I jokingly tell people “It’s always about me and the sooner we all get on the same page with that the better.” I’ve had a really crummy week y’all. Every inner voice imaginable has struggled to be heard, acknowledged, and at times smacked down.
I’d complain really, but the truth is none of the events of this week are really about me.
- I lost a friend to death on Monday. A high school friend suffered a pulmonary embolism on Monday sending all of us into shock and disbelief. I personally took her death really hard. She leaves behind a husband, a son, a best friend and many people who love her. While my grief is mine, her death is not about me. I can grieve and learn to let this go.
- A close family member is giving me fits. I’ve participated in their dysfunction for so long that I can no longer tell truth from fantasy. Again, while I play a part in this dance their issues and refusal to grow up really aren’t about me. I need to let it go.
- I joined a writers group this week with some fantastic writers. We are on a 6 week journey to find our real voices. This IS about me. This is my safe place. A place to process, grow, separate chaff from wheat and step into the wilderness of the unknown. THIS I have control over. This is a good happening.
Not everything that happens in the crazy mixed up planet of ours is about us. My first homework assignment for the group was to assess a poem by Mary Oliver called The Journey. What I discovered was not just one voice, but many. I had four days to read the poem and process my thoughts. A day makes all the difference. While processing this poem I met my ingenue, my wounded child, my victim and a new voice who is still trying to tie it all together before midnight tonight.
Wish me luck.