Philosophy and Flowers: Part Six

Friendship: The Art of Relating to Others.

I recently heard the phrase “the art of relating to others,” which got me thinking about friendship. Maybe friendship is exactly that: the art of relating to others. It isn’t just about spending time together or having things in common. It’s about being there for each other, especially when things aren’t easy. I feel that friendship is the willingness to genuinely know another person. And I think one of the most important ingredients in that is curiosity. Being curious about who someone is, what makes them happy, what they’re passionate about, what they’re struggling with, as well as what makes them uniquely themselves.

Curiosity sounds like:

What makes you excited?

What are you struggling with right now?

What are you proud of?

What are you passionate about?

What have you been thinking about lately?

What are you looking forward to?

And sometimes it’s much simpler:

What books are you reading?

What podcasts are you listening to?

What are you watching online?

What music have you been listening to?

What are you nerding out about lately?

You don’t necessarily have to be interested in the subject itself. You can be interested because they’re interested in it. If a friend starts excitedly telling you about something you’ve never heard of, curiosity says: “I don’t know anything about this. Tell me why you love it.”

Friendship also requires compassion.

Being a good friend means sitting in the mud with someone and say, “I’m here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone.” Our instinct can be to try to pull them out of it. We want to fix things. We want to offer advice. We want to make the pain go away. But sometimes people don’t need us to fix anything.

Friendship requires generosity and understanding.

Generosity among friends is giving more than expected with your time, energy, patience and love. House sitting, watching pets, helping them move, giving rides, cooking or paying for food, along with giving them the benefit of the doubt. Understanding begins with listening. Not simply waiting for your turn to speak but actually trying to comprehend what the other person is trying to say. Communicating with curiosity rather than making assumptions. “Help me understand.”, “What was that experience like for you?” or “Tell me more.” Those small invitations can open the door to much deeper connections.

Friendship requires celebration.

A good friend doesn’t only show up when things are falling apart. They show up when things are going well, too. They celebrate the graduation and promotion. The new job and finished project. The personal milestone nobody else might understand. The little victory that may seem insignificant to everyone else but means everything to their friend. Because if something matters to someone you care about, it matters to you because it matters to them. Friendship isn’t about keeping score over who has accomplished more. But about being genuinely happy to see someone you care about grow and thrive.

It’s kindness.

It’s generosity.

It’s understanding.

It’s compassion.

It’s listening.

It’s curiosity.

It’s crying together.

It’s laughing together.

It’s being interested in the things that make someone light up.

It’s celebrating their victories, both big and small.

And perhaps most importantly, it’s recognizing that no matter how long you’ve known someone, there is always more to discover. Because people aren’t static. We change. We learn. We grow. Even our interests and dreams change, along with our fears. Sometimes we discover parts of ourselves we didn’t even know existed.

I don’t think friendship is simply saying, “I know you.” But It’s saying, “I want to keep knowing you.” And maybe that’s the real art of relating to others.

BE SURE TO CHECK OUT PART FIVE

Philosophy and Flowers: Part Five

The Story Behind an Image, Part 11

Ever since 2004, I’ve had a passionate love affair with photography. And come to discover that I have a fondness for photos that come with a story. Over the years, I have shot a few of them. Here’s the next installment in “The Story Behind an Image” series.

Part 11: “The Day I Cried on the Cliffs of Dover”

In July of 2024, I was on my aviation bucket list trip to England. I did an air-to-air photo shoot with World War II warbirds over the English countryside, a sightseeing helicopter flight over London, and I even saw one of my favorite aircraft of all time, TSR.2. And to top it off, I attended the world’s largest military airshow, The Royal International Air Tattoo. And in between my aviation nerding out, I took several day trips to various locations around England.

One day I decided to drive over to Dover and see the famous White Cliffs. From my hotel in Reading, it was about two hours away. After showering and getting dressed, I grabbed my camera bag and headed to Dover. The drive over was fun and felt so adventurous. I made a stop to fill up the tank and to get something to drink. After paying and walking back to the car, I forgot which side of the car was the driver’s side. Driving in England wasn’t difficult or scary. The only things I noticed were that it was strange putting on the seat belt from the opposite side and using the gear selector with my left hand. Outside of that, driving in England was like driving anywhere else.

Arriving at Dover, I had to go to the bathroom really badly. The bottled water from the petrol stop wanted out and needed to find a restroom. I found relief after a vigorous-paced walk to the visitor’s center. Looking at the map, there is a lighthouse at the end of one of the paths. Photographically, my thoughts were “If I could capture the lighthouse and cliffs, how picturesque would that be?” But what I didn’t take into account was how hilly the paths were along with just how out of shape I was. After a laborious 25 minutes of walking up and down steep terrain, I quickly realized that I was not going to make it to the lighthouse. But I did manage to take a few photos of the breathtaking views along the way.

Physically exhausted, it was time for a short but needed break. I lay back, staring into the blue skies above and I heard myself asking a question. That simple and innocent question that I’ve been asking myself repeatedly as long as I can remember. “What do I want?” Sadly, I’ve never been able to answer that simple question with any certainty and confidence. But for whatever reason my subconscious thought that I was going to find some meaning and understanding of all the pain and suffering in my life. Here in England, lying in the grass field on the Cliffs of Dover of all places. Unfortunately, life is not that simple and answers to such challenging questions don’t come that easily.

But what I did hear was clear and with a prominent level of confidence, “We must keep going.”As if something, somewhere deep in my spirit, knew that there was a task of utmost importance that I needed to accomplish. This was a feeling that had been hidden by years of torment and misery. This forgotten sense of self has finally stepped out of the darkness and into the light revealing itself to me. Knowing this to be true, it weighed heavily on my heart. That’s when tears began flowing down my cheeks and into the sides of my lips, where I could taste the salty teardrops. In a grassy field on top of the cliffs of Dover overlooking the English Channel, I cried. I cannot remember how long I wept but it was a much-needed release from years of uncertainty. I had become so used to living aimlessly and without a sense of purpose that I was brave enough to trust this direction. Hoping that it will lead me to a better future.

It’s funny how we travel so far to escape our worries and fears, just to learn that the real journey starts from within. To begin honestly and fearlessly focusing inward and asking myself some tough questions about how I’m living and how I want to live moving forward. I do not believe we change our lives in one pivotal moment. It is more like a series of small decisions in the right direction that truly lead to change. This was one of those small turning points on an unfamiliar path. A direction I needed to follow even if I had no clue how to start it, to what extent I must go, and just where it would take me. After two years of being on my new journey, I realized that I wasn’t growing into someone new, but someone that I finally recognized. More authentic, more aligned with my values, and the person I have always wanted to be.

A scenic view of chalk cliffs overlooking a rocky shoreline with gentle waves and green grass in the foreground, featuring people near the water.

Gear used:

Canon 90D

EF-S 18-135mm F/3.5-5.6 IS ST

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< The Story Behind an Image 10

Philosophy and Flowers: Part Five

How to Practice Gratitude

Read and Answer the following Questions.

Are you in jail or prison?

Are you in pain or in the hospital?

Do you have a place to sleep?

Do you have food in your refrigerator?

Is the power, heat, AC, and internet still on? 

Do you have clean clothes? 

Do you have money in your bank account to buy food and pay bills? 

Does your car still run? 

Do you have hobbies to keep yourself occupied?

Do you have friends or family that care about your wellbeing?

Are you still feeling ungrateful? If so, read and answer the questions above.

BE SURE TO CHECK OUT PART FOUR

Philosophy and Flowers: Part Four

“Maybe Try Some Cursing”

A Short Story by: S. Lewis

From a low mouse like perspective looking up at an open door, the scene begins with an enraged young woman entering the office. Only seeing the bottom of her black and white pleated skirt, heavily torn fishnet stockings and her loved but well-traveled faded black boots. The secretary frantically tries to stop her. “Miss! You can’t go in there!” But she ignores the baseless warnings and enters the office with authority though battered and bruised. Behind the colossal and commanding desk there is a predominant male figure which we can only hear and not see, welcoming her into his pristine and nearly blinding bright office. “Oh, Stephanie! It’s always a delight to see you. Why back so soon?” That’s when she begins her anger-filled rant with “You Motherfucker!” Listing countless unnecessary hardships and senseless acts of violence that she has endured, from childhood to her tragic shortened adult life. About halfway into her 6-minute tongue lashing, she says “Oh yeah, let’s not forget about being born in the wrong body of an oppressed minority in a racist and transphobic country. You’re so fucking funny!” As she continues venting at the top of her lungs, crying uncontrollably all the while. “You watched me— you watched us get the shit beaten out of us, constantly bullied, endlessly raped and molested, stripping us of any dignity, and YOU call it a test?!” The figure of importance behind the desk tells her all her needs were met and how there were hundreds of millions of people who wished they had a life that was so well taken care of. She quickly interrupts, “You arrogant prick! You don’t get it! You need to go back down there again and see what it’s like now!” He proudly says slowly, “You do — know who you’re talking to?” Sarcastically she replies, “I know full well who you are! With your numerous misguided cults and so-called devoted followers”. “Hey, let’s not be rude,” he replies defensively. She continues her tear-filled and rage filled outburst. Pacing back and forth with her bruised hands tightening into fist, only seeing her as she passes by the opening of the door. She then goes on to explain how she is sick of his lack of attention to “all the problems down there” pointing to a brightly lit blue object on his desk just out of view. She angrily states, “You don’t fucking give a shit! Not even a little.”  She then pauses expecting him to answer. He calmly responds, “You know the rules. I can’t get involved.” She fiercely shouts, “Can’t get involved?” Pointing her finger at him, “This whole thing is YOUR perverted idea! You made the rules, then made a world that was designed to break them. You have the nerve to call it free will. It’s fucking entrapment!” Then continues with, “All the senseless wars, the preventable hunger, generational poverty, let’s not forget about the open racism, the demeaning layers of misogyny along with the hatred of anything different! And you can’t get involved? We thought You cared.” “I do” he quickly answers. Screaming at him, “You’re a fucking liar!” Trying to get control of the situation and shifting his seat forward, he tries offers her a better life than before. Cutting him off again, “You made me endure the absolute worst parts of humanity, and you dare ask if I want to “Try it again?” Like it’s some type of fucking cosmic carnival ride I can just hop back on and pretend it won’t break me again. No fucking way! I’m not going to play your stupid game anymore!” With both of her bloody hands, she clears everything off his neatly organized desk. As the contents of his desk hits the floor, a softball-sized glowing sphere falls off his desk and starts to roll out of his office. From the corner of her tear-filled eyes, she notices it rolling away, she briskly walks over and picks it up. He nervously says, “Be very careful with that. It is one of a kind and unbelievably fragile.” She responds, “Fuck You and Your pale blue dot!” With all her anger, rage, and frustration, she throws it at him. But being physically drained from screaming, crying along with having poor aim, it completely misses him. It crashes through the window behind him. She then turns away, grabs the door handle, slamming it behind her so hard that it breaks the stain glass window in the door. The colorful broken glass sparkles in the light as it falls and hits the floor. One of the larger pieces comes into view and you can see a name that was painted on the window. In a metallic gold papyrus font read, “God”.

Thanks for stopping by,

Me