In the middle of my discussion with my therapist today, I blurted out, “I just want to enjoy my life.” He looked at me, slightly stunned (not an unusual look for him when he talks with me…I tend to be witty and charming there), and asked, “You’ve never really had the chance, have you?”
This was my turn to look stunned (not an usual look for me there). I looked around the room, searching my brain for an answer. My reply was feeble, “no.” I’ve always felt this need to push myself…a “set a goal and drain the life from you body to reach it” mentality.
When I finally made it home, I pulled out my old journals and started reading. Journals are interesting creatures. I’ve used them to vent…to sort out ideas…to record my food for the day. What struck me was how often I wrote about wanting to live and experience life…and my frustration at not doing just that.
I’ve sucked some marrow out of my life. Although few and far between, I see those moments in North American travels…front porch conversations…poetry. Yet, this isn’t enough. I still want more. I don’t have dreams of fame or fortune. I have dreams of comfort and satisfaction. Why not more?
When asked today why I don’t pursue what I want (because even though I protest, I really do know my heart-dreams), I could only say that I’m afraid of finding an empty dream in the end or finding that I wasted my time searching for something that wasn’t meant to be. I’ve forced myself to find contentment in settling for the dreams of those around me. I’m scared…there, I said it. How sad is that? Comfort is not always the easiest path…and definitely not the most satisfying.
So what next? I feel like one of those commercials where the girl steals the guy’s iPod and they leave you hanging. I admitted today (and confirmed it with my old journals) what I want out of life. Am I willing to take it to the next level? It means some changes in patterns…it means choosing to stand on what I believe…it means saying good-bye to some of my tried and true methods of skating by.
We may be moving. It scares the hell out of me to think of leaving my house…my short commute to work…a workplace where I fit in…my comfortable, quiet neighborhood…my therapist. All I see staring at me is the search for a place to live and a job and finding my way to the nearest Publix. What if? What if? What if?
Can I really surrender to the calling burning in my soul? Am I really willing to throw myself into the ideas planted in my heart? Will I do this whole-heartedly, not just looking for the easy way out–the one that sacrifices the truth within me for convenience? Light questions, huh? Time will sort these out for me…and sooner than I probably want to admit.
Daily Bliss: Sitting in silence on my back porch as the sun went down. A 10-year old bottle of Hungarian merlot. Moments alone without the t.v. or telephone. Student-written poetry. Laughing at the thought of my husband wondering why on earth people write things like this on the internet.
Comments
Nice daily bliss! My husband feels the same way about blogging as yours does.