To Share....Or Not To....

My television is broken.  

Not that I watch a lot of TV, but sometimes in the evenings I like to snuggle up with my Paris Woolen Mill blanket (THAT is a story for another day!), some tea, a roaring fire, and binge watch.  But with a broken television, I've had to rethink this ritual.  

Lately I've just taken to my bed (with another Paris Woolen Mill blanket--part of that same story) in the evenings that I'm alone, still with some tea, and read a book or write.  I can only write when I'm by myself.  My brain doesn't multitask well these days.  Ahem. 

I used to share a lot of stuff when I wrote.  Pretty much everything really.  I would entertain the occasional worry that maybe I was being too forthcoming with what I wrote about.  I admit that I worried that I might seem overly negative or too sad or a big time complainer.  I even worried that I made it seem like I drank too much whisky all too often (I don't.).

But those thoughts were just little niggling barbs and I wrote with honesty and transparency, damn it all anyway.

I've never been a particularly private person.  I don't have much to hide.  I can't lie very well either. So being an open book comes easily for me.   You know when you meet someone for the first time and they end up sharing their entire life's story with you?  Yeah, well, that's usually me.  I think I'm motivated to do this by attempting to forge connections through commonalities.  Who doesn't love a little solidarity, right?

Lately, though, I'm not feeling so candid.  Not here in this space and not so much outside of here either.

I want to keep the good things in my life to myself, hold them close but still with open hands.  I don't want prying eyes and judging mouths to get close enough to damage or mar what I hold.  There is a fierce sense of protection that I feel for my privacy now.  I don't want to fret over whether I've offended someone or caused unwarranted concern for my well being or sanity.  And really, I just don't feel the need to communicate much these days.  

Quiet.  Peaceful.  Simple.

Yes, simple is what I'll write about soon.  

Lessons, Episode #3

1.  You are never, ever too old to learn something new.  Or relearn something old.  Or change directions.  Or start over.  Or respond differently.

2.  Some people will never enjoy drinking wine.  I used to think that I would develop a taste for wine as I got older but that theory has failed me miserably.  Same thing with acorn squash:  I just can't do it.

3.  Flexibility is the key to staying sane.  And I mean more than just the ability to touch your toes.

4.  The universe has a funny way of surprising you.  Be open to all of it.
 
5.  Nothing in life, and I do mean absolutely nothing, is linear.  At least not for very long.

6.  A night's sleep (not necessarily a good night either) is the best way to gain clarity.

7.  Don't live a sloppy life.  Live with intention and thoughtfulness.  Apply that idea to your words, your activities, and all the choices you might encounter.

8.  Remember that your perspective isn't always correct.

9.  Realize that life won't always be kind to you and you won't always be happy and fulfilled.  Do the next thing anyway and try not to think too much.

10.  Don't.  Think.  So.  Much.
       *just live*

My Race

I went for a run tonight.  First time in almost 5 weeks.  I'm sure I've written about running here before so going for a run isn't a new or particularly exciting topic.  But it's been a rocky few weeks leading up to this evening's run.

Back story:  I've always run.  So the idea of running in the annual Hood to Coast relay was not a stretch for me.  In fact, it was something I'd wanted to do since I was about 20.  But then I was pregnant or nursing for about 15 years and I moved out of state for a while, and well, it just never happened.  Last fall, however, I signed up with a group of friends and started training.  Nice and steady miles, increasing over the course of many months.  I was ready.  I was golden.  Yeah, but then one week before the race I ended up with a wicked case of bronchitis that morphed into pneumonia and the accompaniments of such disease.  I was a coughing, feverish, wheezing mess.  I had to tap out of the race only two days before the start.  Two rounds of antibiotics, several refilled prescriptions of Teslon pearls, inhaled steroids, regular steroids, and God knows what else medicine, and I'm finally on the mend.

And so tonight I ran.

This ended up more than a physical run though.  I cried as I ran.  I think the whole thing was representative of something else.  I think, actually I'm sure, that this run was what I needed to put necessary distance between one life and a new life.  Oh, I know what you're thinking now after reading that.  It might just seem that I'm trying to outrun reality. No such chance of that, I'm afraid.  Reality and I are well acquainted.  Reality meets me everyday when I get up for work. Or when I run kids hither and yon.  Or when I pay the bills.  Or when I risk stagnant security for happiness.  Yes, reality and I know each other well.

This was a strange summer for me.  Probably the strangest, most amazing, most enlightening, most magical (and I don't use that word flippantly either) season that I've ever experienced.  Really.  It was painful and raw and sweet and hilarious all at the same time.  I came face to face with many things that I needed to get resolved.  Things that needed to be let go of.  Things that needed to be recognized.  Things that needed to be fixed.  It was almost as if I could stand back and look at my life from another person's perspective and see things more clearly than I think I ever had.  It was a scary and cathartic experience, for sure. I wouldn't change one minute of it either.

Now I see which direction I'm running, and that direction is towards the future.  Away from what's in the past.  I will undoubtedly trip or get lost or even hurt myself while I run.  But I've trained smart and I'll just keep on heading in that direction.  Nothing is chasing me so I don't have to run hard or fast to get away.  I just need to keep my feet moving forward and looking at what's in front of me.  And I love the view.

Telephone

There's this game we used to play in Girl Scouts when I was, well, a girl.  It was called Telephone.  Everyone sat in a circle and one person started the game by whispering a short sentence to the person sitting beside them.  Then that person whispered what they had heard to the person sitting next to them.  And around and around the circle went the whispered sentence until the very last person was expected to repeat, out loud, what had been whispered in their ear.  Usually, the end result was so far from the original words that everyone had a good laugh at how the sentence had completely morphed into something new and entirely different.

It was a fun game.

I think we still play this game as adults.  But now the end results are not nearly as funny, probably due to the fact that it's not a game anymore.  Seems like we just repeat things without actually hearing what's being said.

So much of the time we tend to interject our own take on a story, despite not knowing the real truth.  We might also put a little personal spin on the details, because let's face it, sometimes it's a better story with a little extra embellishment.  Am I right?  Other times we like to contribute our own opinion on what's been said because our opinions are important.  At least we like to think so.

Yeah, I think we definitely still play this game.  Just seems like no one's laughing at the end now.

Time

This seems like an appropriate night to write about time.  Time passing.  Time going too ssllloowwwwllyyy.  Wasting time.  Patience.

You get my drift.

I think my perception of time has changed so much in the past few years.  Partially because of the transitions in my life, you know, like kids growing up and the changes that come with simply getting older.  But my perception has shifted mostly because of death.  Obviously Bill's death.  Friend's and family's deaths as well.  Too many deaths.

And it's made me think.  Or actually it's made me quit thinking and start feeling.  Kind of this strange intuitive feeling that I can't define very well.

I just can't follow conventional thinking anymore when it comes to time.  Societal or cultural time frames don't feel authentic to me.  They feel contrived and forced.  Seriously, who can really tell me when I should start or finish or wait or get over anything?  That's my choice and it's dictated only by me.

In the past few years I have also learned that I am so very gullible.  I take on too much.  I get my feelings hurt easily.  I often have undefined boundaries.  And I have absolutely NO patience.  (now stop that snickering, my dear friends who pointed this out to me!)  Because of these characteristics, time is not my friend.  Usually.

But I'm starting to learn.  Slowly.

 I think I'm also realizing that I've been a little too precious in my adult life.  Bill took awful good care of me and I don't think there were many times I didn't get what I wanted, when I wanted it.  Or if I didn't get my way, he was awful good at convincing me why I shouldn't.  And then I tried to accept that something didn't go my way.  Within the life we so carefully created I was able to manipulate time to best fit me and what I wanted.  This contrived control made me have the most unrealistic idea of what was considered a normal time frame for just about everything.  I think that's where most of my impatience comes from.

What the heck is considered normal when dealing with time anyway?

It's a struggle for me, this patience thing.  I'm a doer by nature, a fixer, and an extraordinarily impatient waiter.  When I make up my mind about something I'm all in.  Right now.  Waiting is painful and feels like failure to me. I'll say it again:  when I make up my mind about something I do not wait.  Ugh.  Not the greatest attribute.

Yeah, I'm a jumper for sure.  

But I've come to realize that there is a world outside of my old world and there are, gasp, other people who I must defer to.  And the deference includes sometimes accepting a different time frame than my own.  And that's not a bad thing.

Patience is my goal.  Nothing more.  I told a friend one time that he must "trust the process of life and not rush trying to live."  Maybe I need to take my own advice.