I decided last night that I'm tired of feeling this way... it's time to write. So here we are.
It doesn't escape me that most people could not care less about my ramblings. I have come to the conclusion that I actually write BECAUSE no one is really interested in what I have to say. Writing allows me to say what I want independent of whether or not anyone wants to listen. I suppose that those who don't care won't read what I babble on about and I will never know... and I am so okay with this.
To be honest, today, things seem rather pointless. Several things contributed to this. I feel a bit misunderstood. I feel a bit left out. I feel like I've lost my place... and my purpose. I feel overlooked...or picked apart. I feel like half my life is over and i really haven't done anything. (Yes i am aware that these are all FEELINGS and that feelings are fickle and are not facts... which is why i'm writing and not sitting in the corner crying.)
I have, so far defied the odds of divorce and have raised two amazing kids. I'm pleased and satisfied with those things. I think that being "Calvin's wife" and "Brian and Izzy's mom" may be enough, even though there are so many other things I want to try, do, and accomplish. I want to serve people who have been tossed aside. I want to remind people who have lost their way that they matter. I want to touch the lives of people who typically go unseen. I also want to learn to knit, to play the piano, to do calligraphy, to be fluent in Spanish and in American Sign Language, to be a confident and dynamic teacher, and to be able to justifiably identify myself as an artist and author. Oh! And i want to be a baker of delicious and lovely things. Thankfully being cool is not something I aspire to... that would be a tremendous disappointment, now wouldn't it?
So here I am, in my 47th year of life. I wish I'd started painting in my 20's, that I kept baking after I took that cake decorating class in the 90's, that I already learned sign language and Spanish, and that I'd already written a book. There is a pattern I follow, and I SEE it... I just don't know how to stop it. I know what I WANT. I think I probably have the ability to accomplish it. I get it all played out in my mind... and then some voice starts telling my all the reasons why I'll fail. The voice is sometimes in my head and sometimes it is the well meaning voice of someone i love... and sometimes the voice of someone who just thinks it is his or her responsibility to tell me that the things I want to do are insignificant and not worth pursuing. So, I still have my little insignificant and unfinished list of things I want to do, be, and accomplish filed under "one day."
One day i'll be brave enough. One day I'll have time. One day I'll not care what others think of me. One day i'll write a book. One day I'll get serious about my painting.... and baking. One day....
Thing is... I feel like I am running out of time. Is this what "mid life" feels like? Like you've wasted the best part of your life waiting on "one day?"
I wonder how many more turns this little blog will take. I suppose its not really taken that many, 2 battles with cancer, suicide attempt survival and recovery, and now... what... mid life crisis? Discovering myself?
I have to ask myself... does it even matter? Do I want too much? Do I make all this more complicated than it should be? I'm sure I do. Would it be better to just "be" whatever I already am and to be okay with things exactly as they are? Would it be easier to stop dreaming about "one day", end the blog, give up on the book, put away the paints and brushes and easels, forget about banking, turn the groups I lead over to someone more capable, and just be satisfied to go to work and go home? I think it might be easier to accept myself and my life as it is and not think about doing or being anything more than I already am.
At the end of the day, does it even matter that I'm here? And more than that, is it supposed to matter? In 100 years, no one will have any idea that I even existed. No one will know who I was. Heck, that may be the case in 50 years... but for sure in 100 years. Maybe trying to be a better person, to make an impact in people's lives, to learn new things, and to make a difference isn't worth the stress it causes when I am reminded time and time again that I am not actually doing any of those things.
Just my thoughts