Back on the road and not white-knuckling the steering wheel…

After a much needed rest stop, I’m finally back behind the steering wheel. Even though there may be some challenging parts ahead in my current course, I feel confident my navigational skills will get me where I need to be.

The next phase of my “so-called life” has officially begun…

In October 2011, I could no longer ignore that my marriage was on a destructive course. I had known that the relationship was very strained between my husband and me. However, when my 6-year-old son shared with me the turmoil he was struggling with due to the relationship he had with his dad, I knew a drastic change of course was necessary.

Fortunately, both of my parents were there for me and my children when I actually took the action to leave my husband in November 2011. I had too optimistically hoped back in October that our separation would be temporary– that my husband would leave the house while we all sought out counseling to sort things out and take the time to heal. However, after a month of promising to leave and seek therapy, my husband never followed through. But, I did. Ironically, the moment when I felt most like a grown-up was when at 34, I moved back to my hometown at my parents’ house with two little ones in tow.

From November 2011-June 2012, the pace of our new course really sped up. I secured a a decent full-time position almost immediately after relocating. Despite moving away and starting a new school, my son made great strides in counseling learning how to appropriately manage the emotional turmoil that had been overwhelming him.  Additionally,  my son went from struggling to read at his 1st grade level, to ending the school year reading at a 4th grade level. Yes, this detour proved to be emotionally exhausting–but my son and I became happier people somehow.

Yet, in June 2012, life was about to take another sudden detour– the kind you are forced to take because the road you were driving on ends, marked by the jarring parade of  fluorescent orange signs,flags and flashing sirens .  It’s the obvious result of the road meeting with a catastrophic event. And it was such an occurrence that happened to our family in the end of June.

While I worked full-time, I was fortunate to have my mom (my best friend, in fact) take care of my children. With her watching my children, I could work with my mind at ease, knowing that my children would not be lacking in the love and attention a mom could provide. However, my mother was also a Type-1 Diabetic, and had already lost both her legs and suffered many complications as the disease ravaged her body. For the two years prior, she hadn’t had any major health issues. In fact, she was more active and healthy than she had ever been. But on June 25, she had a typical episode of a her blood sugar bottoming out– the kind she would always bounce back from in a day or two at most. It was with that mindset that I took it for granted that this event wasn’t anything my mom couldn’t overcome. I was sorely mistaken. On June 27, while at home she took a sudden turn–and I knew when I dialed 911 that this trip to ER was not going to have the typical outcome. She slipped away right in front of me– we were just loading the car to take my mom to the hospital, when my mom went from conscious and talking to completely unresponsive.

It was 1 pm, when I made that fateful call. It was then I already knew by the wrenching of my gut that I would never get to tell my mom “I love you” or even “good-bye”. At 10:22 pm, I got confirmation of what truth my heart already knew. It was that moment and every one that has come since that has really shown me what as a “grown-up” I was truly capable of doing.

We were not prepared in any way for her sudden death, emotionally and financially. My dad and I were given till the end of March 2013 to find another home–the home that was purchased as a gift for my parents needed to be sold ASAP. I could not afford reliable childcare that could accommodate my awkward work schedule–and my work was not able to offer me a schedule that the one childcare source I had available could offer. During the summer and fall of 2012, I found myself facing unemployment, homelessness, while maintaining some semblance of normalcy for my children.

Today, all of the uncertainty presented courtesy of that detour is finally in my rear-view mirror. I found my voice and my sense of direction. My children and I are enjoying a home we can call our own, free of eggshell carpeting. And I am enjoying the fruits of my resourcefulness, as I free-lance my talents and appreciate this time to truly explore my vocational endeavors.

As I continue to drive away from the wreckage of the past– with its reflection continuing to get smaller and smaller in my rear-view mirror– I know that the reflection will always be there even when my eye can no longer discern it. I know there will be moments when I will want to focus on that image, momentarily losing my focus on the road ahead. The key word here is “momentary”. By always remembering to keep my attention on the drive and how my hands are steering wheel– I will keep what I have already overcome where it belongs, and not coming up on me later to splatter across my windshield.
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Wanna go for a ride???

At some point in our life’s journey, we get so off course in that the only road ahead looks like a dead-end. But if you remember to look behind, the road is still going on far into the distance.

Well, directly in front of me, that metaphorical “dead-end” is staring me down. Instead of giving in to its intimidating glare by turning off the ignition and sheepishly handing over my keys, I rev the engine up and turn the car around.

A substantial amount of backtracking lies ahead– and I take it on without resentment. In fact, with this turn-around, I’m going to take in  the scenery I previously missed and avoid all roads I know to be signed with “Dangerous Curves Ahead”.

And I am inviting you to be my passenger as I navigate these back roads towards my intended destination.

To check in on my progress please visit the Navigation Narration page of this blog.

The journey starts effective of this post’s publication…

Lack of Inspiration…

Life in general has been feeling fairly uninspired lately. As someone who considers herself to be an aspiring writer-not having an interesting topic I feel absolutely driven to compose a discourse about is about as big of an obstacle I can imagine and one I am currently directly facing.

A screaming toddler, grumpy husband, tolerated through the lenses of PMS moodiness, of course, do not help the cause. However, despite these snags, they can be used for some benefit—every time we encounter a snag in our life, we discover just a little bit more about the fabric we are made of. So when you consider all of the snags I’ve encountered, using the my previous logic, I should be more than aware of what fabric I am. Thus, if I know the fabric I am made of, then I should have pretty good idea about what purpose my “fabric” should serve. Well, I can tell you one thing for certain on that point— I’m not quite sure of the “exact” purpose of this fabric, but I know what it will NOT be a part of.

I sincerely apologize to those of you who have stuck with this wordy whine—and I must admit, I have barely even started. Hopefully, at the end of this entry I will come to some epiphany like conclusion and feel closer to having that Ah-hah moment where clarity and revelation are suddenly revealed for the my life course. However, I must warn you that the chance of that occurring is very unlikely and you, my reader & myself, are likely to just be more confused.

Actually, I’m really looking forward to not having to write these pondering entries of self-discovery and frustration with how little I seem to know about myself. Ever since I was nine years-old, I used my journal to battle out my uncertain emotions in—usually I was able to find some consolation in my written and often tear-run pages.

As an adult, I find less time to turn to my journal, in fact, I find less time to even try to process my emotions. Maybe that is why I am so darned tired. I am constantly carrying these feelings all day—with no place to put them. Then to top it off—I consider myself to be an empath—someone sensitive to feeling the emotions felt by others—and I seriously feel overwhelmed by feeling most days.

And now instead of reserving my emotional battles to a notebook—now I am trying this blog format. Leaving all my humanity out there for the world to judge. But hey, I’m a writer and I better get a tougher skin. Besides, none of my “readers” will be able to consider me a coward—or afraid to express the good, bad, and grotesque. In addition to blog entries regarding my thoughts on “my life”, (I know how utterly boring and egotistical to think anyone would even read them) I will also soon be publishing poetry—hoping one day to receive the validation every poet aspires to receive, to become published and paid.

I long for the days when I would get lost in words. When I used to be involved in a writing project—all of my focus was devoted to the searching for the perfect combination of words. That passion that consumed me while I was in a process of creation—was the what was I truly pursuing. It is being so actively involved in the process that there is no other moment existing in time, except for that moment of now. The product, of course was always enjoyable, but now I see that my joy in poetry never came from the poem itself—but rather the poem’s creation. After, giving birth to my son and seeing the miracle of truly creating a another life, I see why my poetry writing was so vital for my soul’s contentment.

October 17, 2004, was the last day I seriously spent devoted to the creation of a poem I was completely invested in. Three days later, I found out that Jonathan was already in place to be the next creative project I would be devoted to perfecting. And now, three and half years later, I have had little time or energy to return to the tunnel-vision focus to create a poem or writing I would consider to be a quality piece of writing.

Perhaps, just perhaps, a quality piece of writing will eek its way out while I compose entries for this blog— we shall see or read…

Just another verbally verbose whine…

I feel like I’m battling myself– these darned up and down emotions and feelings of dissatisfaction.  Maybe some feelings are meant to be kept inside– I hate the fact by writing about my own unhappiness that I could possibly pass on that burden to others in my life… not exactly what I want–

And honestly, my complaints with my life are truly my own– and my own doing or in need of my un-doing. I think I put too much on certain life successes to bring me a certain level of happiness. Of course, life has shown me over and over that happiness comes from the self– within– not from what happens to us or from what we have. Though, sometimes, it just plain hard to accept that little nugget of wisdom.

The truth is, today, right now, I am not happy with my life. I want my time to be better spent and I want to find more enjoyment in the time I’m spending. The sad thing is that I just don’t know exactly what it is that I want to do– or what exactly is missing from it causing this relentless restless striking me from time to time.

One thing missing from my life are moments of inspiration– moments that cause me to pause and create. I haven’t had enough of those lately.  Maybe the easiest way to get more of those back in my path is to return to the path that brought them to my way. Poetry– oh even the word itself instantly brings about a sudden life spark– sharp, bright, and stinging– a reminder I’m alive. I don’t know what it is about wrting poetry that does that to me— there is something extraordinary in creating experience– an experience of words–