If you can risk getting lost somewhere along the day you might
stumble upon openings that link you to your depths. ~Anonymous
Today is not unlike yesterday and the day before. I read and I
write in the morning. I try to put my thoughts into written words
before my mind is cluttered with an array of tasks. An open book
laid on my desk and these words popped from the page like a neon
sign, “infirmity of purpose.” It was a phrase that made me think
now that we are into the early days of another new year and my own
vacillation has turned me again into my first and foremost critic.
I feel I am becoming indifferent to many things that were once important to me and relish my alone time. If there was a medical term for the condition, I suppose it could be called the early onset of curmudgeonness. I dislike these thoughts since sometimes it seems so cold and so harsh. Am I that, I wonder over the aroma of piping hot coffee? In some people's eyes, I probably am. I envision myself at some point playing the leading role in life like Anne Ramsey who played Momma in Danny DiVito's movie Throw Momma from the Train, or a female version of Mr. Wilson in Dennis the Menace. I hate the thought since it denotes not caring and having little feeling for things that used to matter. Perhaps I am a simply tired soul who doesn't have the energy for anything but inertia, shutting down and keeping my feelings to myself. I wonder if this happens to people who've been single most of their life or does it only seem to happen to those married several decades? Is it a “woman thing” for those who are approaching or in post menopause? And, is it actually spelled men-o-pause, a need to pause from men and is it possible all women in long-term relationships crave a separation to regenerate to grow stronger? Or, maybe it's a part of that seven year cycle my mother mentioned when I was was young? Who knows. I'm still in search of an answer.
If you've followed my blogs for the past several years, you know my life is pretty much an open book. Some people would say they know me, others are still trying to figure me out. I don't believe one can know another entirely. I've tried to always retain a part of myself that is nobody's business, which is not always an easy feat. I have always strived for some level of autonomy and as I write this, I think my first real stand of independence is when I moved to a new town as a young teenager. I always hated my given name and my thought at the time was, a new place, the new girl, a new name. I kept the same initials so it wasn't too odd when I ordered my class ring, strange reasoning, but then again, I was fourteen. My given name was a two-name first name which the nuns at the Catholic school I attended for eight years seemed to always emphasize to embarrass me in front of the class. It took me nearly thirty more years to legally change it, because in the back of my mind I could hear my mother saying... “My daughter is blankity blank...” With a strong emphasis on “my daughter.” It was one decision in my life I never caved-in on nor felt totally guilty about.
I confess I have never known real independence. In which, I have never stood on my own two feet and tackled the world head on as a singular entity. I have never lived on my own or experienced how I would face the following day without someone at my side. The decisions I've made never included aloneness. Yet, the reality of total independence scares the hell out of me. I imagine if and when that day may come, what I wanted and desired the most would feel like pure and terrifying abandonment as the resonating phrase, “be careful what you wish for” pounds my brain into useless gray matter. I'm not sure I wish to be alone as much as I desire it. But, the constant need for change and independence is as strong as it was when I was that young dark-haired girl in needing of something hotly cold to bite my soul.
