You can't stop believing,
it's something you should refuse to allow. You laugh in the face of adversity
and bask in its un-comfort now.
Courage is the soul's adrenaline,
as knees buckle and back bends.
Ears strain to hear the silence amidst the echo of worldly noise.
A shouting whisper of everlasting joys.
Hold fast. Hold true.
Patience's reward is awaiting you.
Been down this road before, seeking an opportunity to join a team that is the right fit for me, my shoes are worn, yet I push on. So many companies claim to be the best, but are they really? Because if they were the best, I’d certainly be on their team.
It’s not pride or ego. It is modestarrogance. My time is valuable. I have more years behind me than I have in front of me, so investing my time properly by working with a team that’s dedicated to successful accomplishments via excellent time management is essential. Working beyond 8 hours a day for someone will be because I have acquired employment doing something I love. 8 hours of work, 8 hours of rest, and 8 hours of “play” – family and friends...THAT is the life I deserve and the life I will live. That’s modest arrogance and I’m quite comfortable with it.
We’ve been told to “think outside the box”. But who’s box are we to think outside of? The one they assume we’re constrained by as individuals? The one that has locked us into thinking in one particular fashion? So, once we’re “thinking outside the box”, are we then confined by the limitations of the box they have us in by the direction of which we’re instructed to think?
I enjoy meeting people who are doing what they love and loving what they do. Joy exudes from every pore of their body, as they share what it means to “be your own boss” doing a job that doesn’t seem like work because it’s an extension of who they are.
What would you do if someone paid you to do whatever you wanted to do for the rest of your life? As you think about that answer, let me add, isn’t that what you should be doing right now.
When I was in the second grade I had to learn and recite Christina Rossetti’s poem "Who Has Seen the Wind". My mother helped me study and practice it. She also said that she thought it would be a nice touch if I held a dandelion while reciting it. As she drove me to school on the day of the recital, I
peered out of the window of the backseat looking for a dandelion, yet there were none to be seen or found. Upon entering the classroom, I was additionally saddened by the site of each of my classmates holding props to accompany their recites. When Mrs. Blackburn requisitioned my presence before the assembly, I rose to my feet with sudden dismay, caused by my concern for lack of a much-needed prop. Just as I approached the massive staircase to encroach the stage, Debbie Snipes appeared from the shadows with her arm extended to reveal her tiny, little hand, with perfectly manicured nails painted like tepid ladybugs, holding the most gigantic dandelion I’d ever laid my beady eyes upon! Her gesture of kindness completely shocked me and I was illuminated by her gentleness even more as she smiled and said, “I picked three of these things this morning outside our classroom window. I blew the other two away and as I was just about to cast this one into oblivion, I remembered you were doing a poem about the wind. So, I held onto it for you. I hope there’s enough of the fuzzy stuff left on it. Would you like to have it?”
My heart forced as smile on my face that spoke the words of gratitude Debbie must have understood, because before I could say anything she said, “You’re welcome! Good luck! And don’t forget your words!” And with that she spun on her heels and was engulfed by the shadows almost as quickly as she’d appeared.
Debbie and I become best of friends and were practically inseparable until my family packed up, three years later and moved 800 miles away. Although I don’t know whatever became of her, each time I see a dandelion Debbie does cross my mind, as does the poem that I recited as eloquently as a 6-year-old could holding a gigantic dandelion with just enough fuzzy stuff left on it.
The unusually cool temperature, with minimal humidity, made the 7 block jaunt along 5th Avenue to Bryant Park seem more like a leisurely stroll on the latter half of this mid-week July afternoon. I hummed along with the tinkling melody of the park’s infamous roundabout and took notice of the young woman sitting on a bench just across the pathway, with her eyes fixed like a curious child, watching the elderly statesmen engage in a passionate game of Chinese Chess. She is Cyra Morgan, a resident of this Metropolis, and when she’s not at the beach, often she finds herself here, people watching, or just taking in nature – it’s her way of connecting and finding inspiration for another verse to add to her growing repertoire of intimate acoustic folk songs.When she was 5 her father would invite his musician friends over for jam sessions and Cyra was often asked to get on the microphone to sing. The delight of those moments led to her penning her first lyrics and performing them to a sold out imaginary audience in her bedroom. In 8th grade, she wrote a song for her teacher and taught it to her classmates, who performed it as their end-of-year swan-song. Only a few years ago, her father taught her to play the guitar, it’s the only instrument she plays, and it has unshackled her from needy dependence upon another musician to help her get the songs out of her head.
This would be only our second meeting, yet she recognized my face as I approached, and waved me over to take a seat. A self-proclaimed Instagram addict, she said she’d captured several moments of the day and proceeded to show me her latest exhibits on her iPhone. I asked if I could scroll through her music playlists and was delightfully surprised to see an eclectic mix of artist – Regina Spektor, Damien Rice, Ray LaMontange, Mumford and Sons, The Black Keys, The Artic Monkeys, and The Beastie Boys.
“Regina Spektor is such a huge inspiration and influence for me. I tend to be a person that feels deeply, and life sometimes guides me to places where my emotions are too big to contain. I feel like if I can capture it, whatever it is I’m feeling, as authentically, as truthfully as possible in my writing, it helps to bear the burden of the vulnerability, the fears, the love, the heartache, the hope.”
15 months ago, Cyra was one of the top 10 finalist in the Guitar Center’s Singer – Songwriter Competition, and this past March she was one of the featured artist on the SoundCloud stage at SXSW, both she professes have been highlights in her budding career.
“I owe so much of my success thus far to SoundCloud, so it was kind of a huge honor for me to play on their stage. But generally, meeting other SoundClouders or fans is always really meaningful for me. Maybe it’s because I share so much of my soul in my songs, it means the world to me that people want to listen.”
She’s definitely a dream seeker with professional aspirations of a world tour, performing on all of the late night talk shows, and Saturday Night Live.
” I’ve always had this little dream of playing little pubs in England, Scotland and Ireland…. kind of random but I’d love to do that.”
The potrait of Cyra’s future will also be accented with highlights of what she believes will be the richness of life’s adventure.
“Personally, my goals are to be an amazing mother and partner, to shower my children and family with love. To appreciate, to be grateful for every beautiful moment that I am given.”
Discover the acoustic folk intonations of Cyra Morgan now on SoundCloud and an intimate stage setting soon.
Been down this road before, seeking an opportunity to join a team that is the right fit for me, my shoes are worn, yet I push on. So many companies claim to be the best, but are they really? Because if they were the best, I’d certainly be on their team.
But who’s box are we to think outside of? The one they assume we’re constrained by as individuals? The one that has locked us into thinking in one particular fashion? So, once we’re “thinking outside the box”, are we then confined by the limitations of the box they have us in by the direction of which we’re instructed to think?
I enjoy meeting people who are doing what they love and loving what they do. Joy exudes from every pore of their body, as they share what it means to “be your own boss” doing a job that doesn’t seem like work because it’s an extension of who they are.
peered out of the window of the backseat looking for a dandelion, yet there were none to be seen or found. Upon entering the classroom, I was additionally saddened by the site of each of my classmates holding props to accompany their recites. When Mrs. Blackburn requisitioned my presence before the assembly, I rose to my feet with sudden dismay, caused by my concern for lack of a much-needed prop. Just as I approached the massive staircase to encroach the stage, Debbie Snipes appeared from the shadows with her arm extended to reveal her tiny, little hand, with perfectly manicured nails painted like tepid ladybugs, holding the most gigantic dandelion I’d ever laid my beady eyes upon! Her gesture of kindness completely shocked me and I was illuminated by her gentleness even more as she smiled and said, “I picked three of these things this morning outside our classroom window. I blew the other two away and as I was just about to cast this one into oblivion, I remembered you were doing a poem about the wind. So, I held onto it for you. I hope there’s enough of the fuzzy stuff left on it. Would you like to have it?”
Although I don’t know whatever became of her, each time I see a dandelion Debbie does cross my mind, as does the poem that I recited as eloquently as a 6-year-old could holding a gigantic dandelion with just enough fuzzy stuff left on it.
latter half of this mid-week July afternoon. I hummed along with the tinkling melody of the park’s infamous roundabout and took notice of the young woman sitting on a bench just across the pathway, with her eyes fixed like a curious child, watching the elderly statesmen engage in a passionate game of Chinese Chess. She is Cyra Morgan, a resident of this Metropolis, and when she’s not at the beach, often she finds herself here, people watching, or just taking in nature – it’s her way of connecting and finding inspiration for another verse to add to her growing repertoire of intimate acoustic folk songs.When she was 5 her father would invite his musician friends over for jam sessions and Cyra was often asked to get on the microphone to sing. The delight of those moments led to her penning her first lyrics and performing them to a sold out imaginary audience in her bedroom. In 8th grade, she wrote a song for her teacher and taught it to her classmates, who performed it as their end-of-year swan-song. Only a few years ago, her father taught her to play the guitar, it’s the only instrument she plays, and it has unshackled her from needy dependence upon another musician to help her get the songs out of her head.
” I’ve always had this little dream of playing little pubs in England, Scotland and Ireland…. kind of random but I’d love to do that.”