I wonder why it is that when the weight is lifted, my heart and soul begin to soar. When I'm in the depths I try to remind myself to rise above, but I'm trapped by something perceived. How can anyone rise above with something so heavy keeping them down?
I'm beginning to think they were right, whoever they were that said our perception is our reality.
I'm taking a personality theory class, and I've hated it. The teacher is a charming 72 year old black woman. She's a spitfire with her own agenda and opinions . . . and she's not afraid to tell you what's up. She survived breast cancer, she's taking care of her 90 year old mother with the aide of a nurse and her sister. She loves her family, and she expects a a lot out of us. I am capable of succeeding in her class, but for some reason I've chosen not to. Turns out I just didn't personalize the curriculum. I should have been using this class for my own personal benefit (not academic benefit) this whole time. What a let down. I think I will be posting a few of the Essay's I've written for class in the next few days. I'm not sure I will pass with a decent grade. If I get less than a C, I think I will retake it because I don't want my GPA to suffer. GPA's are probably meaningless to the Universities I'm interested in, but I grew up in a household hearing "When I graduated, it was with a 3.98888888 because I couldn't climb the rope in gym class, you can do better than this" I feel like anything less than honors is not good enough.
My best friend and I grew up with kids who got money from their parents for every A on their report card. I got lectured about the D's. My friend's mom would look at the straight A's and say: "Oh, yup, boring, nothing new here". See, she thought she was helping, but it made my friend feel like she wasn't good enough. We wanted our parents to be proud when we did well. They just didn't know that what they were doing, wasn't helping us in any way except for reinforcing our feelings of inadequacy. As children, we wouldn't have even known to ask for different because we didn't know the subconscious thoughts and feelings that were going on in our minds.
I talked to D one day after class about any opportunities to earn a few extra points. She told me it would not be fair to the rest of the class and that she was sorry. As I turned and met the sympathetic, but judgmental eyes of the man I didn't know was standing behind me, D said: "I know you are more capable than this" and I cried all the way down 6 flights of stairs, and across the parking lot to my car.
I lost sight of the fact that school is about learning. Personality Theory should have been an opportunity to learn about myself, not about earning a grade so I could move on to the higher level classes.
That wasn't the point of this entry, but I'm glad to have written it. The point was, that the steady ascent out of the pit is still happening and it's mystifying to me. I still can't believe how much better I feel about my life in general now that, to quote Sylvia Plath, the Bell Jar has been lifted. Over one woman in my life who I thought didn't like me.
I am a bad-ass. I am a woman who wants to save the Earth from total destruction by her inhabitants. I want to save Humanity from war, starvation, and destitution by COMMUNICATING and sharing resources. I am the woman who wants to grow old wearing silk scarves, writing books (even if nobody reads them), and drinking wine with beloved friends. I am eccentric, I've dyed my hair purple, I wear flip-flops in the winter. I could sit in the sun all day long and daydream. I like blackberry ice cream, and locally brewed beers. I love a good novel, gemstones, jewelry, and good song lyrics. I want to be a painter, a sculptor, a welder, and a costume designer. I want to be a desert Goddess and travel the world seeking beauty in everything. I want to fall in love. I want to raise a puppy to be a good dog. I want to wear a bindi and my favorite necklace that's made with beans and a shell, a gift from a dear friend. I want to fill my life with positive, uplifting people who see beauty in the aesthetics of human beings. People who will listen to me cry and then celebrate with me when I find the answers for myself.
Why does my heart soar when the weight has been lifted? Why do I allow myself to be trapped at all?
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
A Quick One - Feelings
Feeling like the entries here are mile markers on a highway to major improvement.
Feeling like I can see the big picture again; I like it out here, where the spaces are wide instead of deep and over analyzed.
Feeling like I can choose how to react to a situation.
Feeling very loved.
Feeling relief that the semester ends next week.
Feeling overwhelmed by the 4 huge writing assignments that must be completed no later than Tuesday for some, Wednesday for the others.
Feeling optimistic about the kinds of things I can create - I have sewing projects, paper projects, and personal writing projects slated for my winter break. I don't want to set my sights too high because I'm the QUEEN of not doing the things on the list and I don't want the guilt.
Feeling concerned about my tendency to self sabotage.
Feeling guilty for all the times I made myself feel guilty over nothing.
Feeling worried about money, but thankful and relieved that money I was owed, got paid back. Why does the Universe always give me the extra when there really is no room to move in the usual?
Feeling very tired.
Feeling nervous about psychiatrist offices I've called. I will be setting up consults and picking a course of action for Adult Attention Deficit Disorder.
Feeling better about the decision to pursue the meds.
Feeling silly for being in denial so long about what a textbook example of AADD I am.
Feeling hopeful that this will be a good tool for me.
Learning, learning, learning . . .
Feeling optimistic about making the switch to the English program from the Psych program.
Feeling proud of the book that I made by hand and looking forward to making more in the future.
Feeling bad for not seeing my friends on Thanksgiving.
Feeling like I can see the big picture again; I like it out here, where the spaces are wide instead of deep and over analyzed.
Feeling like I can choose how to react to a situation.
Feeling very loved.
Feeling relief that the semester ends next week.
Feeling overwhelmed by the 4 huge writing assignments that must be completed no later than Tuesday for some, Wednesday for the others.
Feeling optimistic about the kinds of things I can create - I have sewing projects, paper projects, and personal writing projects slated for my winter break. I don't want to set my sights too high because I'm the QUEEN of not doing the things on the list and I don't want the guilt.
Feeling concerned about my tendency to self sabotage.
Feeling guilty for all the times I made myself feel guilty over nothing.
Feeling worried about money, but thankful and relieved that money I was owed, got paid back. Why does the Universe always give me the extra when there really is no room to move in the usual?
Feeling very tired.
Feeling nervous about psychiatrist offices I've called. I will be setting up consults and picking a course of action for Adult Attention Deficit Disorder.
Feeling better about the decision to pursue the meds.
Feeling silly for being in denial so long about what a textbook example of AADD I am.
Feeling hopeful that this will be a good tool for me.
Learning, learning, learning . . .
Feeling optimistic about making the switch to the English program from the Psych program.
Feeling proud of the book that I made by hand and looking forward to making more in the future.
Feeling bad for not seeing my friends on Thanksgiving.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
On The Rise
About The Pit. The Pit is what I choose to call my depression*. It usually starts out with the blues. When I get the blues I try to maintain any bit of 'happy' I can hold onto. It is a sort of desperation, and I think the anxiety caused by the desperation might make the slope more slippery. It is not fast, but it is an increadibly steady descent as I succumb more and more to the gravitational pull of The Pit.
I have learned about myself that my name is extraordinarily well suited to me and I have even started to wonder if it had/has an effect on who I am. Trieste in Italian means Melancholy, the definition of which is "A feeling of thoughtful sadness", SERIOUSLY!?! Seriously. Is there a word that means Self Actualized? because . . . I'm thinking of changing my name if there is.
I have known for a while, but it never hit so close to home as recently, that I take things very, very personally. I am sensitive. I am easily hurt. I accept guilt when it's thrust on me by others and I create a lot of it for myself. I get angry quickly too. I was recently told by a woman that "You don't seem like you get your feathers ruffled easily. I feel really calm and comfortable around you, and I think I could tell you anything." That calm, comfortable, tell me anything part will be great if I decide to see this 'become a therapist' thing to the end . . . the feather thing? I'm glad I appear that way outwardly. This skin? Penetrable.
I am truly afraid of not being good enough. The voice of the critic, the voice of insecurity in my head says things like: What if you aren't a good enough writer? What if you aren't a good enough student to earn a Doctorate? What if you aren't a good enough employee? What if you aren't a good enough friend? Why do you have to dominate conversations? Why did you have to eat that whole thing? Why can't you just control what you eat? Why are you so lazy? If you would just go to the gym! If you would just blahblahblahblahblahblah What if you aren't good enough at blahblahblahblahblah? All the time. The logical conclusion to all that chatter in my mind to my mind is that I'm not good enough. Not healthy, not skinny, not pretty, not likeable, certainly not someone people can love or want around, not friendly, not a good listener. It scares me to think about clicking "Publish Post" with this all out in the open like it is. But this whole section reminds me of the point. . . .
I let little things creep in and bite me. I try to ignore it. So it starts to gnaw at me. Once it starts to gnaw, I just let it eat at me. Before I know it I'm in a deep, dark, frozen hole in the ground. The sun doesn't shine on it. Nobody even walks close enough to it that they might notice the sad, frozen girl down there.
Today, and a few single times over the last few weeks, I've noticed a new place. It's not in the depths of The Pit, but it's not on the rim or safely away from The Pit either. It's like The Pit is suddenly less deep, and it's not so dark anymore . . . I don't think I have ever experienced the ascent gradually enough to get comfortable in a place like this and look around. It's always been one extreme or another.
I can clearly see the options:
I can dig in, let it take me again and keep me longer.
Or, I can keep looking for more information about myself while I'm in here.
Because it's not ABOUT happy or not happy lately. It's about all the questions I haven't been asking myself. The next one is: Why is my greatest insecurity about not being good enough?
I like this piece of artwork. It has the same buried in the Earth feeling that I get from The Pit, but with more hope . . . (I really struggle with this aspect of writing because I want to explain what I see so the reader understands that I see 'human growth' in this image and mention that you know . . . that's totally the idea I was going for. My worry would be that instead of seeing the hope I'm starting to feel, they would misinterpret why I chose to use this image and see the pit instead of the way out. . . . but I think Stephen King was right when he said: "Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s." Maybe next time I'll just say nothing at all, and if the reader doesn't get it, it doesn't really mean anything to me it's really just too bad for them that they don't catch my drift . . . this picture looks like the way out to me) Again, I wish I knew who to credit with it's creation.
*I refuse to admit to suffering a chemical imbalance called depression, but I would be lying if I didn't say I got depressed, and what else do you call it? I know, it's sort of dysfunctional.
I have learned about myself that my name is extraordinarily well suited to me and I have even started to wonder if it had/has an effect on who I am. Trieste in Italian means Melancholy, the definition of which is "A feeling of thoughtful sadness", SERIOUSLY!?! Seriously. Is there a word that means Self Actualized? because . . . I'm thinking of changing my name if there is.
I have known for a while, but it never hit so close to home as recently, that I take things very, very personally. I am sensitive. I am easily hurt. I accept guilt when it's thrust on me by others and I create a lot of it for myself. I get angry quickly too. I was recently told by a woman that "You don't seem like you get your feathers ruffled easily. I feel really calm and comfortable around you, and I think I could tell you anything." That calm, comfortable, tell me anything part will be great if I decide to see this 'become a therapist' thing to the end . . . the feather thing? I'm glad I appear that way outwardly. This skin? Penetrable.
I am truly afraid of not being good enough. The voice of the critic, the voice of insecurity in my head says things like: What if you aren't a good enough writer? What if you aren't a good enough student to earn a Doctorate? What if you aren't a good enough employee? What if you aren't a good enough friend? Why do you have to dominate conversations? Why did you have to eat that whole thing? Why can't you just control what you eat? Why are you so lazy? If you would just go to the gym! If you would just blahblahblahblahblahblah What if you aren't good enough at blahblahblahblahblah? All the time. The logical conclusion to all that chatter in my mind to my mind is that I'm not good enough. Not healthy, not skinny, not pretty, not likeable, certainly not someone people can love or want around, not friendly, not a good listener. It scares me to think about clicking "Publish Post" with this all out in the open like it is. But this whole section reminds me of the point. . . .
I let little things creep in and bite me. I try to ignore it. So it starts to gnaw at me. Once it starts to gnaw, I just let it eat at me. Before I know it I'm in a deep, dark, frozen hole in the ground. The sun doesn't shine on it. Nobody even walks close enough to it that they might notice the sad, frozen girl down there.
Today, and a few single times over the last few weeks, I've noticed a new place. It's not in the depths of The Pit, but it's not on the rim or safely away from The Pit either. It's like The Pit is suddenly less deep, and it's not so dark anymore . . . I don't think I have ever experienced the ascent gradually enough to get comfortable in a place like this and look around. It's always been one extreme or another.
I can clearly see the options:
I can dig in, let it take me again and keep me longer.
Or, I can keep looking for more information about myself while I'm in here.
Because it's not ABOUT happy or not happy lately. It's about all the questions I haven't been asking myself. The next one is: Why is my greatest insecurity about not being good enough?
I like this piece of artwork. It has the same buried in the Earth feeling that I get from The Pit, but with more hope . . . (I really struggle with this aspect of writing because I want to explain what I see so the reader understands that I see 'human growth' in this image and mention that you know . . . that's totally the idea I was going for. My worry would be that instead of seeing the hope I'm starting to feel, they would misinterpret why I chose to use this image and see the pit instead of the way out. . . . but I think Stephen King was right when he said: "Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s." Maybe next time I'll just say nothing at all, and if the reader doesn't get it, it doesn't really mean anything to me it's really just too bad for them that they don't catch my drift . . . this picture looks like the way out to me) Again, I wish I knew who to credit with it's creation.
*I refuse to admit to suffering a chemical imbalance called depression, but I would be lying if I didn't say I got depressed, and what else do you call it? I know, it's sort of dysfunctional.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Change of Perception
I would like to change my thinking from: "If only . . . then I will be happy, and if I can get happy again and hang onto it, then I will be happy. Now all I have to do is learn how to keep this feeling of happy" 
The jar is the perception that happiness is a thing to get, have, and keep.
Maybe happiness is like a butterfly, delicate, fragile. If you keep it in a jar, it will die from starvation, suffocation, and of a broken spirit. If you let it go, it will fly away, freedom is worth living for. Butterflies don't live long, but their lives are beautiful, they are free spirits, full of grace.
The jar is the perception that happiness is a thing to get, have, and keep. Today I had a change of perception about a situation that has been miserable for months. I created this reality and I realize now, with the help of friends, that it never was about me. It seems so obvious now, but for MONTHS I allowed my every day to be coloured a dark shade of ugly. I just wanted it to go away so I could be happy. I think this realization has helped me to start better understanding what was meant by saying: "Happiness is a journey, not a destination"
I want to set a goal, to practice thinking more along these lines:
My destination is self, happiness is what can be found along the way. I want to know and understand myself. Where did these habits come from, the ones I consider bad? What do they mean to me? I want to take Sallie's words to heart and learn to love my shadows instead of trying to change them. What discourages me? What hurts me? Does the critic ever start speaking quietly? And if she does, can I tell her to pipe down before she takes charge?
I feel like I am repeating myself, but I feel better this evening I hope that documenting more of my thoughts and feelings, rather than the events that create them will help me recognize some of my pitfalls. I'm not going to tell myself, or you that this revelation is going to be the solution . . . that I believe I have found the secret to creating a happy life, but I will say that I think this is going to be a corner piece on the border of this puzzle. The life and happiness enigma.
. . . and we're talkin' one of those 500,000,000 piece puzzles that sit on the coffee table for infinite amounts of time before they finally come together.
Guilt
I feel like I should allow myself to have a rest because I'm so tired. But if I do lie around the house all day on a Saturday, not studying, not cleaning something, not catching up on email, not getting dressed, not going grocery shopping, and not going outside, I feel incredibly guilty. I've wasted my time, and I'm still tired. I think to myself that I should not take a rest until I've earned it by studying, and working from home on my email.
I wonder what it's like to go to work and put in a good productive day, and then go home to have a home cooked meal, relax, and spend time with my family. I am envious of people who can go have a glass of wine with a friend . . . guilt free.
Instead, I leave work burned out already after dark at 5:00 PM and go to class for an hour Tuesday and Thursday, two hours on Wednesday, and I should spend at least an hour studying for every hour spent in class. Often I will go to a coffee shop after class because if I go home, I shut down. Often I head home between 9:00 - 10:00 PM, sometimes not till 11:00 PM. I stay up another hour or two, sometimes three or four because I want to do something mindless, like watch CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, or Gray's Anatomy . . . AGAIN. And if I spend an hour, two hours doing something NOT work email, studying, reading, working on an essay, meditating, self improvement, not giving in to the temptation to finish a bag of potato chips . . . I feel incredibly guilty.
About as often as i go to the coffee shop to study for hours, I go home to lie in bed for hours, eating potato chips and watching . . . anything that might be on, and might be good. My DVD drive isn't properly functioning, so lately I've been restricted to CBS's website. I can't get ABC's website to stream from my computer. And then I feel incredibly guilty again.
I'm slowly killing myself with guilt which leads to self loathing. I don't like my body, I don't like that I'm not doing what I'm capable of, I don't like that I can't seem to catch up on sleep, or school work. It is very possible I will fail my Personality Theory class and I am sort of watching it unfold without taking charge.
Admitting that I've been in this cycle since early or mid-October helps. I am seeking a psychiatrist at the advice of my therapist. Maybe treating the ADD will help me feel good about what I am getting done. Maybe it will help me break some of these bad habbits. The more I think about the conversation I had with Margo about it, the more obvious it becomes to me that this is not my fault. It's not something I have as much control over as I thought I had.
Meds still have this stigma for me though. I am afraid. I am afraid that if I do need the meds to function, it will mean that I'm not good enough.
Part of me embraces vulnerability because pain is one very real path to growth. Part of me hates this. I hate being so suceptible to the moods of those around me. I hate being so raw that one nudge in any direction feels like a direct blow from others meant to hurt and belittle . . . knowing that I am the one who believes that.
This mood, these feelings make me consider upgrading my security system from a picket fence and a locked front door . . . deterrants . . . to a cynder block wall with barbed wire on the top, a spotlight and an alarm system . . . and gun-men with sniper rifles to ward off anyone who gets too close to me.
Don't touch me :( I've hurt myself enough already.
I wonder what it's like to go to work and put in a good productive day, and then go home to have a home cooked meal, relax, and spend time with my family. I am envious of people who can go have a glass of wine with a friend . . . guilt free.
Instead, I leave work burned out already after dark at 5:00 PM and go to class for an hour Tuesday and Thursday, two hours on Wednesday, and I should spend at least an hour studying for every hour spent in class. Often I will go to a coffee shop after class because if I go home, I shut down. Often I head home between 9:00 - 10:00 PM, sometimes not till 11:00 PM. I stay up another hour or two, sometimes three or four because I want to do something mindless, like watch CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, or Gray's Anatomy . . . AGAIN. And if I spend an hour, two hours doing something NOT work email, studying, reading, working on an essay, meditating, self improvement, not giving in to the temptation to finish a bag of potato chips . . . I feel incredibly guilty.
About as often as i go to the coffee shop to study for hours, I go home to lie in bed for hours, eating potato chips and watching . . . anything that might be on, and might be good. My DVD drive isn't properly functioning, so lately I've been restricted to CBS's website. I can't get ABC's website to stream from my computer. And then I feel incredibly guilty again.
I'm slowly killing myself with guilt which leads to self loathing. I don't like my body, I don't like that I'm not doing what I'm capable of, I don't like that I can't seem to catch up on sleep, or school work. It is very possible I will fail my Personality Theory class and I am sort of watching it unfold without taking charge.
Admitting that I've been in this cycle since early or mid-October helps. I am seeking a psychiatrist at the advice of my therapist. Maybe treating the ADD will help me feel good about what I am getting done. Maybe it will help me break some of these bad habbits. The more I think about the conversation I had with Margo about it, the more obvious it becomes to me that this is not my fault. It's not something I have as much control over as I thought I had.
Meds still have this stigma for me though. I am afraid. I am afraid that if I do need the meds to function, it will mean that I'm not good enough.
Part of me embraces vulnerability because pain is one very real path to growth. Part of me hates this. I hate being so suceptible to the moods of those around me. I hate being so raw that one nudge in any direction feels like a direct blow from others meant to hurt and belittle . . . knowing that I am the one who believes that.
This mood, these feelings make me consider upgrading my security system from a picket fence and a locked front door . . . deterrants . . . to a cynder block wall with barbed wire on the top, a spotlight and an alarm system . . . and gun-men with sniper rifles to ward off anyone who gets too close to me.
Don't touch me :( I've hurt myself enough already.
Friday, November 14, 2008
The Purpose
I often stop to look over any 'quotablemugs' I encounter while out and about. You know the ones . . . with the great little boxes that match the mug inside, mugs with great little quotes of things that were said mostly by famous people. There is a coffee mug on my desk at work. I remember purchasing this mug several months ago because the quote struck a deep chord for me. Maybe this coffee mug is responsible in some way for me starting this blog. The title "Happiness is a Journey" certainly came straight out of the box and I like to believe that everything is interconnected.
At Burning Man this last year I had a great conversation with my friend Sallie about how people have a tendency to filter themselves and we would like to live the unfiltered life. I have tried to keep that in mind as I go on with my daily life. Post-Burning Man is a very hard time of year. Most of the momentum is gone because we're all so tired of putting so much work into Burning Man that we just want to do nothing . . . But I'm in school and working full time for a company that is undergoing a great deal of positive, necessary, but difficult and urgent changes. So when Sallie asked me tonight at Ignite Salt Lake how I've been . . . the truth is, I've been tired, stressed, and burned out in general, but what's more important is ME. Not my job. Not my education. Not my not creating anything recently, Not my desire to see my friends more regularly. ME. My answer surprised me a little.
I'm vulnerable.
And I've got these voices ringing in my head saying things like:
"Write what disturbs you, what you fear, what you have not been willing to speak about. Be willing to be split open." - Natalie Goldberg
and
"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." - Ernest Hemingway
I am a woman who believes in signs . . . and if this doesn't add up to a great big message in my life . . . there isn't going to be any more messages.
The word 'vulnerability' rolls through my mind in slow motion like an antique vase falling off it's pedestal and hitting the ground just outside the grasp of the klutz who bumped into it.
My purposes and goals for this blog are to learn more about myself with each entry, to become a better writer, and to document my struggle with the journey to happiness. To allow myself to be raw, vulnerable, and complex. Maybe this blog will be a new item in my tool box, an item that will help me break my own cycle of depression.
There are more influences in the decision to come clean about it than just Goldberg and Hemingway. Heather Armstrong of Dooce.com has been very open about her body, emotions, life, and family and in doing so helped a lot of people reconcile their own feelings. She has made me feel good about being painfully honest about myself. So here goes . . . documentation of my journey, my struggles, my feelings, my wants and desires, and my needs. Here's to the good times and the bad ones.
The coffee mug on my desk at work, with all the pens in it says:
"for a long time it seemed to me that life was about to begin- real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. at last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life. this perspective has helped me to see there is no way to happiness. happiness is the way. so treasure every moment you have and remember that time waits for no one. happiness is a journey, not a destination." - Souza
I look for answers in everything. Maybe this coffee mug is responsible in some way for me wanting to take this path. Maybe not. But I would be lying if I didn't admit that I like the box the mug came in better than the mug. Here it is on the book shelf under my window sill.
http://quotablecards.com/main.html
At Burning Man this last year I had a great conversation with my friend Sallie about how people have a tendency to filter themselves and we would like to live the unfiltered life. I have tried to keep that in mind as I go on with my daily life. Post-Burning Man is a very hard time of year. Most of the momentum is gone because we're all so tired of putting so much work into Burning Man that we just want to do nothing . . . But I'm in school and working full time for a company that is undergoing a great deal of positive, necessary, but difficult and urgent changes. So when Sallie asked me tonight at Ignite Salt Lake how I've been . . . the truth is, I've been tired, stressed, and burned out in general, but what's more important is ME. Not my job. Not my education. Not my not creating anything recently, Not my desire to see my friends more regularly. ME. My answer surprised me a little.
I'm vulnerable.
And I've got these voices ringing in my head saying things like:
"Write what disturbs you, what you fear, what you have not been willing to speak about. Be willing to be split open." - Natalie Goldberg
and
"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." - Ernest Hemingway
I am a woman who believes in signs . . . and if this doesn't add up to a great big message in my life . . . there isn't going to be any more messages.
The word 'vulnerability' rolls through my mind in slow motion like an antique vase falling off it's pedestal and hitting the ground just outside the grasp of the klutz who bumped into it.
My purposes and goals for this blog are to learn more about myself with each entry, to become a better writer, and to document my struggle with the journey to happiness. To allow myself to be raw, vulnerable, and complex. Maybe this blog will be a new item in my tool box, an item that will help me break my own cycle of depression.
There are more influences in the decision to come clean about it than just Goldberg and Hemingway. Heather Armstrong of Dooce.com has been very open about her body, emotions, life, and family and in doing so helped a lot of people reconcile their own feelings. She has made me feel good about being painfully honest about myself. So here goes . . . documentation of my journey, my struggles, my feelings, my wants and desires, and my needs. Here's to the good times and the bad ones.
The coffee mug on my desk at work, with all the pens in it says:
"for a long time it seemed to me that life was about to begin- real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. at last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life. this perspective has helped me to see there is no way to happiness. happiness is the way. so treasure every moment you have and remember that time waits for no one. happiness is a journey, not a destination." - Souza
I look for answers in everything. Maybe this coffee mug is responsible in some way for me wanting to take this path. Maybe not. But I would be lying if I didn't admit that I like the box the mug came in better than the mug. Here it is on the book shelf under my window sill.
http://quotablecards.com/main.html
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
The Critic
You know that voice? The one in the back of your mind that chatters all day long? I'm pretty familiar with mine, she's a spiteful, HATEFUL person. She tells me regularly, that I spend too much money, that I'm not a good student, that I eat the wrong things, stay up too late, don't do my job well, drive like a maniac, don't read enough, don't spend enough time with my friends, that I'm selfish, that I don't give back to the community that gives so much to me. I think you get the idea. Anyway, this rude and insensitive person is not me. But all too often, I let this person be in charge of what I do and say, think and feel . . . it boils down to my greatest fear of not being good enough.
I think knowing that the voice that chatters all day long, isn't me . . . is the first step.
I want this blog to be painfully honest, I hope that being more honest with myself and being honest with people who I love and care for as well as complete strangers who may or may not care will help me grow.
Today I am tired. The critic has been beating me up for weeks. So I came home and put on my favorite sweater and scarf. I've got some work to do.
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