Everything is different. I’m sitting in the same chair in the morning, with the dog looking outside to a new world, the cat purring a symphony of sounds beside me.
As I sit here, I realize everything has changed, part of the change that has been taking place over time with me; today I am different, I feel different. It’s the only word I feel can express it.
I am calm, more relaxed and am looking at my home as if I saw if for the first time, as if I saw the story it would unravel through the lens of a camera. Each room, placement of furniture, the disaster decorating I tried that was unfulfilling, okay downright ugly would be a better term. I was learning my sense of style.
One of the talks I remind our team is to take a picture and look at it, how you see it, is how the guests see it. I have been doing this in work and home to really see what others see. This way I can deal with the ego kicking in that I did a great job or the self critic that it was horrible, the worst I have ever completed, somehow he always seems to remind me it’s worthless, I am worthless, but I will disagree with him.
Today as I took a vacation day, my plan is to go around my house and take pictures, start there and then work out to the yard, my work, the community to see what it was that I saw that has kept me here for so long. Next weekend is a trip to the farm, a location I have not been for quite a while as it means dealing with some sad memories; but I feel I can do it at this time.
I gave my grandson a few books that were mine as a child and my daughters. This morning I see the one book my daughter could not part with, it was mine and I decide I need to re-read it. Lost in the pages of the Carebear book I remember the day it was gifted to me from a childhood friend.
It was always so special as he put so much care into what he would buy me as a birthday gift. I was always truly grateful and had a hard time expressing it as the emotion took over, he would give me birthday gifts when I was not to have any. Items that I would hang on to forever and still have all of them; I snuggle in and read Sweet Dreams for Sally. Now when I was younger I always had a fear of the dark.
We had a large farmhouse and I would be covered in bruises from falling on the stairs as I was trying to go so fast before the basement monster got me; upstairs was safe. I read this book over and over while snuggled up to my Carebear at night, listening to the basement monster making sounds, opening doors looking for me. The anxiety was there in my early years.
The story feels the same for me now, but this time the dark is the PTSD, who knew I would still find use for it in my forties; this may become my bedtime story again. I will use the excuse that I am reading to the dog and see if Sally may help the days my brain is in a recovery mode, needing the fluffy clouds of the magical land to relax and absorb all that is undesirable.
If I could only take a picture of the inside, the true feelings of me. This I could get into, really dissect it and see where do I need the most amount of work? Just because I can add lipstick to venture out doesn’t erase the turmoil or drama inside. So how to change it?
I have been writing, painting, journalling, going to therapy, cooking, drinking it away, then yesterday as we are driving I question Mr. Jones; is our only purpose in life to be sad, depressed, mad, going through our days and then boom we have a highlight and that is what we use to go on and then we just keep continuing the same path? Is that what the life purpose is all about or is there some cosmic reason for our real existence?
Some days I see our humanity as a plaque on the beautiful earth as I see the killing, the wars, the materialistic consumption attitudes to be just like that girl who someone said she was all that. Who determined she was?
What has she done to better humanity? Was it is she showed us how to create better cleavage, is that a highlight or did she show compassion for children and assist in building up villages, building people up emotionally, giving encouragement and kind words?
This time of searching right now seems to have unleashed what maybe I see through the looking glass, but the one that is deep within us. The one that is realizing there is so much more of us to offer to each other. The one that is working on dissecting the soul, figuring out who really am I and what is my purpose in this planet?
Just saying I do make a great sangria, but thinking there is more to me than that. What am I offering of myself to others? What can I offer of myself to others, or have I been doing it and not realizing it?
This quote resonated with me on a true depiction on maybe where my thoughts take me today, and truly I loved the colouring of such life where what we picture is darkness.
Love always, the Monday morning, dissecting, Woman in Process