Life is short, the art is long. Being a mother leaves me with the invading sense that opportunity IS fleeting and experience...elusive. Making judgement on how to spend the hours is increasingly difficult.
In the jumble of motherhood I have lost touch with the importance of keeping in touch with myself. Of course, you feel guilty for admitting this. Shouldn't being a mommy BE who you are. And it is. You just have to figure out how to fit all of it inside all-of-it.
We want to be authentic. We don't want to be gigantic shapes (small joke, for those of us that are preggers)...we want to be fantastic shapes. We want to have our sight set on home. The thing is, with the pressure we put on ourselves we eventually act like all herded things will act: we begin to hurry to escape the pressure, then we break in to a trot to madly find all things to make us "me again", and finally we are in a mad run (watches in our hands)- having no idea where we are going and no time to find out. We can't win against ourselves.
It's like we cross our hearts and hope to fly.
It felt like January when I woke up and like I was sitting on a back porch with cold feet. I just wanted to write something out of my system. My mother used to say, "Sometimes you have to fake it 'til you make it." But what if you make it because you were faking. I have had to release this idea; I welcome the release, actually.
I guess, I am not lost or found.
7.27 pm
23 February 2012
I like you and I think you are brilliant, talented, wonderful, and beautiful...and I will be the last tree standing in your forest after its all burnt to ash
ReplyDelete