Kaleidoscope
I realize it’s been a while since I’ve posted on this blog. I haven’t stopped writing, just nothing I’m ready to share with anyone outside of myself, for now at least. It’s proving to be a trying year for me and next year doesn’t look any less trying, but I won’t complain because I think we all have those years. I read a saying the other day. It said, “Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning how to dance in the rain.” And that’s what I’ve been busy trying to do.
Here’s an older piece I’ve written but never posted. When I feel lost and unsure, I read it, and it reminds me why I keep trying.
At first glance my life is far from alluring or impressive. There are no trophies that adorn the mantel of my fireplace. I haven’t any certificates set in matted frames boasting my prestigious credentials or latest tangible achievements. I am not gifted with extraordinary talents nor am I even the least bit good at any sports requiring running, dunking, or serving. I have not traveled the world, I have never even stepped foot off this continent. I would say I’m just a simple girl, humble of the great things I have yet to accomplish and aspire, but still grateful for my life’s daily mediocre triumphs. Read more…
Exhaustion
I’m not a morning person, never have been. In fact, I have a love hate relationship with my snooze button. I need her, rely on her, religiously check on her just in case, but every morning I blindly smack her quiet for that luxurious ten more minutes of sleep. Who am I kidding? I set her for 6:30, but shush her half a dozen times before my husband has to coerce me out of bed with coffee at 7. And that’s on a good day.
The worse days entail me waking up to my fourteen year old standing above me citing I have fifteen minutes to get dressed and out the door. Better believe I’ve long since given up fixing my face and hair unless I can work that in while I warm up the car. I usually focus on just trying not to wear the same outfit two days in a row and some weeks I don’t even manage that. Read more…
The Price We Pay
I was recently invited to write a piece for The Write On Project, a fabulous blogging community featuring some really great writers. I’m quite humbled and flattered they extended me an invitation. The suggested topic of the post was guilt. My post is scheduled to post on their site tomorrow morning, but titled as “This Girl’s Road to Redemption”. On my site I prefer the title “The Price We Pay”. I hope you all enjoy it. I wonder if some of you might even relate, especially those of you I grew up with. Here’s to all the other “survivors of our era”.
The dictionary defines guilt as “a feeling of responsibility or remorse for some offense, crime, or wrong, whether real or imagined.” Real or imagined, that sounds about right. Might even be more accurate, at least helpful, if they added a footnote, “Warning: Duration of guilt known to last several years. Atonement not guaranteed.” Now that’s the kind of guilt I know. Come to think of it, I didn’t know there was another kind. Read more…
This Ain’t No Hallmark Card It’s a Rant, But an Honest One
I’m no expert on love or marriage, I’m barely an expert at my own life, but over the years I think I’ve learned a few things worth sharing. I’ve had the pleasure, and sometimes the burden, of loving the same man for the last sixteen years. I was only nineteen when we started dating and naive enough to think all a marriage needed to survive was love. Sure was a fool back then, but I learned.
Here’s what I know so far. Foremost, it takes hard work. You have to show up, be there, listen. You invest a great deal of time, effort, and patience, a whole lot of patience into a marriage. And still there’s more. You have to make something of the time you spend together. It’s not enough to just be around living day to day in some force fed obligated routine. You have to sincerely care about where your relationship is going, not just when everything is new and exciting, but throughout its entire duration. Read more…
Protected: Angry Open Letter to That Family Member Who Just Doesn’t Know How to Call Back
Remember the Name
This is 10% luck, 20% skill, 15% concentrated power of will,
5% pleasure, 50% pain, and 100% reason to remember the name.
Fort Minor
I root for myself, a lot. Really I do.
Life is hard enough as it is just trying to get through the day to day stuff, dare you start dreaming for something bigger, setting ambitions for yourself that seem dubious, silly even. Sometimes I need to cheer myself on just to get through the day. Read more…
Save yourself or remain unsaved
This month has been rough, what with finals, car problems, my sister in the hospital again, my brother moving out, then there’s the rest of life; bills, kids, work. And, of course, the ordeal with my 18 year old son, who’s doing some soul searching of his own. I’m learning new life lessons and rediscovering old ones, too, some of them heart breakers.
I’m learning that people aren’t always who you think they are and that’s not all their fault. Sometimes we build them up in our minds to be who we want them to be instead of accepting who they are. We assume we’re older, we know better, so what we say goes. We think that because they’re our children or kid brother we’ve earned the right to plan their lives for them, especially if you’re afraid they don’t have dreams of their own or you just don’t like what they do have. Then we act surprised when they’re not plugging away working on that list of ambitions we set for them never once thinking that maybe it wasn’t what they wanted. We ignore the signs that tell us they’re anything other than what we want them to be and convince ourselves we can fix them, save them.
Well into adulthood, you still think it’s your job to look out for your kid brothers and sister, making sure they’re doing what they’re supposed to, just like you did when you were ten. You carry their failures and burdens as your own. You forget that you can’t mold people into who you want them to be. You can’t change them. They are who they are, take it or leave it. People evolve at their own pace not yours.
We mistakenly assume an 18 year old without plans is an instant sign of disaster, a distress signal that a parent is required to reply. We forget that some things even a parent can’t answer and that includes telling your son who he is or is supposed to be. We forget what it was like to be 18 years young, and confused, and scared, and trying, just trying to figure out your place in this big old world.
You confuse your kids’ mistakes for your own. You think your siblings’ misfortunes belong to you. You forget that kids and siblings alike grow up and have to figure things out for themselves, without you shadowing them or judging them.
So I’m learning..to have faith in my last 18 years of parenting, most of which were good. I’m learning that sometimes my support is needed more than my direction. I’m learning that I have to let people learn from their own mistakes just as I do mine. I’m learning to accept people for who they are, with all of their flaws, even if it means they’re not doing anything I wish they were. But mostly I’m learning that I can’t save anyone besides myself. People have to save themselves or remain unsaved.