Every so often I need to remember that I’m lovable as I am. Not as I was when I was 32 or 47, but as this 65 year old woman. The good points shine golden. The bad points are like thorns on a rose stem, there to affirm humanness. A little of this, a little of that all blended together into a joyful blend of happiness and reflection, I sit writing to you today.
This past week of silence has let me focus on things that have been ignored too long. The dust bunnies under my studio definitely qualify, along with stacks of stuff needing to be tossed or tucked away. As I straighten up my physical world, my thoughts are correcting my course, as well. I can’t lose sight of my goals or I’ll simply circle around aimlessly like a lost sailor in a harbor.
So often, the Ghosts of Should’ve-Could’ve-Would’ve-s come around to pay a visit. Guilt washes over me like a flash flood, as I ruminate. So many things I wish I’d have handled differently as VST became ill and was dying. But, that ship has sailed. I know he knows I know. The story has been written, and now, I need to remember, find forgiveness, and move on.
VST and I created a beautiful life together. We both knew. Embracing our imperfectly wonderful bonds, we worked through difficult issues woven throughout our marriage. Through the worst of times, the thought of divorce was never on the table. Committed to forever, we stepped carefully through the landmines of life, having a pretty great dance while doing so.
Dancing with the wrong partner is painful and destructive. Knowing what a great dance partner looks and feels like, I refuse to settle for anything less. As my mother said, “There are worse things than being alone.” Truer words have never been spoken. I don’t no need help being poor. I’m not a trained nurse or mental therapist. I’m certainly no one’s maid, cook, or mother. Just a woman that wants to dance with the right partner.
Weak? Fallible? Emotional? Tired? I’m all those things these days. It seems that the hard work of grieving continues throughout life, dredging up many different feelings along the way. I wasn’t expecting woe and sadness to continue renting the back room of my brain. Independent women don’t live in anxious resentment, yearning, or inadequacy. Or do we? Thank goodness life distracts us while healing our troubled hearts.
Blogging has given me a sense of purpose. Daily, my readership grows while I wonder if I’ll ever stop writing. When will the numbers tell me, “Enough is enough. Put the pencil down.”? My perspective on life is of my own choosing. I’ve grown into a woman I respect and love while writing words that paint a mural of how I want to be remembered. Even if things don’t turn out as planned, I’ll keep choosing happiness, day after day.
There is not such thing as a perfect person. “Hate-ers gonna hate” as the song goes. I don’t have to be perfect to please everyone all the time, because that surely is an impossibility. Each night as I close my eyes, I need to remember I’m enough just as I am. Time heals all wounds, even ones that break our hearts.