea care mi-a dat mie darul stie cum sa ma ajute sa il realizez in cele din urma.

Emily Bronte a spus:

In viata mea am visat vise care au stat cu mine intotdeauna, si care mi-au schimbat ideile. Au trecut prin mine ca vinul prin apa, si mi-au schimbat modul de a gandi.”

Love,

Carmen Monica

Death, like birth, is part of life. That which is born has to die. It is not easy, and it won’t get easier. Memories buried somewhere among other memories surface, and you wonder why you haven’t thought of that particular moment until you faced death. I lost a parent, a grandmother and a grandfather. Each experience was unique and the feelings terrifying. It only certified that one day I would die too.

My son thinks I will live forever, and that silver won’t touch my hair or that my skin won’t wrinkle. I smile and kiss his eyes. I was in his shoes and thought that I wouldn’t lose the people I loved. First, I was in shock, and then I became furious with the order of things. Finally, I realized that I have to accept it and move on.

Before dying, my mother said that it would get easier in time. I know she meant well, trying to soften the emptiness I would feel after her death. But it didn’t get easier but harder with each passing day. I began missing all the things we used to do together. I panicked when I realized that I couldn’t remember the sound of her voice. I closed my eyes and emptied my mind, and slowly, it came back to me. I remembered the way she used to smile, to smell or to feel when I touched her.

I remembered how grandpa used to make jokes, and how delicious were the sweets grandma used to bake. I used to believe that grandparents and fairy tales belong together. (I still read fairy tales when I want to escape the ugliness in our world.) When I lost my grandparents it felt as if  every tie with my childhood was severed forever. I realized how precious my life was and that I took many things for granted.

Life is truly a gift.Life is about accepting the changes, moving on, and fighting each day to become a better version of the person you were the day before. Life doesn’t come with guarantees or give you everything you wish. You go out there, and put one step in front of the other, and tell yourself that each second is priceless. You will never get back the moment you’ve lost, and if you are very, very lucky, you may get a second chance to right the wrongs you’ve done along the way.

I am a sucker for love stories. I can never get enough and try to find them everywhere.

It is morning already and I sit on a chair, sipping a cup of freshly brewed coffee. I close my eyes for a heartbeat and listen. Birds sing in the nearby trees, insects buzz, the wind barely blows and cars roar on the street. It is quite early, about six, and I am taking my time to sort through my thoughts. Two members of my family are still asleep. The cat and I stretch under the warm summer’s sun. The cat likes hanging up with me, probably considering me one of his buddies. He hates being ignored, and if I dare to do so, he rolls at my feet, waiting for his fair share of stroking. When he has enough, he turns to the door. I know that he is telling me that he will like to go outdoors. He has  trained me well for the past seven years. He leans his small furry head on one side, ears perched, and he waits. A faint meow comes from his throat, and I realize his patience is running low. But somehow I know that he will always love me.

With him gone, I return to my chair and look at the flowers I have in the pots. All of the sudden, I see this tiny bird, not taller than one of my fingers, with a beak as big as its body, flying around me, inches apart from my face. He travels from one side of my face to the other one. I don’t dare to move. “Hi, little one,” I finally say. He looks at me funny. I think he has developed some type of attraction since our “affair” is going on for weeks now. When he sees me coming out of the house, he pops in my face. After our daily ritual of hellos and nice seeing you too, the bird ignores me and turns his attention to the zinnia. An impossible lover! He sucks nectar from the flowers and flies back to the trees. I wonder where his nest is or if he has someone waiting for him.

The bird is gone, and I witness another love story unfolding right under my eyes, between a handsome butterfly and a flower. I discovered that butterflies lived for ten days at the most. I always assumed that the ones I saw every day were the same butterflies. I watch him landing on flowers, wings spread like a colorful blanket. The faint wind tries to separate him from his chosen one, but he stands firm on top of the sprout. After he has had enough, probably got somehow bored, he flies away. He knows that the flower will wait for him. It sometimes happens that the plant dies in about the same time as its admirer, another one blooms, and a newcomer takes his place on romancing the plant.

I tell myself that this is the cycle of life and that there are stories all around us. We just have to give them a chance. Nature and humans are forever connected. They draw strength from each other, they lean on each other in their hour of need. I am a devourer of impossible love stories, especially when I can’t guess how they will end.

There are still one hundred degrees in the shade and too hot to do anything else but reflect on the passage of time. Most of us remember the lessons we learned through pain, struggle, and loss. But we forget that the gentlest lessons teach the most. I realized that life is full of pleasant surprises if I am open to them. Some mornings I wake up knowing how my day will unfold, while others are entirely blurred. If we are willing to learn our lessons gently, new teachings patiently await us in countless ways.

Perhaps, we should try and listen to the wisdom of children, accept the loving kindness of a friend, reach out to those in need, observe how our pets live happily in the present moment, focus on the good in a situation and expect the best in every day. There will be unexpected moments that will catch us off guard, but if we are open to and grateful for the lessons, we will meet new teachers and healers on our path through life.

My theory is that it’s not about all we have to do in a week that will discourage us, but it’s thinking about all we have to do. We must make time for the golden moments when we allow ourselves to dream, to nurture ourselves because, in the end, how we spend our days is how we live our lives.

I used to be a shy girl who sat in a corner wondering how to strike a conversation with a total stranger. First, I would assess the way he/she acted when surrounded by others just like me. Maybe, somewhere in the depths of their minds and hearts, they wondered the same thing as I did. It took me years to realize that a conversation would start just by simply introducing myself and hoping that my presentation would be so amazing that the other person found me interesting enough to want to know more.

Everything changed the day I attended a workshop where people attracted by the vast world of words started their day with a huge smile stretched over their faces. I smiled back to them and asked a few about their work. Then, out of respect and because I wanted to build rapport, I listened intently, asked questions and nodded, and secretly hoped they would also be interested in my work.

I met a man— tall, skinny, white hair, and soft voice—, who told me that a few years back he had battled leukemia, which he went through chemotherapy and came out victorious. He also said that he loved working in a library and that if I had a dream, I should follow it, regardless how many obstacles I would encounter in my way or how many people would tell me that I wouldn’t be able to make it. With perseverance, I would be able to overcome all of them, one by one, because some doors would open to me when I would least expect. I loved listening to his warm voice. I had noticed the slight tremor in his hands and that he had a worn briefcase on his knees. He said that his passion was history, and he planned to write about the historical monuments around Tennessee. But, he also told me that I shouldn’t be afraid of failing because it would be part of my development. Then, he told me the story of a woman who had lost her husband in a terrible accident, and she was forced to tend to their three children all by herself. She had a dream, and she never stopped believing that one day hers would come true. She wrote a book and she had incredible success because of her literary agent’s support and her appearance on Oprah’s show. She turned a fate worse than death in her favor.

The second person I talked to was a middle-aged Asian woman whose hair was tinted with gray, with brown eyes and yellowish skin. She said she was born in Bangladesh, and her family married her when she was nineteen. It took her five years to develop some feelings for her husband, and they finally had a daughter. He died in a car accident, and years later, she had discovered what love was when she met her second husband. She started her career from nothing, and today she worked as a Doctor in Health and Nutrition in Atlanta, Georgia, and she taught in universities about the importance of the food we all eat. I was inspired by her story and recognized myself in her struggle to build a better life for herself and her family.

At that moment, I realized that life was about making the right choices, meeting the right people, and being able to surround myself with beautiful dreams and striving to make them come true.

What a better subject to write about than the winter?

My thoughts took me back to the winters I experienced in my city. Those big fluffy snowflakes falling over the town brought the magic. I spent countless evenings just staring at their hide and seek game. An invisible force made me open the window and stick my head out, trying to capture few of them on my tongue. They tasted like honey or sweet water. A grin stretched across my face as I surrendered my arms to their fabulous, delightful control.

Layers after layers of fresh snow covered the ground, and the city came alive with giggles and shouts. Everyone was outside, building snowmen or sliding on the steepest hill they could find. Girls and boys pushed each other, trying to get on the top of the hill to slide one more time. Some of them used their own clothes to get just one more round. Hours and hours passed and no one noticed. It was the magic of the winter that brought everyone together for another session of cheers.

It snowed today, and everything became a fairy tale in white. Five inches of snow swallowed my feet, and I giggled again. I stomped my frozen feet and thumped my chilly body to warm up. My ears caught fire and turned icy-blue. I even caught a snowflake of two, and they still tasted like honey. I always loved winter with its enormous snowdrifts, snowball fights, snowmen, frozen cheeks and hands. All around me, the snow flashed and glittered, and, as my walk ended, I marveled at the might of nature.

Imagine you are a child and the magic of the holidays pours over you like the sugar powder over the freshly baked cookies on Christmas Eve. Can you sense the cinnamon flavor floating in the kitchen as you prepare rolls? Do you feel the soft flour tickling your hands as you work the dough into spirals of tasty wonders when you pretend to help your mother? Is the vanilla flavor filling your nostrils and make you wonder about the pastries baking in the oven especially for Christmas? Chocolate chip cookies rest on the plate keeping an eye on the Christmas tree. I am sure you notice the glimmering of all those sparkling decorations and the sounds of the carols resonating between the everlasting green. Garlands of tiny bells are wrapped around the emerald branches intoxicating the entire room with a resin perfume. Just look at it! A magical display of elegance in silver and blue dominates the pine tree that you cut from the forest and brought it home. The angel from the treetop rules the solemnity of the holidays and supervises the fireplace where red, orange and yellow flames blend in enthralling waves of heat that warm the space.

On Christmas Eve, only one fantasy visits the minds of the young and the old, the rich and poor, boys and girls from every continent. The aged man in the burning red suit carries his sack filled with presents for everyone who presumably behaved throughout the year. If you struggle, you can hear the reindeer’s bells piercing the icy air as they fly in circles pulling the sleigh from where Santa scrutinizes city after city and street after street for fear not to miss someone. He never disappointed me when I was a child. I remember I used to keep a keen eye on the horizon not wanting to lose his arrival. Even after staring into the night, not once have I caught him by the Christmas tree as he dropped the presents. I only found the books, or the toys, or the clothes, and I was happy he ate a cookie or two before continuing his voyage around the globe. As much as I hoped, I never caught him, not even once. I remember one special night when the flame of his costume sneaked through the door and disappeared before I had time to ask him about the North Pole and the elves, and how I can make it in that mysterious place. The shape of his boots imprinted on the fresh sheet of snow covering the asphalt.

On Christmas day, we listen to the nativity story and we sing carols heralding his coming for our salvation. I see Jesus in a manger surrounded by sheep, and the three magi as he rests in his mother’s warm arms under Joseph’s supervision.  Everyone kneels before him as the sky is brightened by the largest star ever. When I say Christmas, I remember the festive atmosphere in my grandparents’ house where we laughed, and we danced around the tree. I remember eating the wonderful meals my grandmother cooked and the hot chocolate in ceramic cups waiting for our return after we sang carols to the neighbors.

I wish I can go back to the time of innocence and purity where the hardest dilemma consists in not having enough time to play.

Have you ever paid attention to the way people smile? I did, and, sadly, many smiles remained encrusted on the lips never to rise to the eyes. If you will only take the time to study the people who pass you by, you’ll notice they are in a hurry, their thoughts darkened by exhaustion or unhappiness. I wonder about the misfortunes threatening their hearts. Concealed inside our shells, some of us forget that our time is limited. Should we try to change our perspective on what is truly meaningful in life? Should we go around spreading joy or should we hide in the confinement of our souls pretending we live?

Once upon a time, I lost sight of what was truly important and I wandered between dark alleys chasing dreams. And, when I reached the one I thought I wanted the most, I realized I had lost something special. I lost myself. The journey back was terrifying since I didn’t know what to expect. I was one of the people who only moved their lips pretending to smile. But the smile didn’t reach my eyes. A thought had cropped in my mind. What if smiling will be illegal in one hundred years? What if all dreams will die?

Will the hope survive?

In an old bag, behind boxes covered in spider webs, I discovered something special, something I received many years ago: love letters. I asked myself if today anyone writes letters to the special people in their lives. I read them, one by one, and something incredible happened. I finally smiled, but not only with the quick move of my lips, but with my eyes too, and I realized that happiness came in the shape of the old love letters. Someone considered me special and he made sure that, after many years, when I had stumbled across those letters, I remembered what brought us together in the first place.

How many others find themselves in similar circumstances as I? Probably many. Everyone has a choice: to go with the flow and pretend to live or to take charge of his happiness. Be with the people who make you happy, do the things that satisfy you, give to the ones you cherish without expecting much in return.

It happened sometimes to open a book and to stumble over a sentence that seemed it had been written for me. Or to find the answer in the lyrics of a song. Sometimes, angels appeared to whisper in my ear.

One day I realized how exhausted I was emotionally and physically from concentrating on things I wanted to buy or the places I wanted to visit, but I couldn’t afford. I felt trapped in a vicious circle and the more I focused on what I couldn’t have, the more depressed I became. The more depressed I became, the more I concentrated on the lack. I had to quiet my heart and listen. At that moment, I acknowledged the deep longing in my heart. I was hungry not for the things in the stores, or the places around the world I couldn’t visit, but for inner peace, something the world wouldn’t take back.

I opened my eyes, and I saw how wealthy I was: I had an abundance of friends, and I swam in a pool filled with my family’s love. I saw I had much to be grateful for, and I felt humbled for taking for granted the abundance that existed in my life. I made an inventory of my life’s possessions: my restored health, a wonderful husband, a happy son, their health, our small but comfortable home, my precious cat that is a great joy. Plenty of food on the table and the red wine in the fridge.

I was blessed with so many wonderful friends who care deeply about us. And the list grew longer. When I looked at my life’s register, I realized I was a wealthy woman. At that moment, I realized that my net worth wasn’t determined by the size of the bank account or the multitude of places I visited. Each day from that moment offered me authentic moments of pleasure and contentment because I noticed and appreciated the gifts each day brought.

The power of gratefulness took over my heart and transformed what I had into enough, and even more. Gratefulness brought peace for today and created a vision for tomorrow.

It takes courage to go on after you’ve lost something so close to your heart that the mere thought of it brings terrible heartaches. In the beginning, your pain will take your breath away, it will sting, and it will hurt. You wonder if you’ll ever make it out of the plight or if life will be the same when you do. Gray clouds will cover your sky, and you’ll find it difficult to smile. Then, one day you decide that enough is enough. You are reborn at that moment as a stronger version of the previous day’s individual.
Day after day, you pick up the shattered pieces of your old self and glue them together with toughness, empathy and willingness to keep on going no matter where the road will take you. It can’t be worst than what you’ve experienced. You put your trust in God and let him guide you through your journey. Weeks will pass, and new experiences will come your way. You’ll meet new people, and read new books, and do new things. The excruciating pain fades away until it becomes a memory lost in an ocean of other memories. You will never forget what you’ve lost, but you’ll be in control of what to remember.
You’ll regain the most beautiful smile ever, and you will display it for the world to see. It is your way of saying that you came out triumphant from a hardship, much wiser and more compassionate than before. It is within your grasp to pick between hope for a better tomorrow or despair for the loss.