...quiet, about a lot of things...
Friday, January 18, 2008
The Big Ugly Truth
There's a million reasons I have not written anything for a while. But only one of them is the truth.
I am scared.
Of 2008. Of the year my daughter leaves this house and enters the world outside my doors. The year of a "BIG GOAL" that I did not quite make. 2008. The year of shift.
My husband (finally) turns 40, this year. It's about time. I feel like I am 20 years ahead of him. My youngest gets her driving permit this year. One of my dogs turns 8 this year, a danger zone for the big breeds.
There have been deaths and very few births to balance them.
So it is the deaths that I am afraid of..right?
Actually it is the births. The deaths are out of my control. The book closes. I can not, for all my plot thickening, stave off the words: The End.
I tremble at the first sentence. Actually that is not even the truth. I tremble at the impulse before the first sentence. My Father, who I barely know (knew?) used to to talk of a time before I was "even a twinkle in his eye".
The place of beginnings. The place of creation, of possibilities. Are these out of our control also? Or can we have a hand in this? Do we dare to dream the dreams we really want?
So, before we form the first sentence of the first chapter of Forward, there is this brief moment, where we collect our thoughts and words,stringing them together to form the phrase...crafting the theme.
I stand here, fingers poised, lips parted, as if to say something...Ready to SAY SOMETHING.
Meaningful.
I am scared.
Of 2008. Of the year my daughter leaves this house and enters the world outside my doors. The year of a "BIG GOAL" that I did not quite make. 2008. The year of shift.
My husband (finally) turns 40, this year. It's about time. I feel like I am 20 years ahead of him. My youngest gets her driving permit this year. One of my dogs turns 8 this year, a danger zone for the big breeds.
There have been deaths and very few births to balance them.
So it is the deaths that I am afraid of..right?
Actually it is the births. The deaths are out of my control. The book closes. I can not, for all my plot thickening, stave off the words: The End.
I tremble at the first sentence. Actually that is not even the truth. I tremble at the impulse before the first sentence. My Father, who I barely know (knew?) used to to talk of a time before I was "even a twinkle in his eye".
The place of beginnings. The place of creation, of possibilities. Are these out of our control also? Or can we have a hand in this? Do we dare to dream the dreams we really want?
So, before we form the first sentence of the first chapter of Forward, there is this brief moment, where we collect our thoughts and words,stringing them together to form the phrase...crafting the theme.
I stand here, fingers poised, lips parted, as if to say something...Ready to SAY SOMETHING.
Meaningful.
13 Comments:
wow.
you are gone for awhile
but then you come back
with
BAM
a powerful post
that i want to immediately
go back and reread
and savor.
wow.
i totally get this...honestly i do...that blank canvas, that empty journal, the expansive field just waiting, all those fresh,new things can be intimidating...and that first stroke of the brush, the pen, that first step into the field can feel so weighted. if you wanted to say something meaningful you did...this post was very powerful...
Everything you have said since I began to visit here has meant something to me.
Glad to see you up and running.
I was afraid something happened to your horse. Kids grow up and leave. They come back. Sometimes they leave again, but they always come back in one way or another. They outgrow us, and that is a good thing, because it gives us a chance to continue to grow in our own way.
I'm glad I didn't have to come all the way to Colorado and FIND you. It's way too cold out. You found YOURSELF!!!
A year of reckoning.
I'm facing that too.
New me attempting to return to and renovate an old life. New me out of sync with my old husband. New skills looking for a new job while the old me is tempted by the old job.
Kids on the cusp of adolescence facing new schools and demographics and cultural pressures from what they've known in Europe.
Me, once again, caught in the space between my life and my dreams.
I am glad to read your words. Clear, fearless words in the face of scared-ness.
Breathe.
The new year is here with us or without us. And you *are* here.
xxoodeb
hey wendy,
i'm the one who's supposed to be interviewing you for neil's crazy thing, but i can't find an email address for you. do you mind emailing me at lfarblog at gmail dot com?
What a beautiful post, I'm happy to have found your blog! (also, it looks like I'm your interviewee...you can email me at punchlinewalking at yahoo dot com).
Hey you! Poised ... the moment you don't want to fracture ... been there. Savour the moments - as I know you do. All the best for the year ahead - the year forward. Thanks for letting me be just a teency weency part of it.
Wendy.
.....(here).........
;)
rel
Life is fragile and we have only the illusion of control. Sometimes it takes such courage to accept that we have no control, but must go forward anyway.
What a beautiful post. Thank you.
Your honesty really resonates with me. I am glad to see you back at your blog.
Be well.
i miss your amazing words...
well; i just got to say I really hated my babies leaving the nest. It has been five years since the youngest has left and I still get the pangs. But eventually there is this cool thing that happens. You start really (really) seeing the adult you created in their full glory; all bloomed and shining and see where all that watering and pruning and telling them to get the hey out of the street has gotten you (them). Then you are driving down the highway (they are driving) and you are laughing at something uproarishly funny and you realize that you are complete equalize and they don't need you anymore as a mother; but they absolutely will always need you as a mother and that is a fullfilling feeling too. Just wanted to say I could remember and identify.
ascenderrisesabove.com/wordpress
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