Just Open the Door

Why do I try when it seems I will just mess it up?

Each time I feel
Like he’s giving up,
Little by little
And one day…

He will simply stop loving me.

Maybe one day
He won’t return.

The things I try to do
To show I care
Don’t count to him.

They are not
The things
He had in mind.

I didn’t do the right thing.

I didn’t open the damn door.

It was one of those moments…

If I had simply waited
Another five minutes…

None of this would ever
Have happened.

Our night may have ended beautifully
The way we both wanted it to.

But…

I didn’t open the door.

And now the night
Is lost at sea,
Being pushed and shoved
By currents of Anger,
Disappointment,
Hurt Feelings,
Damaged Pride.

He sits there in the kitchen silently…

And I can hear the thoughts
Of regret
Over having ever
Met me
As loudly and clearly
As if he was
Shouting them
In my face.

I will forever remember
This night.

The night
When I let him down,
Again.

I cried and
He yelled.

All because
I didn’t open the door.

And now…
I’m afraid…
It can never be opened again.

The Answers to Difference

I wonder if we will ever take the leap, take the risk, into difference. I think we hold ourselves back in our own ways. Maybe me more than him… I don’t know. We struggle with whether we should just be grateful for what we have — as society has always told us to be — or whether we should nurture our discontent and strive for what we want, despite the challenges.

I don’t know the answers.

I don’t know if I ever will.

The Wounded

While walking alone
Amongst the bare trees
With dried tears
Upon my cheeks,
The frigid air burning my
Throat and lungs,
I meandered through
The quiet community.

I looked for nothing
Yet found so much
In the vulnerable forest.

Near a stream stood
The tallest, most Awe-inspiring
Sycamore
I had ever seen.

I peered up to the top
Of the Grand Old Tree,
Standing strong against the
Bitter winds
And the gray winter sky.

My eyes scanned the height of the tree
From top to bottom.

When I stared
Straight ahead I saw
The markings
Of thoughtless
Humans…

Hearts and Declarations
Of Love
Littered the trunk
Of the Majestic Being.

I placed my hands
Upon the deep wounds
And transferred
All the healing thoughts
I could muster
Through my cold fingertips.

“I feel your pain as if
It were my own…”

How could such a
Beautiful Creature
Be harmed in such a way?

I laid my my cheek upon
The source of the tree’s
Strength
And tried to absorb its
Resiliency.

I admired how it wore
Its wounds, its pain, its vulnerability
And yet did not seem
At all phased by them.

I detested the lack
Of benevolence and respect
In this World.

I stood with the tree
Until the stars came out
And my body was numb
With the cold.

I could feel nothing
Of my physical self
Except my Aching Heart.

Tenderly, I wrapped and bandaged
Its wounds with
The gray woolen scarf
From around my neck.

I bid my companion a sorrowful farewell
And I promised to return
To the place that felt
Like Home.

Stepping away,
I looked back
For one last look at
The Being I had felt closer to
Than any other.

Airplanes

On a night freckled with stars

We laid together.

Your hand on the small of my back…

Warmth radiating,

It was all so new.

I had been searching…

Hoping…

For so long

For you,

Even before I knew you existed,

That your touch seemed familiar

As I had dreamt of it

So many times before.

I wanted to weep with Joy and Relief

That my painful search

Was over.

The planes nearby

Rose and fell

And I imagined You and I

On one of them

Ascending toward the stars

To a New Life

Together.

We watched them soar

With our song in the background.

The serene moments

Came upon us

And receded

Like ocean waves

Leaving the sense that

Everything would now be okay.

I will remember that night until

My mind can no longer recall

My own name.

I will close my eyes,

Release a contented sigh

And think to myself,

There’s just something about Airplanes.

NaNoWriMo Day 18 — Fast Drafts Are Not For Me

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I am aware my NaNoWriMo updates have been sporadic at best, and I could offer a variety of reasons for this, but I’m not going to.

Let’s just say life is busy, I’m still writing (although I am a little behind on my word count), and sleep takes precedence over updating this blog.

I admire those that do daily updates on their progress and list their stats and all that, but that is not how I roll at this time, nor do I have the time to do so.

I would like to talk about things I have been grappling with lately, if you don’t mind.

I have read two articles recently that struck a chord with me and I want to share. The first comes from the amazing folks over at The Write Practice. I love all of their posts and get excited each time I see a new post from them in my inbox. A recent article they put out, “Why Fast First Drafts Aren’t For Everyone“, really got me thinking about my own method of writing…

And I think I am one of those folks that need more time to write.

I just cannot pound out more than 2,000 words in 1 1/2 to 2 hours. Or, even if I did achieve this feat, the words would be crap. My mind does not work at lightning speed and never has.

I only think of witty or clever things to say a day or two after the moment has passed. I mull over plot and character possibilities for several minutes or more before I choose one to go with. I write a free verse poem and sit on it for weeks sometimes before I read it over, edit, and publish it here. I am terrible at arguing because I would rather hear the other person’s grievances, think about it for a few hours to an entire day, and then write a letter or e-mail to them stating my side of the issue.

I’m a thinker and I need time.

NaNoWriMo has been infinitely helpful to me, however. I have developed a daily practice of writing, which was my primary goal anyway. When my word count began to fall behind last week, I felt a stab of guilt and disappointment in myself for not pushing through, for not forsaking sleep and health and relationships for the written word.

Of course, I knew feeling this way was nonsense, seeing that if I am not taking care of myself I am no good to my husband or children (no one likes a grumpy wife or mom) and my writing would quickly suffer as a result of a brain that could not function to the best of its abilities.

The second article I read that I loved is by Jennifer S. White and I saw it on Elephant Journal, another really great online publication. “The All-or-Nothing Approach to Life Doesn’t Work” resonated with me since I am also a busy mother and wife that has a tendency to all-or-nothing approaches. I try to achieve everything at once with perfection, attempting to do it all, or I have the burn-out periods of doing nothing at all because my mind and body cannot support any endeavors past daily necessities.

This was something I really needed to read because I have been trying to set up daily routines and rituals for myself to create a more productive and satisfying life.

But instead of setting up one new routine at a time, I was trying to add in at least six new tasks for each day. Inevitably, there would be two or more of these additions that did not get accomplished and I would be left feeling frustrated over the whole thing, which would flow into the next day in a vicious cycle of disappointment, frustration, and just well, feeling down about my abilities to excel in life.

The rituals were supposed to help, not make things worse!

I have (finally) realized that I cannot be a homeschooling mother of two, a devoted wife, an immaculate housekeeper, a yogi, a writer, a journal-keeper, a meditator, a knitter, a reader, etc all in one day everyday. There is just no way this can happen, at least not for the mind that needs ample time to sort anything and everything out before action can take place.

“And, here’s another thing–my healthiest self walked away from this writing. While my preference is to hole up in my bedroom with coffee and my laptop, this, again, is a current rarity.”

Jennifer hit the nail on the head with this one. I have my own preferences about how to conduct my life and engage myself in my passions…but with little Monsters in the home, my preferences are often thrown out the window. I know time will pass, my children will grow older and more independent, and I will be left with more time — if only to think: how did they grow up so fast!?

Life isn’t about checking things off on a list, or being able to do everything you want to do the way you want to do them all of the time.

Life is about the experience while doing what you love, what you don’t love, and learning from each and every moment.

 “And trust me—I’m an all-or-nothing sort of person (if you’ll recall). So, I understand that multi-tasking is a myth; that life is easier when performed orderly, cleanly, neatly and entirely. But I’m also a yoga practitioner (I think I mentioned that too)—I believe that living moment-by-moment is the only way to truly live (happily at least).”

As painful as it is for me to admit, I can only do so much in a day, and things I love to do often get pushed to the side for the well-being of those around me, or for my own well-being.

Writing, yoga, reading, and many other things are important parts of a balanced and healthy life for me, but it’s the balancing part that I need to practice more. Not attempting an all-or-nothing approach…because it has not and will not work.

I know I have gotten off topic from NaNoWriMo a bit, but I wanted to address these aspects of life, and what is writing if not an integral part of our messy lives?

I will continue to write each day during NaNoWriMo and beyond…just maybe not 1,667 words a day.

How is your writing going? How is life? Do you find you have difficulties balancing your passions and loves in life? I would love to hear what works or does not work for you.

Have a wonderful day, and Happy Writing, everyone!

The Handy Man

I wonder if he knows

That I love how handy

He is.

I, sitting back,

Watching

His hands,

His precision.

Measuring,

Leveling,

Aiming for perfection.

I wonder if he understands

That although he is

Good with his hands

And is capable of fixing

Many things,

He cannot mend the

Chipped,

Cracked,

Broken pieces of my Self.

I wonder if he knows,

I hope he knows,

I love

The fact that

He tries.

He Knows

I wonder if he can tell…

I thought to myself when he got home from work.

He’s usually so good at reading my mind, my body language…he can always tell if there is something amiss. Why did I ever think I could hide this from him?

Things just haven’t been the same for so long now. It started as one small thing – as all things seem to begin – and more small things piled on and on and on… Until now there is a huge omniscient presence lurking over us all of the time. It eludes to the fact that there is something not right, but not letting on to what exactly went wrong. Is wrong.

I hug my Darling and try my best not to feel stiff in his embrace. For a moment I forget, and I am enraptured by the unique feeling of being held by someone I love, no matter how flawed things are between the two parties. The moment passes too quickly and I am struck by the remembrance of what I have done.

Act natural. If I can just act natural, he may never know…