Finding Me

Some times, days just seem like a whirlwind. Time is so precious, and I often feel like there is just not enough time in my day. And I use my time, all of it. If I sit down to watch TV, it is like a treat, something I earned, because I almost always feel like there is something I should be doing.

And one thing I really like to do, this, blogging, is also so often a treat, because as it is sitting out there, waiting for me, it is almost like the last little boat to a remote island, and sometimes no matter how fast I run with my little travel bag in hand, I cannot get there in time, that is it for the day, and I stuck staying in the land of big reality and unable to escape even for an overnight getaway.

That sounds so inviting to me, I never have put that in words before, my feeling for writing and how it sometimes is elusive. Never thought about it is a quiet little refuge on a beautiful and quiet island, I think tropical gets my heart pumping that much more.I have often felt like a visitor in my own life. Somewhat incapable of making long term plans to live into, living rather in short term plans that seem to spin on, but not with enough thought to get someplace in 10 or 20 years. It is on my mind, as I wonder what I really did with the last 25 years besides have two children, as my major accomplishment--and both awesome girls. Beyond that, I cannot point to anything dramatically exciting I have done, and that troubles me. I almost wonder "where have "I" been in my life."

It is really weird to see how life is always moving and it is like there are all these doors that open and close and we jump now and then into something and see how long we stay there...but they all just become moments in time, that loop together and time down the road often become less important or not significant at all.

So when I am able to jump into that little boat, and make it away even for an overnight getaway, there is a peace that fills me like no other. Writing on a keyboard is like composing to me. Time floats by and memories pile up and I am inspired. And then I have to take the little boat back to the main shore, and I tend to lose so much of me, so quickly.

This is what I see of me these days--who am I? Not in a desperate sense, no craziness going on, like the woman who packs up her bag and leaves while her child is in school, never to be heard of again, but more so like the little 7th grader, who never did get to take the class "Who Am I?," and still wishes she did. But I was in band (I was terrible) and I was taking Spanish, because I could get good at it and get further ahead in high school, and it would be a one of my sparkling stars on my high school transcript when I applied to college. But I ended up not going to college anyhow, and should have taken the class Who Am I.