Just warning you now that this is a dismal rant… it’s probably a “don’t bother read”
A year ago, someone I love took his life. I don’t know what day… I don’t know what time… perhaps that’s why I’m feeling so restless, because I don’t have a moment to mark as his last… as if somehow moving one second passed the anniversary moment would lessen that ache… He was young and now it is over for him
… another year of my life has passed and it’s just over.
As a child, I used to be so afraid of dying. Every day I’d think, “one less day to live… one day closer till it’s over.” My faith saved me from that fear, realizing that death was not the end. That fear has crept back in a bit recently. A wavering of my faith? A mid-mid-life crisis? I’ve realized that I spend so much time trying not to feel and all my energy spent trying to keep it together has held me stagnant. The fear has locked me down like a deer in headlights.
So I’ve been thinking a lot the last few days, thinking about how I got to be who I am, trying to figure out how I can not waste another day. All this examining gave me a few glimpses of parts of me that I’ve lost along the way and some wide-screen HD views of things that I thought would never haunt me again.
Not really sure where this ride is going to take me but I’m hanging on…
I’ve spent most my life as a people pleaser. Gag. Recently, I’ve started to see the insanity of it all, how the more you try to please other, the more you lose the sense of yourself. Suddenly, I can’t remember my favorite color, favorite book, best friend… where did I go? Now, I’m not trying to say that having a favorite color makes an authentic person. And sure, I’m all about blaming the people I try to please for my sudden lack of perceived identity which is probably unfair but that’s neither here nor there at the moment.
So, I’ve begun to develop a list of things I know:
- I am a crafter (hence the gingerbread cyclops). Forget shoes and hangbags people! If you want to go shopping with me we’ll be headed to JoAnn’s or Michael’s.
- If I had to choose a favorite color, I suppose I’d pick red but I find it oppressively restrictive to choose one out of millions.
- The book I couldn’t live without is the Bible but the reasons for that choice deserve their own blog rant so for this list I’ll pick Little Women. The first time I read Little Women I became Jo March and dissappeared into writing. I wrote my first “book” when I was in the third grade (it’s even bound and illustrated elementary school style). I have stacks of pages, story beginings, random scenes, outlines, research… but somehow I forgot how writing makes me feel. I think Little Women deserves a re-read.