the unbalancing

until very recently i believed that other people could live their dreams and that other people had choices i was not able to make.  i gave all my power away.  and it was sad to be powerless and choiceless.  it felt like being stuck.  what little energy i kept for myself i used up trying hard at all the things.  there is never enough trying hard.  it's exhausting and also sad.  it was time to make my own choices.  so i did.  

i want to tell you all about how i quit my job after twenty two years, and my husband got a job for the first time in ten years in another state, and that i became a stay at home mom (for however briefly) and how we made a plan to take our kids out of school so we could travel until january.  but i haven't found all the words, yet.  for now, just look at this costume i saw at l'opera garnier in paris, you guys. try making choices, too.  it feels great.  the world is waiting for you to show up.

love a neighbor

the dog barks and growls and announces a visitor.  the boys come hollering into the living room.  "he's here.  he's here.  our neighbor is here."  at seven thirty in the pm i step out the door to meet him in the dusky cool.  {in my pajamas.  because, face it.  at least for this week i'm the kind of girl who goes to work and wears pants with buttons by day, and the girl who wears only elastic from five in the pm on.  it is literally the first thing i do when i get home.  hi, how was your day, where are my pajamas?}  he's always wobbly as a newborn kitten.  today was no different.  he walks when he can't drive.  and.  sometimes.  as horrifying as it may seem, driving is the only thing that keeps him going.   his walking is equal parts perilous.  he needed a break from hotel lonely he told me.  and he missed his wife.  i watched his eyes as he described their wedding day.  he got lost in her beauty long gone.  those are the important memories, i thought.  his other memories weren't coming to mind as readily as they did only a few months ago.  he took a breather in my kitchen.  all ninety one years of tired, heaped up there.  he is always welcome at my table. sometimes he takes me up on the offer.  joining a link up about how we love our neighbors here.

the life cycle of a girl

the great horned owl hooting in the night sky keeps me company while i burn out my morning pages by star light.  i'm working around some great magic that's been locked away in the responsible part of myself.  i know you know the responsible part, friend.  it's who you learned to be when you became the rule following, people pleaser - as did I.  it's the little girl who took on the weight of the world and called herself out for every stupid, embarrassing, little mistake she made.  the girl who carried glue and tape in her pocket prepared for each worst case scenario.  oh, that girl.  if i could, i would hold her tight and make her know she was not alone.  instead i write her out of the shadows and into the spotlight on the pages of my notebook.

the try hard, fix it, do more, be more life can only take us so far.  eventually the little girl has to grow up and face her disappointment and joys as an adult.  and it is just way easier to pretend to be grown up than to actually accomplish the task.  to leave the sadness and pain out of the story would dull the happiness and joy. but there's been so much sadness lately, so let me tell you about the joy.  the gratitude for the life i have.  i helped to raise a girl not my own.  she was my responsibility, and i her servant.  many days i wondered if i was in over my head.  i was not clear on how to be of use to her.  twenty some years later, she asks me to help her give back.  today she starts her life's work with a servant's heart.  with compassion for others and selfless motives.

letting a girl go into the world is bittersweet.  for our own selfish reasons we hold on to her tightly.  watching her grow up can be painful.  we've been a part of the story once before and it's a page turner, nonetheless.  our hearts ache for her; our hearts ache for the little girl inside ourselves.  letting her know that no matter what.  she is not alone.  in the joy.  in the disappointment.  that's the real good part.  we are all in this together.  growing and going and giving back.

unlocked

my mind is still percolating over the crooked path.  i like to run right past sad.  i prefer to characterize myself as happy.  like, all the time.  i will tell you i'm fine.  that i have all the things handled.  and i will not ask for your help.  can you literally feel the collective eye roll from my people?  and did the sigh out of their ever loving mouths blow past you like a cool nor'easter?  i'm unlearning all the years of thinking that doing more, and being more is the answer to happiness.  fake it til you make it is my archenemy.  i am currently not full up of others - i'm letting them handle their own things.  and i am building my confidence up for real life.  i am not rushed.  not numbed.  just holed up and still in all the discomfort of new ways.  i'm doing my best to be quiet when all these millions of thoughts and feelings are demanding attention.

bucket friend update:  i do over-think all the things.  but in these days of driving by and wondering about the toothy guy on the corner, my hope is that he feels cared for.  and i think he does, you guys.  because i see people reaching out to him.  and, yesterday, he had two oranges an apple and six cans of soup.  so i know i'm not the only one who sees him.  i hand him bread to satisfy my own perception of his need and in return i get to hear his voice. someday i might know his name.  his real need.  someday i might hold a bit of his story.  for now we have gotten to the weather.  and that is leaps and bounds beyond the day we finally made eye contact.  this is my very favorite kind of thing.