When I started this crazy idea of writing for 60 days, I had this idea that if I could make myself think every day for 60 days about what I wanted to do with my spare time, the empty spaces inside of me would be fixed. I would somehow uncover a hidden talent or desire or dream that would make me a million dollars, validate all my efforts these past 43 years, and calm the loud and crazy voices inside me.
And it so many ways it has, but on day 56, looking back over the past 55 (ok, that alone makes me feel sort of amazed--maybe they're not all keepers, but I sat my not so little butt down and wrote . . . and followed through) posts, I see a theme going on here and I see how much farther this posting has gone than I thought.
I feel like I'm waking up a little bit more each day.
I see that under this idea of discovery what I should do in the next step of my life, that I was really trying to figure out why I felt so fractured and confused and lost. I think in a lot of ways, I am trying to figure out who Mary is anymore:
I have looked closely at things that scare me. Some I have a avoided looking at because I was so afraid of the answers. Was I fat or thin? Was I at peace or hurt or confused by my childhood? What was marriage? Or Love? To be someone, did I have to become "something"? Does Yoga truly cure everything and will it give me a purpose? Did my daily boring life have substance? Did I have substance? Did I have in me enough content to fill 60 entries?
Was I a good daughter?
Sister?
Mother?
Friend?
Even though I am no longer young and dewy eyed, do I still have something to contribute?
Have I missed my window?
I hate the "term mid-life crisis", but the truth is, I am mid-life age and I think now that I look back on these weeks of writing, I think I was heading straight towards a crisis. I felt the tremors and warning sign. In my mind, I seemed fine, but my body told another story. My heart thundered and shuttered and my anxiety, which I tried desperately to ignore, wrapped it's heavy damp dark arms around me and held me tight. The years of sweet "sweeping everything under the rug" or "closeting" everything can only work so long. Then things start popping open and pouring out at very very awkward moments.
I think this all really started, the birth of this, at Jenny's Lake. For a few days there, I got a good look at my life and I saw what was good, and a lot of what needed serious work. I felt, and this may sound crazy but I seriously believe it happens to a lot of us mid-lifers, like I was two people--the face I was to my friends, family, and world, and then, the old Mary, the one who had could just sit on a chair as the sun rose over the dark trees and lit the craggy, snow capped Grand Teton up in it's sharp bright light as baby dears foraged around me. There was wonder still left inside me, but I'd pushed that curiosity and wonder away with demands of the day and children and friends and family. In "real" life, I was someone a bit too busy to stop and let wonder heal me.
But the ice cold waters of Jenny Lake began to wash that other, must constantly be busy and productive self away. Just a bit because there's a lot of layers of identity and fear and all sorts of crazy that must be gone through, but these past 54 days of writing . . . I honestly feel like they're chiseling and scarping away all the gook I've let stick to me. The labels I've pasted all over myself.
And it's working, people. I'm beginning to see the wonder again. I'm beginning to sit and let that dreamy me slide under my skin and sink into my bones. I feel this song of who I really am slide along my spine and I want to dance to it. I think I am dancing to it.
This is the song I hear: Do not waste another day in too tight pants (thank you stretchy pants manifesto). Rip that uncomfortable, irritating self consciousness right away. I am beautiful just because I am part of this human family. I've letting go of all sorts of shame and fear and inhibitions and letting my truth, the ugly and hopefully a few things pretty, out there. I am 43, if not now, when? Hold NOTHING back.
And it feels so good. Like really, it feels as good as it felt after jumping into my parents pool after I went for those horrible 95 degree with the heat index at 113. Pure and utter sweet relief.
That's what these 56 days are giving me.
And now . .. thanks to falling asleep because this has been my day . . . :
And it so many ways it has, but on day 56, looking back over the past 55 (ok, that alone makes me feel sort of amazed--maybe they're not all keepers, but I sat my not so little butt down and wrote . . . and followed through) posts, I see a theme going on here and I see how much farther this posting has gone than I thought.
I feel like I'm waking up a little bit more each day.
I see that under this idea of discovery what I should do in the next step of my life, that I was really trying to figure out why I felt so fractured and confused and lost. I think in a lot of ways, I am trying to figure out who Mary is anymore:
I have looked closely at things that scare me. Some I have a avoided looking at because I was so afraid of the answers. Was I fat or thin? Was I at peace or hurt or confused by my childhood? What was marriage? Or Love? To be someone, did I have to become "something"? Does Yoga truly cure everything and will it give me a purpose? Did my daily boring life have substance? Did I have substance? Did I have in me enough content to fill 60 entries?
Was I a good daughter?
Sister?
Mother?
Friend?
Even though I am no longer young and dewy eyed, do I still have something to contribute?
Have I missed my window?
I hate the "term mid-life crisis", but the truth is, I am mid-life age and I think now that I look back on these weeks of writing, I think I was heading straight towards a crisis. I felt the tremors and warning sign. In my mind, I seemed fine, but my body told another story. My heart thundered and shuttered and my anxiety, which I tried desperately to ignore, wrapped it's heavy damp dark arms around me and held me tight. The years of sweet "sweeping everything under the rug" or "closeting" everything can only work so long. Then things start popping open and pouring out at very very awkward moments.
I think this all really started, the birth of this, at Jenny's Lake. For a few days there, I got a good look at my life and I saw what was good, and a lot of what needed serious work. I felt, and this may sound crazy but I seriously believe it happens to a lot of us mid-lifers, like I was two people--the face I was to my friends, family, and world, and then, the old Mary, the one who had could just sit on a chair as the sun rose over the dark trees and lit the craggy, snow capped Grand Teton up in it's sharp bright light as baby dears foraged around me. There was wonder still left inside me, but I'd pushed that curiosity and wonder away with demands of the day and children and friends and family. In "real" life, I was someone a bit too busy to stop and let wonder heal me.
But the ice cold waters of Jenny Lake began to wash that other, must constantly be busy and productive self away. Just a bit because there's a lot of layers of identity and fear and all sorts of crazy that must be gone through, but these past 54 days of writing . . . I honestly feel like they're chiseling and scarping away all the gook I've let stick to me. The labels I've pasted all over myself.
And it's working, people. I'm beginning to see the wonder again. I'm beginning to sit and let that dreamy me slide under my skin and sink into my bones. I feel this song of who I really am slide along my spine and I want to dance to it. I think I am dancing to it.
This is the song I hear: Do not waste another day in too tight pants (thank you stretchy pants manifesto). Rip that uncomfortable, irritating self consciousness right away. I am beautiful just because I am part of this human family. I've letting go of all sorts of shame and fear and inhibitions and letting my truth, the ugly and hopefully a few things pretty, out there. I am 43, if not now, when? Hold NOTHING back.
And it feels so good. Like really, it feels as good as it felt after jumping into my parents pool after I went for those horrible 95 degree with the heat index at 113. Pure and utter sweet relief.
That's what these 56 days are giving me.
And now . .. thanks to falling asleep because this has been my day . . . :
I am late getting this in.
But better late than never right?
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for going on this journey with me. Your words, your understanding, your encouragement have meant the world to me. They've given me courage to keep going and courage to open myself up a bit more each time and not feel shame or regret.
Don't stop! Four more posts . . . of this journey . . . and hopefully on to another!
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