i’ve written. swear to god, or whatever you think IT is….
so here: proof.
unpacking humility. (oof. is that a book title or what? i mean, not mine, but someone’s.)
odd numbers are trees.
bubbles of nuclear family: do you incorporate, or do you bounce?
when what you desire is immersion and you fear it to paralysis.
i’d rather have empty walls and a richly vibrant lady by the fire than a beautifully ornate caravan with an empty shell of me.
i exist in dapple today.
these are nice bits and bobs. my oldest graduates from middle school today and its lovely, and i am feeling my age. i hadn’t totally realized i was a middle-aged-woman, until i saw myself next to him at a pre-semi-formal and there it was. but whatever. i can write. so there.
old wives tales. tales from people who are or have been a wife* for more than a decade. … all your tales are old wives tales. all the things you’ve learned, all the world you’ve seen.
lets venerate ourselves. more, more. more.
get those glennon doyles, those liz gilberts, those oprahs, those anne lamotts… get them, put them in one spot and shine the hell out of them. read them to our kids, start borrowing bits of their knowledge and calling it our own, because we’re them too, just not with any platform. we do know as much as they do, actually.
although i envy the hell out of their ability to think and process and then SHARE so well. i’m missing at least one step at all times.
but still. bring it on, we old wives. . .
*recognizing ‘wife’ doesn’t have to mean ‘church wedding’, or hetero-anything.
I have been coming to the realization that there may not be hundreds of people at my funeral.
This may be a strange opening sentence. I can’t tell anymore. I spend a lot of time alone.
I’m smiling. people that love me tend to argue with me over this point. i’m not totally sure why. kind of, maybe, but not entirely.
i’m 44, i’m an introvert. i love and take great great pleasure in working from home and having the kids with me when they are. (mostly. i’m no saint.) i’m a homebody. i don’t want my kids to be sick but its a thrill of a lifetime when they are and i can nourish them to health. *I’m here, I’m the universe. I love people and I like to see them and laugh with them. but my circles are small, and i take great delight in the smallness of my life, most of the time.
when my dad died 5 years ago, there were hundreds of people at his services. and i’m not exaggerating. and i know other people who are still alive who will have that problem… well, you know what i mean… but i’m working on being really content with who i am.
working like: dirtyhands in the soil working. cracked skin and calloused fingers.
i have a small life. a little life. a life with children who are dynamic people living in my home still, a home, a dog, chickens, some land, a very fledgling ability to make a living…small. *not insignificant, just small.
*the universe is in the grain of rice, ya dig? thats me.
There is all this meshing going on… i’m having to blend aspects of myself into a sort of support sling and i’m no knitter and perhaps the weave will be strongest anyhow…
i’m in process on this one so bear with me.
new man is bringing up a lot of old traumas that i’m having to work through. turns out i’m not done with being fearful of being lied to… SO not done.
turns out some people just tell truth. wtf. you don’t have to figure out what they MEAN? shoot. makes everything so much easier… and theres so much more time in a day…
i’m trying to come up with a ‘guiding question’ to fulfill a prompt, and i’ve now delayed the writing by about a week… and i’m supposed to think about ‘intention’ today and i’m trying to dream about a future wherein i can feel the feels and not run screaming into the woods or into the goddamned wall. (this pertains to both man and to work, which is horribly in flux right now…) and how the hell does one plan a dream?
if i apply all this questioning to the ‘plan’ for the future, the next year of myself as business? what sort of mental gymnastics must i do? is there a way to make this all easier? how do i get to some sort of truthtelling of myself ? to myself?
i’m no mystic on the mountainside, or even in a nice comfy cottage… i don’t know anyone who has got it all figured out, to ask about it. sometimes i dream of asking my grammie, but i think she was too no-nonsense to deal with this sort of thing. and maybe there is something in that. life is the same, whether you inspect it or not… right?
is that a road i really want to travel on? hm. its pretty close to ‘it is what it is’… which is possibly the most unsatisfying thing ever. and no matter how intellectually i attack it, i’m just not sure i truly believe in it. IS IT ? IS THIS REALLY THE WAY IT IS? REALLY?
I choose dreamy watercolor puddles. Colors in a pile. unplanned moments.
whats my walking prayer? whats my intention in my step? whats my guiding question? what do i catch in my net when i lay it all down?
i wish i had some pat answer that would be a viral meme. because. hello. i need money and ad-clicking.
but i don’t have a viral meme in me. I wonder about curiosity and openheartedness… how i can keep them more …before me as i step…
wonder about what is… don’t allow fear to send me to the wall… just keep prying my heart back open every time it shutters. (shudders) .. which, if you are human, can hurt a whole lot and is pretty hard to do the 32nd time it happens…
i spent the weekend with an infant and i watched him gaze and then look away and then go back to gazing…
and i do that, all the time… so much the gaze, the introspection, the focus … The Startle: then i can’t handle it and need to withdraw in a figurative bubble to repair. its as if the study and gaze of mine has rent me.
do you know that language? its how it feels.
and so after a wonderful weekend and a reunion with my man, i’m just barely able to get out of bed.
and i do not dig it.
and the world is rushing in to my bubble and i feel vulnerable to all the things.
i do not dig.
i look back at my most recent journaling and it tells me what i know is necessary. practice. receiving. practice.
like get down on your knees and practice. literally do something uncomfortable, completely force the boundaries to stretch, make yourself sick with the twist, get down on your knees and open up that cracked up walnut chest and just sit there, exposed. because that is the practice that I have to do these days. I don’t know what is coming, and I still have to do it and I don’t really know if I can, if I can brave that particular chill.
i’ve felt this call before and brushed it off. this need to immerse, to peel off the skin… to bulletize… to turn myself insides out. . . i’m not sure that brushing it off is serving me anymore and i’m intimidated .
and i’m still laughing, and able to laugh even while inviting new guy to watch kids baseball games and expose us to publicity of a sort… – – – i did that.
and i still feel like i need to take all my clothes off and walk into the blizzard.