Having not emptied my brain for several weeks, I feel the need to purge the thoughts that have been invading the little space I have left in my head to make room for new ones. For some strange reason I’ve yet to understand, my clearest thinking occurs at the most inopportune times.
Soaking in the bathtub, for example, is not the best place to bring a pen and paper – it’s impossible to write with wet, soapy, wrinkled fingers. Drying my hair also seems to provoke contemplation on various topics, perhaps because of the lengthy time it takes to complete the process. Left with the option of moving the computer into the bathroom or washing and drying my hair several times a day, I’m tempted to plug the hair dryer next to the computer and listen to the rush of hot air for inspiration.
The need to share EVERYTHING, but consumed with the fear of being too vulnerable, too transparent, leaves me in limbo. Trying to convince myself that caring what others think doesn’t matter, but I’m only able to believe it until someone judges me and I feel wounded. I have grown accustomed to judgment by now, but not to the human side of me that still hurts when it happens. If there was a guarantee that read “no family members were harmed during the process of blogging” I would be able to remove these chains that bind me and WRITE.
Perhaps I underestimate the broadness and strength of their shoulders. My children are adults, my husband loves me, and maybe I’m over analyzing. My commitment to being the real me and living in truth is important. Mistakes, choices, and all that is a part of me is potentially not as big as I make it.
When I was 5 or 6 or 7 years old – too much time has passed to know exactly – my dad taught school but during the summer he managed the city swimming pool. I remember it as HUGE, but having seen it as an adult, it was not nearly as large as my memory of it. It was oval in shape, shallow around the entire edge, growing deeper towards the center where two diving boards stood facing each other. One was low; the line to jump from it was always long. The other was high, disappearing into the clouds… (I was a kid, ok? My perception at that time is my reality, so get over it already) and though the wait was shorter, the climb up the hundreds of stairs took forever. Getting to the top was the easy part, walking out onto that platform TO THE EDGE made the urge to empty my bladder overwhelming and still makes my legs tremble just thinking about it.
My dad had a rule – what goes up must come down. In other words, if I chose to ascend the steps of the “high dive” the only way down was to stand at the end – not the side – the end of the board and JUMP. With only seconds to pray for a painless entry into the water, tuning out the “hurry up’s” being voiced behind me, I would ever so carefully ease myself into the air. Eyes squeezed tightly closed, my body waiting for the inevitable slap of the water, plunging deep and then forcing myself to the surface, reaching it at the precise time my lungs were close to bursting was…amazing.
My head holds me back while my heart is exploding with the need to share my life experiences. It’s time to start the journey. I will never know “amazing” until I walk to the edge and jump.