October 4, 2010
My doubt, self doubt, grows exponentially with my silence. When I tell him that I don’t think I can satisfy him, what am I really saying? Am I asking him for help or asking him to bail? He’s heard this over and over and it’s ingrained in his thoughts of me. He says he needs me to tell him what I want. Now. He needs me to tell him that I want him or that I don’t want him. That I want to fight for this relationship or that I won’t fight for it. He wants and needs to hear me include myself in the fixing of this partnership. Or he needs to hear the alternative. He wants to stick. God tells him to.
I am confused. I am hurt. I am sad. I want so many experiences and I don’t feel close to my partner. Did we ever feel close? When did we think the same and dream the same dreams? When did we share our desires?
I know I am growing and exploring who I never got to be. I have consistently been the work-on-it gal. But maybe my work hasn’t been for the good of closeness. Have I been working toward strengthening our togetherness or our separateness? What are my goals now? What do I have the capability of working on? Toward? What do I want to work on?
Testing my limits by going to school and listening to him doubt that I made the right choice without him.
Testing my mental health by submitting to illogical expectations of a psychotic boss and resigning before she canned me.
Testing my self confidence and if he is right about my nursing ability.
Getting blindsided by my own confidence.
Feeling like a fool at the mercy of strangers.
Falling into similar traps at a job without foundation.
Exhausting myself to please and push for more and to fit in.
Ignoring the signals of security as I watch the walls crumble around me.
Running away before the explosion begins, setting myself up for self implosion instead.
How did I get here? Where did I come from? Why do I think this way? Where is God?
I have felt lost in the last year or two, crying because I was hurt when he didn’t think well of me. I recall the times he told me that my way of thinking is wrong, that my way of expressing my thoughts is wrong and inefficient and is not worth his time. So I shut up. I stopped expressing myself to him. I stopped trying to explain myself and where I was coming from and how I felt and what I wanted. I gave up. After all, I did not want to hear that the man I loved thought negatively about me. I did not need him to reinforce my self doubt. Why put myself in a position where I knew I would hurt?
Our conflicts became broken records of despair and futility. One negative word or head shake or rolling of the eyes or fuck you, and I’m gone. Out the door. Out of the house. Out of the city. Out of my mind. Out of reality. Out of myself. This is the truth. I’ve been living outside of myself.
Depressed enough to give up my license. Depressed enough to say I’ll work for minimum wage. Embarrassed enough to tell him he was right about me being a nurse. Frightened enough to lie to myself and hide from the truth. Until the sunshine blinded my insecurities for a brief moment of clarity and WTF-ness.
I didn’t want to be Rainey anymore. Rainey is not taken seriously. Rainey is a baby and frail and frustrated and fragile. Rainey doesn’t know how to stand up for herself and speak her thoughts and commit to decisions or make and pursue goals. I want to grow up and be L. I want to make my own decisions and speak my mind and joke in public and cheer loudly at the games and talk about passionate subjects and tell my family what I really mean and not take their shit anymore. That includes him. No more shit sandwiches. No more crybaby. No more sulking in the corner. No more caring what they think.
And I landed softly. I landed safely. I carefully caress my nursing career in the home of mental health. And I feel confidence anew. I am a nurse. I am helping and learning and teaching and growing. And God is with me. The dance of life continues in the next room. Please join us. Please take off your shoes and get comfortable for this ride. We welcome you back. We missed you. Now get to work.
What I believe is truth in this room are lies inside the other room. How I perform here is different than what I perform there. The train tracks switch in between and my mind does not always follow. Which way do I turn? Which way do you want me to turn?
I’m taking my meds. I’m writing and sorting and releasing stress my way. My way may be the wrong way. Wrong for this family. Wrong for these kids. Wrong for my parents and his.
He tells me the way I should do this. Live. Relate. Speak my mind. Listen. Form goals and work toward them. Parent. Partner.
He suggests and helps when he notices my confusion and frustration. He advises me to do what he does, because it works for him, has worked since he was a kid, 12 or 13 or 14 years old. Good for him to be confident in his habits and confident in his patterns and with his goals reached and processes of getting there. Good for him to rely on consistency. Good for him to keep him afloat through the dark ages.
When I was 12, 13, 14, I was watching my parents split up for some unknown reason and placing me in the arms of a stranger without skills to know how to relate with him. Placing me in a different world, switching scenes without telling me I had to follow. Changing the expectations and allowances of my pre-adolescent hormonally developing mind and soul and heart.
Choices stripped. Opinions banned. Extraction from comfortable and forward momentum. Forced into unknown and unsupported. Doubted and divided. Slapped and insulted. Stifled and censored. Ignored and injured. Where am I going? Where are you taking me? What am I supposed to do now? Who is leading me? Where am I?
And I ran. Toward acceptance of the negative sort. From strangers who barely knew me and who I didn’t have to reveal myself. I didn’t have to hold back my passion. And I flew. Into trouble and insecurity of the adolescent kind. The trouble of who do I like and how do I deal and what if I’m rejected? Trouble of trying to ignore my home life long enough to feel like I could be happy otherwise. Pretend to like yourself or don’t and pretend others do. Release and reject. Revive sanity temporarily. Act two roles. Isn’t that what I was taught? Be someone you’re not in order to survive? Be what they want you to be in order to be accepted? In order not to get hit or hurt or doubt yourself more?
Don’t ask questions. Don’t lead with ideas.
August 8, 2011 (10 months later)
Full circle. Right back where I started. I’m at it again. The last paragraph is my story. The only one. The missing link in my lifetime of sorrow. No rusted links, only shiny like new, strong as ever sharp, cold metal connections, from my ten year old happy-go-lucky fourth grader to my presently fucked up self. Breaking hearts and taking names by accident. The accidental tourist of my own life. 45 years take away ten real good ones and 35 links later, I’m the expert avoider. Just call me super sucka!
Therapist on board. Not holding back from the fears thrown at me. I’m taking strikes until my bat makes contact, until I feel the spark of energy, the mass of force pushing me through the motion by the release of weight off my shoulders. When I watch the homerun ball soar above us all, it’s arch predetermined by my positioning, and see the open sky smiling, I will know. I will know.
And since I have no idea how that Babe Ruth-esque moment will feel, or when clarification will arrive, I’m grounded in my garden dugout, watching weeds pop up out of nowhere and wishing a giant hand will reach down to pull me up too.
Showing posts with label belonging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label belonging. Show all posts
5/27/10
chicago chronicles, part 1: A river runs through it...backwards
In honor and elation of the Chicago Blackhawks hockey team playing in the Stanley Cup finals, I have written a two part post, essay, ode to, obsessive rant...about a city I love and why. The Hawks skate Saturday night at home in game #1. The caliber of hockey during May has been outstandingly exciting, so if you've not really liked to watch because it seemed boring or like slow motion (because it can sometimes), then NOW is the time to experience how furious and fast and ferocious men can be with pounds of sweaty padding taped onto their already buff bods while balancing on two blades, slamming against bodies and boards, sprinting and slashing and scrumming on ice, all the while strategically planning the puck's next route into the net. Genius!
Chicago seemed so far away. The big buildings and bright lights. The long car ride on the busy highways. The unexplored territory heard so much about on the TV, radio, in song lyrics. Didn't Frank Sinatra sing that song?
Suburbs of Chicago. That's where we lived. Wheeling first, then Palatine. You may or may not have heard of them. Famous for nothing. My husband grew up in...wait for it...Arlington Heights! Yep, the one with the horse race track. Now that's special, if you gamble or own horses or live nearby. So we are suburbabies (I just made that up). Where our parents landed.
As the big city grew and caught up to our forests and farmlands, as the highways and byways widened and exited into our lanes and boulevards, the mess meshed and we emerged as one. One big happy family called Chicagoland or Chicago Area or northwest suburbs of Chicago. My kinda' town, she is. No matter what you call her, she's a gem of the Midwest. Really. Trust me on this. The city is unique and cultural and secretive and warm.
...walking among the sky scrapers, which claim the tallest of the world at one time or another, watching the walkers and noticing news, visiting Sue at the Field Museum and touching everything scientific and industrious, catching a ball game at the friendly confines or Sox park (I refuse to rename any of it: what you talkin' 'bout Willis?).
Fireworks and music and parks and gardens. Museums and galleries and mom and pop greasy spoons. Street vendors and tour guides and homeless citizens begging for attention. Daley and Ditka. Peyton and Picasso. Buckingham fountain and the Flamingo business district. Blues on the Mall and Taste of Chicago. The Bears and Blackhawks and bus routes and boat tours. Ferris Beuhler and ferris wheel at the pier. North Avenue beach volleyball, Lincoln Park zoo. Namesake University, O'Hare's airport, remnants of the fire. I-90, I-94, I-80, the Kennedy, the Borman, the Eisenhower, the Skyway, the Loop, the circle and the "L."
Regardless of my address, this city is where I LIVE. My family, my friends, my schoolmates, my memories live there. Elementary school field trips, family outings with Annie and the Nutcracker, visits to friends living with doormen and valet parking, hosting relatives from out of our town, Water tower shopping and Michigan Avenue wishing, fancy restaurants serving escargot and baked Alaska, Frango mint sundaes at Marshall Fields on State.
Chicago is my constant. My rock steady. I count on the colors and comfort of the usual suspects. I visit for verification, for reminder of my reality. She sorts me into my slot and nudges me nearer to now. Change doesn't wait for me to catch up. Names and numbers and nuances must be relearned. Even mine. She's keeping me aware and awake as I age. Teams and tourist traps guide my growth. The elevated train drives me to reconnections and new views. I believe in this metropolis and she believes in me. We're friends. Old friends.
I may have mentioned my infatuation with Chicago sports teams once or twice. Chicagoans are fanatic for sure. Affiliation with a team may be in your blood or inherited from your best friend. Lifelong. Games and stats and predictions fill bars and coffee shops and water cooler conversations. Lovable losers and the billy goat. Jim McMahon and the Superbowl Shuffle. Jordan's air and Harry's specs. WGN and WFLD. Jerseys and ball caps and banners decorate children's walls and parents' party rooms. Flags fly on game days and our own private civil war rages April through October.
I've attended each men's pro events. With or in place of friends, tickets purchased or gifts received, sporadically or seasonally, icicle eyebrows or sweaty seats, win or lose...each experience remembered and savored and enjoyed like no other since. Despite my lack of organized athleticism, I learned to respect the rules of Chi-town fandom. Even today, living in Michigan and paying several sums of money to Michigan State University to educate our daughter, even despite my enthusiasm for the young Red Wing who skated into our community's heart, besides the fact that I graduated from a college in Indiana, my love for Chicago sports reigns supreme. Wherever I travel I spy Chicago team logos. Chicago fans relocate but never jump ship. Next time you watch a Chicago team play an away game, notice how many supporters are in those unfamiliar seats and listen for the chants and cheers made famous only in Chi-town...my kinda' town.
...to be continued soon.
PEACE,
~L
Chicago seemed so far away. The big buildings and bright lights. The long car ride on the busy highways. The unexplored territory heard so much about on the TV, radio, in song lyrics. Didn't Frank Sinatra sing that song?
Suburbs of Chicago. That's where we lived. Wheeling first, then Palatine. You may or may not have heard of them. Famous for nothing. My husband grew up in...wait for it...Arlington Heights! Yep, the one with the horse race track. Now that's special, if you gamble or own horses or live nearby. So we are suburbabies (I just made that up). Where our parents landed.
As the big city grew and caught up to our forests and farmlands, as the highways and byways widened and exited into our lanes and boulevards, the mess meshed and we emerged as one. One big happy family called Chicagoland or Chicago Area or northwest suburbs of Chicago. My kinda' town, she is. No matter what you call her, she's a gem of the Midwest. Really. Trust me on this. The city is unique and cultural and secretive and warm.
...walking among the sky scrapers, which claim the tallest of the world at one time or another, watching the walkers and noticing news, visiting Sue at the Field Museum and touching everything scientific and industrious, catching a ball game at the friendly confines or Sox park (I refuse to rename any of it: what you talkin' 'bout Willis?).
Fireworks and music and parks and gardens. Museums and galleries and mom and pop greasy spoons. Street vendors and tour guides and homeless citizens begging for attention. Daley and Ditka. Peyton and Picasso. Buckingham fountain and the Flamingo business district. Blues on the Mall and Taste of Chicago. The Bears and Blackhawks and bus routes and boat tours. Ferris Beuhler and ferris wheel at the pier. North Avenue beach volleyball, Lincoln Park zoo. Namesake University, O'Hare's airport, remnants of the fire. I-90, I-94, I-80, the Kennedy, the Borman, the Eisenhower, the Skyway, the Loop, the circle and the "L."
Regardless of my address, this city is where I LIVE. My family, my friends, my schoolmates, my memories live there. Elementary school field trips, family outings with Annie and the Nutcracker, visits to friends living with doormen and valet parking, hosting relatives from out of our town, Water tower shopping and Michigan Avenue wishing, fancy restaurants serving escargot and baked Alaska, Frango mint sundaes at Marshall Fields on State.
Chicago is my constant. My rock steady. I count on the colors and comfort of the usual suspects. I visit for verification, for reminder of my reality. She sorts me into my slot and nudges me nearer to now. Change doesn't wait for me to catch up. Names and numbers and nuances must be relearned. Even mine. She's keeping me aware and awake as I age. Teams and tourist traps guide my growth. The elevated train drives me to reconnections and new views. I believe in this metropolis and she believes in me. We're friends. Old friends.
I may have mentioned my infatuation with Chicago sports teams once or twice. Chicagoans are fanatic for sure. Affiliation with a team may be in your blood or inherited from your best friend. Lifelong. Games and stats and predictions fill bars and coffee shops and water cooler conversations. Lovable losers and the billy goat. Jim McMahon and the Superbowl Shuffle. Jordan's air and Harry's specs. WGN and WFLD. Jerseys and ball caps and banners decorate children's walls and parents' party rooms. Flags fly on game days and our own private civil war rages April through October.
I've attended each men's pro events. With or in place of friends, tickets purchased or gifts received, sporadically or seasonally, icicle eyebrows or sweaty seats, win or lose...each experience remembered and savored and enjoyed like no other since. Despite my lack of organized athleticism, I learned to respect the rules of Chi-town fandom. Even today, living in Michigan and paying several sums of money to Michigan State University to educate our daughter, even despite my enthusiasm for the young Red Wing who skated into our community's heart, besides the fact that I graduated from a college in Indiana, my love for Chicago sports reigns supreme. Wherever I travel I spy Chicago team logos. Chicago fans relocate but never jump ship. Next time you watch a Chicago team play an away game, notice how many supporters are in those unfamiliar seats and listen for the chants and cheers made famous only in Chi-town...my kinda' town.
...to be continued soon.
PEACE,
~L
1/29/10
kids are still cruel
I am a nurse. Been one officially for 16 months. I don't know if I can do this anymore.
Nothing beside my family means more to me. I may not be cut out to do this.
I know this might sound sad. I know this feels sad. I love learning. I love helping. I don't think I can be taught anymore of this stuff.
I've given this up to God. I let it be. And it still hurts. I don't know if this feeling will fade.
Helping others and feeling helpless.
Hoping to heal and assuming assistance.
Giving and tending to someone else's garden as if it were mine...I don't think that's all.
Praying and pleading for a heart to step up. Where is the support group? Where is the camaraderie of healers? Where do I look for other nurses to tend with me? To pull me out of this mud so I can grow too? I think cutting off my nose to spite my face is easier.
The world of sacrifice and unconditional giving is foreign to the other kids. Like they think I'm threatening their confidence by wanting to succeed. Changing to fit in is not doing it for me. I don't think I belong on this playground anymore.
This isn't the first time I've been kicked out of the club. It's becoming an unwelcome occurrence and a pitiful sight for my family to bear. I realize some strengths in writing and photography and hugging. None of that creates sustainable income or equates to a reason for six years of community college. I don't think I can survive another confession to my husband and kids. Mommy fell again. Mommy fell to square one again and needs a vacation from reality. Mom's leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again.
Where do I hide from my naivety? Where do I hide my ego? Where do I find a way-back machine to travel to my mother's womb? I don't know where the rest of my strength will come from. I don't know if crying and writing and pow wows about pulling up boot straps is meant for me anymore. I want it to go away. I don't like dredging the bottom of my lake anymore. Let the sandbars pile up, no ships of opportunity await in my harbor to pass through.
The beach and I have bonded. I spend time with the open sky, the screaming seagulls, the welcoming waves, the ice bogs and the sand prints...all beach asks in return is respect. Respect of environment and beauty and peacefulness and calm and solace and protection and security and wonder. I'm calming now, thinking about my beach. I visited the unexpected colors of our sunset last week. Shot over one hundred photos with my new telephoto lens. Felt grateful to be alive and standing next to Lake Michigan's enormity and grace. Even our winter is tolerable standing on her shores.
Lots to think about in the next week. Lots to decide. I'd rather be volunteering in Haiti. And someday I will. Today I don't have the appropriate skills to step foot onto that hallowed ground...to add one more mouth to feed or one more spot of grass to sleep upon. Someday my talents will serve their purpose. Someday...
Until then I write, shoot photos, read good books, do taxes, reorganize my closets, email friends, walk the dog, go to the beach, listen to good music, bake, dance, travel. Until then I live. And get along with the other kids.
Peace be with us.
Nothing beside my family means more to me. I may not be cut out to do this.
I know this might sound sad. I know this feels sad. I love learning. I love helping. I don't think I can be taught anymore of this stuff.
I've given this up to God. I let it be. And it still hurts. I don't know if this feeling will fade.
Helping others and feeling helpless.
Hoping to heal and assuming assistance.
Giving and tending to someone else's garden as if it were mine...I don't think that's all.
Praying and pleading for a heart to step up. Where is the support group? Where is the camaraderie of healers? Where do I look for other nurses to tend with me? To pull me out of this mud so I can grow too? I think cutting off my nose to spite my face is easier.
The world of sacrifice and unconditional giving is foreign to the other kids. Like they think I'm threatening their confidence by wanting to succeed. Changing to fit in is not doing it for me. I don't think I belong on this playground anymore.
This isn't the first time I've been kicked out of the club. It's becoming an unwelcome occurrence and a pitiful sight for my family to bear. I realize some strengths in writing and photography and hugging. None of that creates sustainable income or equates to a reason for six years of community college. I don't think I can survive another confession to my husband and kids. Mommy fell again. Mommy fell to square one again and needs a vacation from reality. Mom's leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again.
Where do I hide from my naivety? Where do I hide my ego? Where do I find a way-back machine to travel to my mother's womb? I don't know where the rest of my strength will come from. I don't know if crying and writing and pow wows about pulling up boot straps is meant for me anymore. I want it to go away. I don't like dredging the bottom of my lake anymore. Let the sandbars pile up, no ships of opportunity await in my harbor to pass through.
The beach and I have bonded. I spend time with the open sky, the screaming seagulls, the welcoming waves, the ice bogs and the sand prints...all beach asks in return is respect. Respect of environment and beauty and peacefulness and calm and solace and protection and security and wonder. I'm calming now, thinking about my beach. I visited the unexpected colors of our sunset last week. Shot over one hundred photos with my new telephoto lens. Felt grateful to be alive and standing next to Lake Michigan's enormity and grace. Even our winter is tolerable standing on her shores.
Lots to think about in the next week. Lots to decide. I'd rather be volunteering in Haiti. And someday I will. Today I don't have the appropriate skills to step foot onto that hallowed ground...to add one more mouth to feed or one more spot of grass to sleep upon. Someday my talents will serve their purpose. Someday...
Until then I write, shoot photos, read good books, do taxes, reorganize my closets, email friends, walk the dog, go to the beach, listen to good music, bake, dance, travel. Until then I live. And get along with the other kids.
Peace be with us.
12/13/09
settling (originally written 11/22, but also works this morning)
I could really use a laugh right now.
One friend is low. Another friend is away. Still another friend is lost. I am alone.
I've never been good at alone. Even surrounded by people, alone is challenging me. Remember what you don't have and feel uneasy. Imagine what you want to have and uneasy turns into easy to ignore. Settling is a cousin of alone.
Why do people remind me that it's not what I want or what I have that is important. Don't they see I can't breathe? Don't they hear me when I say I'm lonely. Don't they see me? One person may, but I don't feel your eyes on me. Only temporarily, once or twice. I want more. I told you that.
Let me sort this out please. Let me figure where I belong with you and me and everyone. Work, home, fun, work, family, holidays, expectations, work. I'm constantly trying to figure and reconfigure my self into the life I'm living.
One friend is low. Another friend is away. Still another friend is lost. I am alone.
I've never been good at alone. Even surrounded by people, alone is challenging me. Remember what you don't have and feel uneasy. Imagine what you want to have and uneasy turns into easy to ignore. Settling is a cousin of alone.
Why do people remind me that it's not what I want or what I have that is important. Don't they see I can't breathe? Don't they hear me when I say I'm lonely. Don't they see me? One person may, but I don't feel your eyes on me. Only temporarily, once or twice. I want more. I told you that.
Let me sort this out please. Let me figure where I belong with you and me and everyone. Work, home, fun, work, family, holidays, expectations, work. I'm constantly trying to figure and reconfigure my self into the life I'm living.
12/6/09
thanks for nothing
taking stock of my life
have been for a few months
since he started to listen
to me
Looking behind me
even though he says I shouldn't
says life is short and unpredicatable
he's right
so WTF
today, now
Highschool alum fill my screen
no matter the clique
back then
no matter the angst
or identity
we all want to know
everything
NOW
today is our past
begun again
I begin again
everyday
every breath
hear the songs
sing and fly
open and close
circles
looking forward
by looking back
looking inward
finding more me
more creativity lost, forgotten
find what you left behind
you do need
what you left behind
you do need what you don't have
that's the trouble
try to live without those things
try to adjust with what you have
NO!
DONE!
TIRED!
angry
sad
lonely
not me
where did I go
and how does she come back?
epiphany of me
a few months running
since he began listening
and reaffirmed my place
my sense
of place, he says
find it
know yourself
know who you are
he says
know thyself
live for today
wtf
you could die today
he could die today
she could too
and him and her and them
all gone
all missed
all here now
including thyself
so live NOW
he says
now I am stuck again
now I know who I am
and I am missing
stuck between who I started to become
and who I developed into
big chasm
lengthy detour
adjustments made along the way
people pleased and fed and clothed
demons battled
battles lost and won
answers sought
questions asked again
adjustments made
people pleased
marriage merger
parental positioning
battles fought and lost and won
again
circles going round
life going on
wtf
where does this carousel stop
and let me off
to run and play
with my former self
she's asking if I can rejoin her
reconnect with myself this time
and finish the story
of me, myself, and I
have been for a few months
since he started to listen
to me
Looking behind me
even though he says I shouldn't
says life is short and unpredicatable
he's right
so WTF
today, now
Highschool alum fill my screen
no matter the clique
back then
no matter the angst
or identity
we all want to know
everything
NOW
today is our past
begun again
I begin again
everyday
every breath
hear the songs
sing and fly
open and close
circles
looking forward
by looking back
looking inward
finding more me
more creativity lost, forgotten
find what you left behind
you do need
what you left behind
you do need what you don't have
that's the trouble
try to live without those things
try to adjust with what you have
NO!
DONE!
TIRED!
angry
sad
lonely
not me
where did I go
and how does she come back?
epiphany of me
a few months running
since he began listening
and reaffirmed my place
my sense
of place, he says
find it
know yourself
know who you are
he says
know thyself
live for today
wtf
you could die today
he could die today
she could too
and him and her and them
all gone
all missed
all here now
including thyself
so live NOW
he says
now I am stuck again
now I know who I am
and I am missing
stuck between who I started to become
and who I developed into
big chasm
lengthy detour
adjustments made along the way
people pleased and fed and clothed
demons battled
battles lost and won
answers sought
questions asked again
adjustments made
people pleased
marriage merger
parental positioning
battles fought and lost and won
again
circles going round
life going on
wtf
where does this carousel stop
and let me off
to run and play
with my former self
she's asking if I can rejoin her
reconnect with myself this time
and finish the story
of me, myself, and I
10/20/09
Happy Birthday to me
When things make no sense, sometimes they shouldn't. So stop questioning and proving and analyzing things. Takes up too much energy and effort.
Today I was humbled and honored and thankful to be alive. In this world, that makes no sense sometimes. Sometimes surprises make the most sense. Surprise you feel good today! Surprise you feel like nothing works today! Surprise you are well and surprise you are ill! What's expected is unusual and what's unexpected fills in the cracks. Just as if that's how it was supposed to be.
I don't make the rules. I don't control the day's movements. I just live in someone else's habitat. God's world. All desicions are pre made and I have no timeline to follow. So does it matter how I act or what I say if I am entirely predetermined? Free will? I choose to live and I choose to live free. Will I?
I affect other people and I don't affect other people. My effort to teach and share and model is in it's infancy for me. Or is it? Aren't I predetermined? Wasn't I born this way? to think and feel and express what's in my soul...habits formed long ago...essential to who I am. Nothing really changes as we age.
Celebrating another year and I'm being tested in quite a few ways. Let's begin with the new: job, friends, attitude, perspective. The old: family, obligations, expectations, interpretations. The test of acceptance of changed plans. The test of stability to listen to the reasons why. The test of perserverance of daily drudgery. Test my faith. Test my honor. test my loyalty. Test my strength and free will.
So many tests, so little time.
So I promise myself to spend more precious time smiling and expressing my love and sharing my heart. Super simple, in the company of most. Small challenge with others. but hey, their life is also set up for them, and they also have free will to choose their reactions to me. So be it. Love me or leave me. You choose.
Today I was humbled and honored and thankful to be alive. In this world, that makes no sense sometimes. Sometimes surprises make the most sense. Surprise you feel good today! Surprise you feel like nothing works today! Surprise you are well and surprise you are ill! What's expected is unusual and what's unexpected fills in the cracks. Just as if that's how it was supposed to be.
I don't make the rules. I don't control the day's movements. I just live in someone else's habitat. God's world. All desicions are pre made and I have no timeline to follow. So does it matter how I act or what I say if I am entirely predetermined? Free will? I choose to live and I choose to live free. Will I?
I affect other people and I don't affect other people. My effort to teach and share and model is in it's infancy for me. Or is it? Aren't I predetermined? Wasn't I born this way? to think and feel and express what's in my soul...habits formed long ago...essential to who I am. Nothing really changes as we age.
Celebrating another year and I'm being tested in quite a few ways. Let's begin with the new: job, friends, attitude, perspective. The old: family, obligations, expectations, interpretations. The test of acceptance of changed plans. The test of stability to listen to the reasons why. The test of perserverance of daily drudgery. Test my faith. Test my honor. test my loyalty. Test my strength and free will.
So many tests, so little time.
So I promise myself to spend more precious time smiling and expressing my love and sharing my heart. Super simple, in the company of most. Small challenge with others. but hey, their life is also set up for them, and they also have free will to choose their reactions to me. So be it. Love me or leave me. You choose.
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