Monday, March 2, 2015

I'm back and things are different.

I'm a little nervous/hesitant about blogging again. I have been following and reading a lot of blogs for the past couple of years and the amount of talent and writing and cognitive ability is astounding. I'll admit that I quit writing because it just didn't seem up to snuff. 

BUT NOW.... so much has happened I can't seem to keep it in. I have asked myself, why is it something that I even want to do? Why would I want to put my thoughts and my beliefs out into the public forum?  Why would I want to make myself vulnerable in that way?  I'm not really sure why.  When I write in my journal it is a bunch of disjointed thoughts that ebb and flow in a train of thought way.  It works for purging my thoughts, but sometimes it is nice to imagine an audience that is kind, and interested in what I have to say.

The only problem is that I think this blog had one permanent follower and that was my mother. In the beginning of October, my mother committed suicide.  My kind, interested audience didn't value her own life the way I did and that breaks my heart.  I miss her every day.

Now I face a different direction. In October, everything that I knew was altered, turned on it's head - whatever phrase you wish to insert for completely changed.  I am anxious about my own future because she was a lot like me.  A stay at home mom invested in her children and her husband.  And somewhere in her lifetime she stopped being a person and became someone who didn't resemble the beautiful woman she once was (though I still thought she was beautiful).  She laid aside her interests, her talents, her passions for her children and her spouse even though we didn't ask her to.  I took piano lessons, sang in a choir, took theatre classes, she invested so much money in my artistic pursuits, but rarely did I see her do something that made her feel alive.

One time I walked in on her playing the piano.  She noticed me listening and smiled, embarrassed.  She quickly shut the piano book and stood up. I asked her why she didn't play and she told me that she wasn't very good.

Who cares?

Do what you love even though you may be terrible at it. 

Thus begins my own pursuits. I love to draw, paint, and write.  I am working on squeaking these things in somehow every day.  I am not always successful and sometimes I fail miserably... well a lot of the time. Change is frightening and hard but I feel that if I don't change, don't do something hard, then time will fly by and I will be left with the dried up shreds of my dreams and desires.  I know that sounds a little melodramatic and extreme, but something huge has happened in my life and as I said earlier, I am altered.

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