Reflections

And sometimes the hardest thing for me to do is wade through my thoughts.  Torn by an intense fear of vulnerability.  If I choose to share the imperfections of my life, the self-doubt, the poor habits, the waste and excess then isn't any public shame or disgrace simply my just desserts?

How are the scales balanced.  Can intent or idea outweigh prolapsed dreams and aborted efforts?  Is not the doing always more important than the thinking about doing..... more?

Is it merely self-aggrandizement to think anyone cares to know or benefits from my share?  More importantly are those fears of future denigration grounded in the same self-aggrandizing thoughts that nudge and at times propel blog posts forward....even if I imagine they hold me back?

Should I not be more happy, upbeat, uplifting (in message), overflowing with optimism and enthusiasm.  I do after all spend day and night privileged.

My daughter sleeps in her bed tonight.  My son lies under warm soft blankets in his crib.  My husband remains an ever-present pillar of support.

I am engulfed by love near and far.  Appreciative and grateful, even if weighed down by the frustration of incomplete initiatives.

Weak

And sometimes I need the space to be weak.
Not mandated from on high,
Or premised in man is strong, and woman is well....
Weakness

But safe weak.
Weakness I can sit in as long as I need to.
Knowing I am attended to by he who compliments my brilliance,
And stands guard waiting to applaud my triumphant rise.

I am after all but a single grain of sand,
Before an ocean of life,
Clumped with a community of rough edges
Battered by waves,
Smoothed by touch,
Pressed into pearls or
Moulded into temporal edifices.

Non-metaphorically human
And sometimes weak.

More Wonder

And I can't find the words, though I know they are there.  I fumble about, clumsily, periodically sending perfectly good ideas crashing to the floor, bursting into a million pieces because I'm scared.  Unsure of too much it feels.  Straining to see the woman reflected in a mirror mere feet away.

And I worry about too much I'm sure.  I wonder if broadcasting my fears and inadequacies is foolish or helpful to anyone who might come across this blog and relate.  

I stand in a doorway, before a room of thousands of small fragile things and I wonder if I am careful and brave enough to enter.  Especially as I leave a room full of wrecked notions of self behind me.

Believe

And this moment is new.

And I am brave.

And if I fail, I will get back up and try again.

Because I cannot change what has already happened.

And sometimes the very act of carrying on is revolutionary.

Because courage brightens the cave fear would have me hide, live, and die in.

Getting By

A Practice in Getting By:

Step one:  Let everyone (spouse and children) fend for themselves.

Step two:  Ignore pleas for help and/or cries unless life threatening.

Step three:  Note that despite not intervening, the world continues to spin.

Step four:  Repeat steps 1-3 regularly, and GET BY.

Warning: While personal satisfaction may occur, said advice does not protect against spousal alienation.

Anger Unexplained

And the fury runs deep,
Boils up,
Topples over.

No one to blame,
no source of pain.
Just anger, unexplained.

Conversations

Me: italicized text  My 3 y/o daughter: regular text

[Describing a small cut on her finger.]

It looks like something you jump on.

A trampoline?

No a jumping thing that you ride on.

A trolley? - you jump on and off of those right???

No, no.

A skateboard, a bicycle?

No, it's like a bicycle.

I don't know babes, I'm sorry.

It's like this *jumps around holding pretend handle bars*

OH, a pogo stick!

YES, YES a pogo stick! *with the biggest most satisfying smile*

Don't know if she's ever even seen a pogo stick.  I hope I never forget that smile, I hope her life is filled with the deep satisfaction and joy of being understood by those she loves.