Rekha's Ramblings

  When Silence Becomes the Final Conversation...... Yesterday, I came across a post in one of my online groups that has stayed with me ever since. Someone was asking for advice. They had just learnt through a common friend about someone they used to know,  someone who had ghosted them for almost  two decades ; this person was now dying. They wondered if they should go visit. My immediate reaction was simple. "Yes. Go." Life is short.  Regret is heavy.  If there is even the smallest chance for closure, why not take it? But as I began reading the comments, I was surprised. The overwhelming majority advised against visiting. Their reasoning was one I hadn't considered. "If this person ghosted you for years, they probably had their reasons. You may be the very last person they would want to see." I kept scrolling. Some suggested sending a postcard or a simple note instead. But most people felt the same way: don't go. Let the ghosts of...

Whenever I meet someone I know, one of the first questions I get these days is: “ So, what are you doing these days? how are you keeping busy ?” And somehow, that question is almost always followed by advice. “You should volunteer.” “Join a class.” “Find a hobby.” “Keep yourself busy.” I know they mean well. I really do. Some have actually told me to get a dog. Why, because I need a companion. But sometimes I want to say: Why? Why does everyone assume I need to be busy ? Why is sitting still suddenly something we need to fix? Why is doing something automatically considered better than simply… being?   For most of my adult life, I was busy. Raising three children. Working. Running a household. Driving kids everywhere. Showing up. Taking care of everyone. I  feel like I have done enough running around to last me  a lifetime . What if I don't want to rush any more ,  from one activity to another just so I can say I am “keeping busy”? What if I like waking up and decidi...

  Apparently, Yoga Is Not as Easy as It Looks!  Like I told you guys, I am going to start focusing a little more on my physical well-being. I had promised my daughter that I would attend a yoga class, so today, I finally kept my promise. I come from the land of yoga, but when and where I grew up, yoga was mostly something I had heard about. Other people did it. I didn’t. After moving here, I was always too busy to focus on myself—or at least that’s what I kept telling myself. So, today, I walked into my very first  yoga class with absolutely no idea what to expect. Heck, I didn't have a yoga mat. Anyways, it turns out, I was the only newbie in the room. Everyone else seemed to know exactly what they were doing.  And there is a whole lot more to yoga than what  meets the eye. The instructions came at me too quickly and there were just way too many things to remember at once . My brain simply couldn’t process half of them. And then there was the breathing. Appar...

 Some people leave behind songs. Some leave behind stories. And some leave behind a legacy that quietly changes lives. Besides being an incredible singer and storyteller, Dolly Parton created the Imagination Library , giving children the gift of a book every month. My children were proud recipients of those books for several years. Each child received their very own book, and they would look forward to that book arriving every month—even before they could read. Those books became part of one of my favorite rituals of motherhood: reading to my children every night. Looking back, I realize how much those quiet moments meant to me. Reading to my children was my solace, my little escape from the chaos of motherhood, and one of the things I miss the most now that those days are behind me. I didn't save them all but I did save a few books. Thank you, Dolly , for giving so many children the gift of imagination, and for giving parents like me countless precious bedtime memories. May your ...

  When Do We Stop as Parents? Last week, I was traveling. As we were boarding the plane, I overheard a mother asking her teenage son to give her his backpack so she could put it in the overhead bin. Her reasoning was simple: if the backpack went overhead, he would have more legroom under the seat in front of him. He refused. She asked him again. And again. And maybe a third or fourth time, her voice getting increasingly frustrated. But he continued to refuse. I couldn't help but think about something that happened in our own family a few months ago. We were in almost the exact same situation. My husband was having the same conversation with our grown son. At first, our son politely declined. But when my husband kept asking, my son finally said, “These are my legs, and I'm fine having my backpack under the seat.” And there it was. A boundary. My son wasn't being disrespectful. He wasn't arguing. He simply made a decision about his own comfort and stood by it. My husband,...

I wrote this a few years ago, but a recent conversation with a friend brought it all rushing back. She had just driven her mother to New York City. It was hours on I-95, heavy traffic, construction, impatient drivers...the kind of drive that would make most people anxious. Her mother doesn't drive, so she was the only driver. She did it. As I listened to her story, I found myself admiring her confidence. Then I laughed and admitted something about myself. " I still don't think I could do that. " There was a time when driving long distances didn't bother me at all. Yet somehow, even after all these years, that confidence never fully returned. It reminded me of something I had written years ago. There was a time when I thought I was a strong person. Or at least, that's what I told myself. I believed I made decisions with my head, not my heart. I was practical, logical, independent. Emotions didn't dictate my choices. Or so I thought. Now, when I look back, a...