An Independence Day - Of Sorts

When will I be the person I've decided I should be?  That woman I see and hear in my mind?

She's organized and exercises.  She drinks plenty of water and always knows what to say.  The woman I most want to be thinks positively - all the time.  She eats only what's good for her and stops worrying (about everything) once and for all. 

This woman in my head can drive on the highway and attend family functions without anxiety.  She knows how to sew, knit, write, and wallpaper.  This dream girl ages gracefully and carries the wisdom of her years with an ever-present smile on her lips and in her eyes, serenity tucked neatly away in her pocket.

She knows how to parent, wife, daughter, sister, friend, and teach.  She's rooted in tradition but always willing and able to learn something new.  She lives a life both extraordinary and simple; equally down to dirt basic and roller coaster rush.

This woman I want to be has time, finds time, makes time, and uses her time well.  She keeps up with the laundry, the dishes, the bills, and all those papers that need review.  She's witty.  Intelligent.  Thoughtful.  Creative.  And always kind.  She's seldom superficial and always weighs just what she's supposed to.

She's confident.  Sweet.  Lives without guilt.  Happy at home, but ready for adventure.  She's always on time but still stops to smell the roses.  Compassionate.  Courageous.  Light in spirit and full of heart.

I am this woman I'm supposed to be.  And so are you.  We are every woman.  Sometimes half-full.  Sometimes half-empty.  Equal parts on a tear and can't get out of our own way.  Simultaneously full of life and drop-dead tired, we are the sum of our parts.  We can't be all - all the time - try as we might and wish that we could. 

But we are most of these things some of the time, and in any combination - these toppings make for one really good pizza.

I'm not writing about perfection.  I'm writing about potential.  The woman who lives inside my head doesn't want to be perfect.  If you were to ask her, she'd say she wants to live fully to the best of her ability.  Potential energy is stored energy.  We have potential energy on any given day in any particular mood to interact on our lives in any possible combination of the women we already are.

It's not an all or nothing life I'm living.  It's this, that, and the other.  A little more patient one day, a little more frantically get-it-done the next.  Here a little centered and sane, there a little energized and strong-willed.

I'm every woman.

It's all in me.

Written by Nickolas Ashford and Valerie Simpson

Performed by Chaka Kahn and Whitney Houston

 

 

I can't please all the people, all the time - least of all, apparently, myself.  And I can't promise to permanently banish that woman who lives and talks inside my head, continually lamenting all I could be, but am not.  But I can understand her better and that understanding might just set her free from that rut of thinking she's got herself stuck in.  It just might free her from self-doubt, and self-criticism, and self-destructive cycles of thought.

 

An Independence Day - of sorts.



What makes hope so hard to hold on to?

Hope's a slippery thing to hold onto.  Reach up to wipe one of life's tears from your eye, and hope fumbles from your hand, bounces on the floor, and rolls under the couch.  Hidden there among the dust bunnies and a few runaway M&Ms, you'll need to look for it, sometimes stretching as far as your hand can reach before you're able to wrap your fingers around it again.

What makes hope so hard to hang onto?


Criticism pops hope's balloon - sometimes startling so - and we are unprepared for its aftermath. How shaky we feel minutes, hours, and even days later.  Once firm ground doesn't feel quite so solid.  Confidence wavers. Doubt rises.  And hope's drifted away.

Criticism destructs.  Hope constructs.  And it's hard to rebuild sometimes.  We stack each block of advice we've ever heard about overcoming criticism, but the ego's still a little shaky.  Consider the source.  Learn and move on.  Surround yourself with nourishing people.  We know all that, but criticism - even just implied criticism -  moves right into the ground floor of our consciousness, an unwelcome squatter crowding out all the good stuff we know to be true about ourselves.  No compliment ever seems to build us as high as criticism knocks us down. 

Disappointment.  Another hope-foe.  Disappointment in ourselves, in others, even in hope itself, disappointment wraps around us and smothers us.  If we are to remain hope-full, we have to believe in second chances.  We have to allow ourselves some do-overs.  We seek out new beginnings and fresh starts.  Disappointment can devastate, but it can also motivate.  A multi-feathered phoenix from the ashes, hope can rise again in a new day, new year, new job, or a new relationship.  We are hopers for happy endings.  All's well that ends well.  A place where everything old is renewed again.

Worry.  Large, small, and even nagging niggling little worries are hope's party crashers.  Often showing up late to the show and when we're at our most vulnerable, worry is the great what-if.  We what-if all night long, tossing and turning and churning up worst-case scenario after worst-case scenario.  Hope's never awake at 2 a.m., but worry's an insomniac and wants a little company.  Prayers and deep-breathing and faith and sometimes sheer tenacity can overcome worry.  Life's greatest waste of time, worry lives simultaneously in our past, present, and future.  In the morning, hope has to lift the shades, push back the curtains, and open a window to the light and fresh air of the here and now. 

Regret.  All the once upon a time beginnings we didn't quite see through to the end.  All our should haves but did nots.   The might have beens but were nots. Regret is a rusty wheel refusing to spin and move us forward.  A detailed list of failures, people we could have been, decisions we made and wish we hadn't, regret challenges hope by pointing its crooked old finger back to where we have been, while hope stubbornly looks ahead to where we want to go next.

Hope dares to be happy.  Hope is the better and born-again reincarnation of criticism, disappointment, worry, and regret.  Refusing to abandon us, hope waits like a forgotten five dollar bill in last year's coat, and we delight in its discovery and smile a bit at our unexpected good fortune. Hope helps us do the next day, whether we want to or not,  with a faint whisper of encouragement, "I know you can." 

Photo Source