Log Jam

So much has happened in between writings that I feel lost now. I don’t know where to start, what to leave out, what to include, or how to put things together to make sense of what I’ve lived in the past few weeks or where I’m at now. How do I put words to feelings that are stuck in a log jam? How do I extricate them so I can figure out what the hell is going on? I think I would have better luck trying to separate the ingredients of a stew then to make sense of this mix mash of stuff churning around in my guts.

I am full of contradictory feelings that are barking at each other playing a game of tug of war. I feel lost, without focus, confused, full of hope, full of doubt and fear. I feel raw, vulnerable and exposed as if someone has peeled back my skin and the danger is that the essence of me will disappear. Dissipate into nothingness. At the same time I’m standing on the edge of a cliff filled with anticipation knowing that I am being asked to move beyond and that there is much greatness yet to come.

But then I look at the words I’ve put down here so far and I ask myself, what? What does that mean much greatness yet to come? What greatness, where, when? What are you trying to say? What is really going on? What’s all this about? Ahh...I hate it when I feel all messed up like this. I hate it when I feel like there is something I’m supposed to get and I’m just not getting it. It’s not coming to me whatever “it” is.

It’s the same kind of feeling as when someone asks you something and you know you know it but it’s sitting on the tip of your tongue and no matter how hard you try, you just can’t spit it out. How I wish I could spit it out. Put it out there so I could examine it, figure it out, name it and get on with it. In the meantime I will pull on the edges and see if I can unravel something. Anything. Blurt out whatever comes in whatever sequence and let it dangle there to absorb the light of day.

Time is precious. When death comes around, it makes one realize this. My sister’s son, my nephew died – that’s two of us, among many, who have lost their only son. Sons and daughters are not supposed to die before parents. That’s the feeling of injustice that rears up inside. But then again, is there ever a “right” age to die? Our mother is 86, doesn’t have much quality of life left and still she goes on. It is not “her” right age to die. What will be yours? What will be mine? Does it matter?

Maybe the only thing that matters is making every minute of every day count by living them to the fullest by giving it our best whatever that may look like. Maybe it’s by smiling to the stranger that you meet or by picking up a paper littering the street. Maybe it’s making a long overdue call or just being true to who you are. Even if you don’t know it yet, there is a purpose and purpose is important.

Connection is important too. Without it we are like ships without captain or crew out at sea. That is what I spoke about at my nephew’s Celebration of Life – the importance of connection in our life and how whether we realize it or not, we can’t exist in a vacuum. Everyone of us needs connection – connection to our heart, our soul, to others, to nature, to spirit or to life itself.

May Sarton, who I consider my mentor in my own life, said: “I believe we are on earth to make contact, to influence each other, to experience, if you will.” I believe she is right. I believe that’s what we ache for and keep reaching for, in each our own way - connection to ourselves, to others and to the greater picture of a life well lived or perhaps just, the greater picture itself.

And from this very important sense of connection I speak of, I go to a sense of confusion and disconnection which I feel right now after having completed my studies. Kate helped me touch on how I feel when she made the comment (all in good humor) on my blog that said: “Little Miss Muckety Muck with the letters after her name.” And here’s the sad thing about that. They are just letters after a name which in the end really means "diddly- squat" because those letters don’t change who I was before, from who I am now, or what I could do before, to what I can do now. But society says that a “degree” adds to the value of a person, or at the very least adds value to what a person can do and “we” you and I, play into that concept - I, by following the plan, you by choosing me over someone without a degree to put your faith in.

Degrees, as Wayne Dyer says are, “externals indicators and symbols of your educational status.” Yes, I have attained a degree and yes I am proud of it, not so much for what I’ve learned but for having had the determination to see it through, and to hold on to the end- vision of having traveled the path and saying, yes, I did what I needed to do and I saw it through! But now I’m feeling like a puppy let off the leash. I’m free. I’m running wild but I don’t know where to go. Wasn’t there supposed to be some sign posts, a whistle command, a ball to chase, something?

I want to scream out to the winds so that my voice carries far and wide. Hey! Hey, I’m here! I’m done. I did what I had to do. I did the work and I’ve come through to the other side. Now what? Where to from here? What’s the next step? Is there a next step? Or did the learning have to do with holding a vision and seeing it through? Did it have to do with the deeper learning of enjoying the journey rather than the destination? Perhaps it is all of that but something tells me there is more. Maybe it has to do with the words that came to me before, the words that said “there is greatness yet to come.” Maybe I just have to trust that it will all become clear to me as I proceed ahead in whatever way I can for now.

In the meantime I have plenty to keep me busy. I have a women’s retreat coming up in September to prepare for. Before that I have to get ready for my daughter’s wedding at the end of August which includes finding the words I’m going to say. In between that there’s that whole other thing about finding balance between how to market my services and actually doing the work I love doing. And last but certainly not least, prying the log-jam of feelings loose. Maybe with this writing, it will have started to dislodge in some small way.