Saturday, December 10, 2011


Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat…Here it is, the return to the beginning. It was little more than a year ago I wrapped up my life in an oversized suitcase. And now, I am once again wrapping up my life in a series of suitcases and a flood of red tape. The documents have been signed and filed, the hearing date has been set, but we begin the waiting game once again; for a court date, for a home buyer, for a job offer. Everything was so much simpler at sea, simpler and much less gratifying. Am I making the right choice though, always choosing the more difficult path? I could be quite well off in a few years; have enough money even to make the way easier for myself, my dad, my family.

I’m terribly behind in my writing as always, because this year is so jam packed. It feels as though I’m working non-stop and making no traction at all, but perhaps I just can’t recognize the baby steps because I’m so focused on the revolution. I am not feeling particularly profound lately because I’m just treading water trying to keep my head up. But here’s the thing. Yesterday, I took a little time (under strong encouragement from my boyfriend) to clean my car and set up my room. I was tired, I was reluctant but I also had cleared the evening for this task. Well, through a set of circumstances he ended up having the evening off and came to help and the job, which felt at first a herculean effort got done. Admittedly there was some wine involved and an unfortunate bit of hilarity resulting from my mistaking cat antihistamines for prednisone but the result is that I have a tidy room, a clean car and a rather new lease on life. I couldn’t have done it without help. Well, that’s not exactly true; I wouldn’t have done it without help. Or maybe I would have, but until this point, I hadn’t. I am so terrible at asking for help and yet, the help is there but for the words. Why is it we are programmed to be so giving and yet, when we are in need, we would rather falter to the point of collapse than say, “someone, please f*cking help me!”? Perhaps that is just me projecting, but I don’t believe so. I think it’s in our genetic makeup.

You know what made the difference? He offered, he insisted and he cajoled. He would not take no for an answer to offering aid. I think there might be a lesson in that as well. I do too much, but I am not gracious about it. But perhaps too, efforts shouldn’t be wasted upon those who ask but do not do for themselves. Perhaps it is better to offer aid to those in need too proud to ask for it. Because we want to ask, we just don’t think we can or should. I know I feel like I should be strong enough, I should be old enough, I should be independent enough to handle all this myself…but I’m simply not. And I guess it’s time to acknowledge and celebrate the fact that that is ok.

It is funny how simply stripping away a bit of the physical chaos and clutter can have a similar effect upon the mental. I know this, though it has still always been difficult to put into practice. Too little time, too many excuses. But now I've no scapegoat of a husband upon whom I can foist the blame. I am more peaceful today than I have been...well...since I returned from the Mediterranean..another place where I was entirely uncluttered.

So now I have a clean slate. Whatever shall I write upon that tablet? I cannot wait to see!

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