Finally, a night to crawl into bed early and go straight for the Readers Write section in my latest copy of the SUN magazine. I lost myself in each writer’s interpretation of the title. Their styles and stories varied vastly and the snippets of other lives were rich. Upcoming topics are listed at the beginning of the section by Topic Title, Submission Deadline and Publication Date. I stopped at the one listed as Holding On slated for publication a year from now – May 2015.
Here in May of 2014 I am struggling with a personal dilemma of how to hold on, emotionally as well as financially. I’ve taken a huge leap and so far, parts of the net have revealed itself. But each time I try to look too far ahead, try to envision a future as short as six months, my breath catches in my throat and the niggling panic closes around my heart.
Then I review. May 2013 is well documented. Why not take a step back to clarify the lesson…
I started Hospice class
This connection to other people, who all have terribly full lives during the other 6 days, is a study in how I relate to the world differently than I ever have in the past.
Jodi’s one comment that stuck with me was something like, “We are merely the stewards to the bees. They have their own society and orderly world. When we try to take over and govern it we mess it up or the bees just leave.”
Those two paths have diverged to put me where I am today. The lesson is the same, believe enough in something to do it just for the sake of doing it. Oddly enough I got another glimpse into the future from my past. While rummaging through a cardboard file box under my desk, I stumbled on an untitled folder. This was perfect as I was looking to “repurpose” a manilla folder for some marketing materials. It was beyond perfect, actually as within that folder was a stack of my college term papers and tests from May of 1975.
I was 20 years old. I hadn’t married Roger and run off to Indonesia. I hadn’t divorced, returned to the States, met and married Jeffrey, or had my wonderful daughters. Life stretched out before me like a clean, super highway. However, I remember well feeling I was trying to follow overgrown paths through a dark forest. There were no sign-posts. I can almost smell the innocence on the brittle, type-written pages held together with rusting staples. The late nights, banging away at the type-writer waxing eloquent about subjects such as Fulfillment Theory: Perfection Version – Development of Individual Personality. The fear of what to do with myself when college was over.
My philosophy professor complimented me on my writing, commenting “Well written; clear, grammatically well constructed, good command of a clear style – on balance good work on a tough problem.”
My creative writing professor was harshly critical and required many revisions. I loved them both and both are gone now. The philosophy professor, Dr. Jack Jensen, encouraged me to continue to write. He also presided over my wedding to Roger.
Holding on to me, means having the patience to believe everything is connected, and the ability to see the connection.