Why Not?

Recently, Elizabeth Gilbert recommended the blog, Momastery.  Of course, I checked it out.  Loving it, I envied how well Glennon Doyle Melton writes.  For 3 days, it provided me an excuse not to write.  I gave up because I wasn't someone else.
Crazy?  Yes.  Not all my excuses are so illogical, however, I am an amazing author of excuses.  Maybe, it's time to look for reasons instead.  So, I did.

Carol's reasons to write:

In order to write, I have to write.  It's just like breathing.  It's what one does to stay alive, if you're so inclined  Holding my breath is not breathing.  All that effort to avoid the inevitable is futile.

I am not Glennon Doyle Melton or any other author I admire.   My life is uniquely mine.  Instead of finding reasons why I'm not good enough, I need to remember that the ONLY person I need to be better than is myself or the me I was 30 seconds ago.

I am interesting.  I honestly believe I'm one of the most interesting people I know.  In fact, I'm overly attached to my ideas and stories and I never tire of sharing them.

It's important to make time to do something I love.  Considering how much time I spend doing the things I have to do and don't enjoy,  if I can't make time for a little fun and enjoy what I'm doing, it's time to pack it all in.

I won't know what I can write if I don't give it a try.  Not every word or post is going to be good. It doesn't really matter.  Once in a while, I hit the mark.  The more I practice, the more I learn and the better I get.

Why not?  No, really.  why not?

Fragile

"Stop thinking you are fragile," a wise friend said.

Guilty.  And, yet I know, I am not fragile.

My life is full of challenges.  Some may say it's a mess.  Some do say, "you're a mess!"
I am a glass-half-full gal.  I come from a long line of pessimists who are trying to find a glass.  A glass-half-full is an accomplishment.

I have good reasons to wake up at 3 a.m. and cry.  Occasionally, I have "sack-and-ash cloth" days when I feel sorry for myself.  There are days when I'm angry and impatient.   I remain human.  In time, I get a grip and begin again.  That's the joy of being human. You can reinvent yourself when the old self just doesn't cut it.

This mess, that is my life, has become a tremendous opportunity for growth.
This mess, that is my life, has opened my eyes to what is most precious and who among my friends and family provide bright spots in our lives.
This mess, that is my life, has witnessed a generosity and kindness that often leaves me speechless and teary-eyed with gratitude.
This mess, that is my life, has drawn us closer.
This mess, that is my life, has forced me to be brutally honest with myself and to begin to take greater responsibility for how I contribute to where I am in the moment. . . any moment.
This mess, that is my life, has taught me that blame, guilt and pity stand in my way and prevent me from the important work of beginning again.
This mess, that is my life, has deepened my faith in a loving God.  In a world turned upside down by disappointment and financial challenges, God is the only constant that makes sense.

No matter how discouraged I may feel in my darkest moments, my life remains an amazing gift.  I can not waste it.

I'm not fragile because I've discovered what I'm made of.  I am strongest in my broken places.

My wise friend, ended the evening with a direct statement to me.  "You are going to get through this. We're going to get through this."   She is right.  We are not fragile.

Blocked

Blocked.  That was the message I received when I tried to post on my web site.  Blocked seems to be the theme lately.

Heading back over to "In Just 10" I rediscover what "In Just 10" was about.  I'm ashamed to admit that I had completely forgotten.  Total blank.  It's time to get back to what I value and to take action to protect it and to increase the joy I am certain will follow by being more attentive to those things that truly matter to me.  It requires effort.  I wonder if I have the energy.

I'm off course.  The wrong things are capturing my attention.  Ideas for op/ed pieces roar through my head like hungry lions.

As I try to shake off the mantle of negative energy, I realize that underneath my frustration and anger lies a deep and profound loneliness.  No one is more surprised than I to discover it there.

I am desperate to feel useful, essential, connected.  Instead I feel a profound disconnect at the deepest level.  Maybe this is the nature of grief.  Maybe, it is an essential component of change.  What ever it's purpose, cause or function,  I walk with it now.

My life is rapidly reduced to its basic elements so that I may rebuild again but the process is exquisitely painful and isolating.  Reality does have teeth and they are sharp.

I grieve under a great burden, the brokenness and the confusion follows me like a love sick puppy. Insight comes and goes with a brutal randomness.  Is this how others live?  Do other people worry about these things, the things that rip me from a sound sleep at 3 a.m. and form shadows on the wall that the light of day can not erase?

Polite conversation is no place for such things.   A curtain drops between me and the rest of the world.   It tries to hide the danger.  If it isn't spoken aloud, it doesn't exist.  But,  it does.  I carry it around with me like a hungry cancer.