I’ll admit it: I’ve been a downer lately. Seems the last several entries I’ve made have been shrouded in negativity, sadness, and guilt. Last night as I sat to write, I found myself reading my last three posts, and feeling both appreciative of and victimized by my thoughts, the woe-is-me attitude quickly squelching any other emotions, and angst welling up into my throat. Before allowing it to settle there, though, I swallowed it hard. I cannot live here any longer.
Sure, my thoughts and feelings from these previous entries had their time. At the moment, my family is dealing with some difficult things- not the least of which being that we must move out of our home in ten days and have no idea where we are going. Real life has swallowed us whole, and we are stressing in response to it.
And, truthfully, the need to purge my feelings from within cannot be overstated. It’s been healing, almost, to spit out my thoughts about things that are very personal to me- and, first and foremost, have absolutely nothing to do with my current reality. It’s… therapeutic. And, let’s face it, probably sits on the outskirts of denial.
But, in spite of the fact that sharing my thoughts in an open forum may appear voyeuristic- and I’m humble enough to admit that perhaps that intent is bouncing around the back of my brain somewhere, I’m recognizing that the truth is, many – if not most, of my thoughts and experiences are simply not unique to me.
I’m one of millions who has walked the treadmill of life- complacent in it’s consequence, permitting that this is just the way it goes- you grow up, you marry, you have kids, and you struggle. A lot. You struggle with your body, your career, your family, your personal identity, your marriage, your finances, your losses.
And, while it’s true that were I in a different state of mind, the focus of the previous paragraph would be much less struggle-laden, and filled with far more of the joys and loves of this life, for now I’m allowing it. In my attempt to break away from the difficulties of my immediate reality for only a short while, I have dipped my quill into the well of my discontent. And, hey, at least I’m writing.
It is true that this too shall pass, but at least in my honesty about it, I am finding unity with others- with strangers, even, who have reached out to me with their own similar stories. Like me, you have lived, you have laughed. You have loved, you have lost. This is us, this is we. I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together. And that keeps me writing.
I do not wish to live in the struggle any longer, but I can’t deny that writing during its grip has been very productive, indeed. And soon, my eyes will adjust at the changes of life- or even precede them, ushering them in by my own divine intervention.
Until then, I’ll keep sharing my thoughts- sometimes ripe with struggle, sometimes happy-go-lucky, always real.