Well, it feels like it has been a million years since I wrote a blog and even as I type these words, I have no idea what the next sentence will be. During those million years, I have had a trillion thoughts and taken almost as many pictures of what's been happening in my life. It seems that these days I would rather record the images of my days than talk about my experiences.
Looking back to when I initially started the blog, it seems that I was writing for two primary purposes: as a way of recording how I had become who I am and as a way of sorting through my most intense feelings....some celebratory, some painful and confusing.Selfishly, I wrote to leave a trail for my sons to have a greater understanding of who I was as a person, when they finally reach a point in life where they might be interested in that sort of thing. Communally, I wrote to share views on the fucked-upness that is often the human condition and hopefully, so the readers might not feel so alone in their own struggles. Admittedly, it was gratifying to feel like my words resonated with people I admire and respect, as well as with strangers who came to "know" me only through the posts. I can honestly say that when I wrote, the words flowed urgently and easily.
And so I have been quiet....metaphorically....for 64 days. I have prowled the streets of Mayodan and Bartow and Key West taking photographs of the world as it presents itself to me in
8 x 10 snippets. I have disovered a deepening joy in being able to "see" the unseen beauty and wonder that I would typically pass by or disregard. And it has been my privilege to share myself and my journey, of late, photographically. As always, the inspiration to approach my life this way came from the work of my soul traveler, David Smith (http://www.moonovertrees.com). But the "eye" I have developed is uniquely mine.
I been busy living my day-to-day, mostly contentedly, and focusing much more on my "being" rather than my "doing". I have accepted that there is a cloak of anonymity that comes with being a woman of a certain age...in essence, you become invisible in a lot of situations where you once garnered notice. Rather than mourning the loss of attention, I find that I am reveling in the freedom of no longer needing to try so hard. Make no mistake, I never want to be a person who wears pajama pants to the grocery store. But I also no longer need to wear trendy ensembles as a form of armor, projecting my "togetherness" outwardly. Honestly, I just want to be comfortable, in my own skin as well as in my clothes, and on occasion, to don a Pink Pirate Princess costume, because I can.
Lately, my mantra has been Maya Angelou's admonition that "people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget the way you made them feel."
I would postulate that in fact, most people can not listen or be open to your ideas, until you connect with them in some way emotionally. And, unfortunately, this can often be most difficult with the people closest to us, the ones we profess to love the most. Something extraordinary happens in every beings' life every day...it is only a matter of being present enough, often enough, to actually hear those we love when they try to share these occurences with us.
And so that is where I have been....mostly in my house(s), mostly with my boys and my husband, and mostly inside my own head. But before you start to gag on the bit of vomit coming up your throat as you read this, remember that I have also been busy cleaning the guinea pigs cage, mowing the grass, shopping for groceries eight days a week and trying to hold my temper while a disrespectful pre-teen (or two) questions every move I make every waking moment. I still live here on this big round ball with the rest of ya'll....I am just trying to keep my eyes and ears open more often than my mouth, so that I can catch as much of the magic as possible.
