Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Knowing that Someday My Daughter Will Get Stung by a Bee


I'm sure that we get at least one life. This one. After that, before that, I'm not sure. Ask someone else. Given that we get this one life, what really matters in it?

Friends, family, sustenance; what about creating?  Is it just human vanity to think that we should leave our mark on the world, do something important, and create something that matters? 

Days go on and go by and I read and write and talk (a lot) and think and watch and walk and do things.   But how is that leaving my mark?  

My daughter matters (the most). She is how I create a better world. She is my mark. I will nurture her, and teach her to laugh, and to love with both hands, and fail, and succeed, and how to get hurt and heal up again. And all the rest of my “work” is gravy. She is perfect (just the way she is.)

Maybe I will write or say something that will help someone through a tough spot someday. For all of my words, that’s the best I can hope for, for my words to find a home, to soothe listening ears; I hope that I’ll say something that matters, that helps, that makes it better.

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Happiness Is...

Happiness is a choice. What else could it be? So why do so many of us not choose to be happy--with our lives, with what we have, with the way we look. If you pin me to it, I'm content in my life right now.

Yes, I would love more time, to write and read and think--sure I would also like to be thinner and younger and richer but none of those things, if those are even possible things, would make me happier. Maybe the time thing could but maybe not--not if I had to trade time with my baby girl. Missing her is not worth the pot. (And if I'm being honest, I had time (before her, before all this) to write and think and listen to Beck and smoke pot. And I did.)

There's a article going around about what people regretted at the end of their lives and most people regretted working too much, not allowing themselves to be happy, not following their dreams, losing touch with friends, and being afraid to be themselves. Out of this list of things possible missed, I feel pretty good about my life.  I have great life-long friends. I have a job. I am myself. Maybe I could work more on following my "dream" but that dream changes and shifts tectonically under my feet. 

I'm not soul searching. I went through a dark time and kept going--"when you're going through hell, keep going"? Now I'm good. I'm happy. There, I said it. 

Monday, May 13, 2013

Too Many Books to Read

Ok, look, I have 118 books on my to-read list and that doesn't include the 5 books in my car that I borrowed from the library and have to now return and haven't read (or haven't finished reading) that I need to add to the list.

I remember some writing teacher or writer telling me that books found you when you were ready for them--some kind of kismet thing. And I would like to think that--in some way it makes sense--we tend to be drawn to the things we want/need to hear/know in the moment. But what, if we go by book kismet, are the book gods trying to tell me? That I need to read nothing? Am I so well-read? That I only have time to read the list of books I want to read and not the books themselves?

I want to read a book (or more like 118 books). I used to read 2 to 3 books/week, now it's like 0 to 1/month. Boo. Chalk this up as another thing that changes when you have a kid. No time to read.

Sad face. Violin.

Thursday, May 2, 2013

Room of My Own? Yes, Please.


When I say that I want to smoke pot and listen to Beck what I mean is that I want some long stretch of time to be quiet, and alone, and think my thoughts. And maybe chain-smoke (inside or out), and maybe get lost and maybe be sad or happy or neutral and maybe write some and sing some and let the thoughts bang around as they might---as they might if I had a little bit of time to have to myself 100% alone.

It’s tough where I am in this life, to get that--my mama's brain is full and then some with the details and duties (that I do so well, and mostly that I love to perform.)  The pot is just a quicker way to get to the deep, quiet parts, without taking the time to peel away the outer busy layers. Pot (and booze to some extent) removes the immediate/non-important list that constantly exists in my head—that running tally of stuff I have to do, and stuff I’ve just completed, and stuff to buy and stuff to sell and all the “stuff” that a good mama’s brain is overflowing with (comb her hair, make snacks, don't forget your computer, what's for dinner, add toothpaste to the shopping list, two left turns then a right, sign the slip for sunscreen, buy more watermelon, what's for dinner again?)

I really just need a quiet 3 days 100% alone to myself. No dinners, no work, no meetings/calendars/expectations—just some down, down time.

My goal in the next year is to get this for myself. Maybe I can take a vacation alone to the beach or small cabin in Hocking Hills to get some me time. Sssshhhhh, I’m thinking.