I am that person that is lost among the other persons who have their shit together. In my life I have the great fortune to know strong, beautiful, talented, with jobs – careers even – women. They aren’t perfect. They don’t profess to be. They are these lovely individuals that struggle and do their best and work hard. Oh, and they are mothers too. I adore these women and I feel myself shrinking when I’m around them. I hate that I do that. I am not a shrinking sort of person. And I should know better. I should know better than to think less of myself. And these women? These fine women? They would never think I’m less than. But, I shrink.
I know I wrote that post about the beauty of the journey, not to worry about the destination and that’s what it’s all about clap, clap hokey pokey style and I meant it, I think? But, truthfully, I feel lost.
Here, on this page, it states I’m a motivational speaker. I am. Sometimes. When I do it I like it. A lot. There is a lot of life for me in front of people. It’s not a regular job though. I’ve tried to get myself out there, but it’s a tough gig. There are a lot of people like me out there speaking with their seven steps (I don’t have any steps) and goal achieving and fear conquering. I’ve thought about the book thing – the book to pimp out…promote – that you bend your speeches to. But everybody has a book. There are a lot of amputees out there with stories more harrowing than mine. They had to cut their arm or leg off while trapped under a log on a remote island with little to zero chance of rescue or their limb grew gangrenous from frostbite while climbing Everest. Please, I’m not trying to be cruel or belittle someone’s anything. There is nothing wrong with having a book or steps in your speeches or climbing Everest. What I am saying is that there are a lot of people out there with body and soul crushing injuries that have a story to tell.
What sets me apart? What makes me unique?
For the most part I’m at home with my kids and I’ve heard it said that it is the hardest job on earth. Spare me. Us moms? We know that. We get that it’s the hardest job. We wouldn’t carry all of that guilt around if it wasn’t. I get that, but there is still something missing from my life. Whether it is about achieving serenity at home or getting a hobby or discovering the elusive link in my life.
Before you think I’m making excuses I’ll beat you to it and say that maybe I am. I can’t say with complete certainty that I’m making excuses because I’m lost. And I’m a mind-changer to boot. I don’t know what I want to do or need to do and maybe it doesn’t matter. But, it matters to me.
I don’t want to be a whiner and I fear I sound like a whiner. I don’t feel like a whiner. I am for better or worse trying to work this out. I know this is reading like a journal entry. My scattered thoughts that I would normally reserve for my leather bound journal tucked away in my nightstand.
I don’t want to be fixed. I’m good at that. I can spot my problems from miles away. I’m not saying I don’t need help. Nobody is above help. But I do not want to be fixed. There is a difference.
This could all be in my head. Maybe I’m absolutely fine with being at home and speaking when the opportunity arises and pulling a room together (I really like picking out floors and looking at paint samples and choosing what style of cabinet goes with all of the black and white tile in my bathroom). Maybe I’m happy with that, but something else in my head says I couldn’t be. The part of me that shrinks and says this couldn’t possibly be enough. There has to be more and why haven’t I found it yet. Maybe. Or something is missing. There is a void and it has yet to be identified.
I think this may be the longest post I have ever written.
Clearly, I am venting here. Clearly. The sun could come out tomorrow and I’ll throw my head back and laugh and say, what was that all about anyway? Chalk it up to a bad day, to I’m tired, to I’m hungry. And that’s it, isn’t it? I am tired. I am hungry. I’m tired from the last six months that filled my days with anxiety and chaos and hanging on by a thread. But, it filled my life. Now? I’m in recovery. The things that filled my life aren’t there anymore and I’m empty. Hungry for what’s next.
In a morning to myself
I am going to get up, have my coffee, and soak up the quiet before I pick up my kids and go to a friend’s place. There is nothing like the quiet of a morning. It’s my favorite time of the day.
(I don’t know who took that photo… it’s taken somewhere on the island by someone that put it on a tourism site. I love the way the sun is coming through the clouds. It looks so peaceful and promising.)