I wanted to start this blog, within a prolonged, extra-long
exhale, gasp, gap in-between, since my last post, and this one, with the
title: Tack vs. Tact. I'm no longer so sure that it’s vs. -- rather, that it
is, truly: Tack and Tact, for both are about navigation:
Tack (in terms of sailing)
· a change in the direction of movement of a
sailboat made in order to maximize the benefit from the wind
· a stage or series of stages in the zigzag
movement of a sailboat that is changing direction in order to maximize the
benefit from the wind
· the direction of movement of a sailboat in
relation to the side from which the wind is blowing, effected by the position
of its sails.”
AND
Tact (as in diplomacy)
· a style of address or approach used in
spoken or written word to avoid giving offense—a skill in situations in which
other peoples' feelings are want to be considered.
· an intuitive sense of what is right or
appropriate to say or share, both in delivery and content.
Words can be touchy, delicious, difficult, vague, poignant, rich, and
flat— all over the map!
I love Joel Osteen’s spiritual concepts of “. . . upgrading
our prayers; getting a Bigger God ". . . however, his referring to God as (only)
"He" is difficult for my language filters. It does NOT preclude
resonance with the message, but creates a hiccup in the reception.
In my take on things, not only is the Bible the “Living Word,” but,
as I see it, Words are living, breathing utterances of energies, attitudes,
concepts, beliefs, perceptions—that we house and express to others, in spoken
or written form (or not—maybe just to ourselves), that take on form; become Living
Essences.
And such rich nuances: I’m thinking about the variances between
the words timidity, trepidation, temerity, and . . .tremorous (adj.) or
tremulous (adj.) re: persons, and emotional and/or physical states ranging from
mild caution and hesitancy, and wariness to internal or external trembling from
fear or weakness—vibrating, shaking, quivering. Where is Shakespeare? He
introduced a lot of nouns, as verbs, into our language. While I may be hesitant,
questioning, equals temerity—it doesn’t mean an unwillingness to try on what is
new, or to explore new territory. Temerity is not full-on trepidation. Rather,
it’s hesitancy to get a sense of bearings, so I know which tack to take, what
approach—or know, for time-being, that ‘no’ is the answer.
I have, many times, been very willing to make a "fool"
of myself, to invite others, in group settings, into "warm waters,"
-- often serving, by example, to “get them into the water.” Of recent, the
acronym FOMO (fear of missing out) has been used as a pressure sales tactic.
Interestingly, I’ve more often experienced FOMOFO—the fear of missing out for
others, as I rarely miss out on what really appeals to me, and give
little thought or energy to what doesn’t.
Well, so, in spite of owning a degree of Indiana Jones boldness,
I’ve only recently really Bolded myself into, letting, allowing, permitting me
to do what I MOST LOVE TO DO: WRITE--EVERYDAY!
Wow! What took me so long! While the quality or intensity may cycle, or vary,
I’m starting to look at as breathing: necessary, whether shallow or deep.
What the hay?” Go’n in:
· Part of this shift is that I no longer
feel immortal. I’ve lived just long enough on this planet to sense that I’m at about 50%, give or take a few years, through this lifetime.
· The other part of it is that I’ve been
reading and saying enough words (to myself and others) about both my right, and
my joy, to live my own juice; to be in my groove, that I’m bolding into it,
with the support of caring others—full-time--and, number three,
· These previous two factors have kicked the
stuffing’s out of my Inner Critic: FIRED, except for on-call consulting
detective, at my discretion—filtered through the heart and self-honor,
which generates healthy boundaries—which aren’t just about protecting ourselves
from other’s encroachments, but also from ourselves
and our cultivated fears encroaching upon what nourishes us.
This ‘good boundaries’ theme recalls to me the numerous nights after
getting off night-shift that I drove the Lee’s Summit byways in icy chill or
stifling humidity listening to Eric Clapton’s tribute to J.J. Cale,
particularly these lines from Rock and Roll Music:
I make my
live’n, feed my children
On your
good time.
I’m going to
hammer out this rhythm
Until I get
right next to you.
Taking this into new
context:
I make my (Life-Juice) live’n, feed my (Creative)
children
On your
good time (stirring something
playful and/or deep in you)
I’m going to hammer out
this rhythm (that which Breathes and Pulses into Life Within Me)
Until I get right next to
you (touch those trigger points within you that make you glad you are alive)
For my job is to mirror
the depth of what you are, and what you are becoming, by touching and releasing
that same within me--in a flight of Words.
Tiantana de Zhufu (Heaven’s
Blessings!)
