Desire and Self-Pity

The last time I was on an airplane was in 1993. My last vacation was three years ago. My daughter is almost 16 and she has never been on a plane. Am I complaining? Yes. Do I hurt? Yes. Am I envious of all of those people that go on vacation every year, while I stay home? Yes. Do I want to travel? More than anything.

I don't know how to change this. I wish that I did. I wanted my daughter to travel and have vacations. I'm an educated woman, who has never been able to get ahead financially. At 42, a part of me still believes it's possible to turn this all around. Some part of me still believes that I am capable of great success and creativity. But I also realize that my belief in my specialness has possibly been illusion. An illusion that I started believing in as a child, to help comfort me from the reality that I didn't have any friends and didn't seem to fit in anywhere. I don't know the difference between my actual capabilities and my desired self.

There is a tornado ripping through my house at the moment. I try to calm and steady myself through my writing, the writing that I have so desperately wanted to believe was different, special. But I don't know anymore. I really don't know.

Beautiful Mess

This morning I woke up with an intense ache in my neck and shoulders, jaw tightly clenched. Anger has made a home in my body. Actually, I'm discovering that it has lived there for quite some time, I've just been oblivious to its presence.

While I write, a gentle rain falls outside my sun room window, and my furry companion Django sleeps at my feet. If only for a few delicious moments, I feel relaxed and calm. With greater frequency these experiences of tranquility have been slipping into my daily experience, intermingling with my chronic fear, guilt, and shame. A subtle shift is occurring in my life. Healthy friendships surround me, and I am slowly learning to care about myself.

The process of growth isn't what I expected. Ups and downs, intensely painful emotions, the ground crumbling beneath my feet, and failure and loss are all part of being alive. Life is messy, painful, and ultimately beautiful. Who knew?