Lately I have been living through an experience that many
have lived through before me; the decline of a beloved parent. I’ve been so
occupied with this and with proving to an array of institutions that I can
handle his finances in a faithful and trustworthy way, that I haven’t had much
time to really think beyond my tears and my nerves much less write. Dad had a
really good day yesterday. First one in ten days. This morning I woke up after
a thankfully, and desperately needed, good night’s sleep to my mind having a
moment of relative peace. I picked up my toothbrush to brush my teeth and found
somehow that I looked into an inner mirror at myself and all these wonderful
published writers that I admire and envy; their thoughts on writing and what
made it work for them, and there I was. All that I am and am not. I am not
famous. I do not live to write. I write to live. But I am not a work-a-holic. I
am not really above average in any stretch of an imagination. I just love to
write.
Between the marketing, the worrying, the not being perfect,
the social networking, the trying to write in an “interesting” way, I got lost.
Not lost out in the world. Lost in myself and my worries. I lost the love of
the story. I lost the joy of finding a new piece to the puzzle of my story. I lost
the love of putting words on paper and not worrying how good or bad or boring
they are to anyone but me. I lost writing for myself and my peace of mind.
I love puzzles of many different kinds, mysteries, Sudoku,
word searches, crossword; the human psyche. Part of what I love about writing
is the puzzle of it, just like life, really. How do I get from point A to point
B and then C? How do I complete the puzzle that is me? The fear of the unknown,
of what comes after life is present right now when I look in my father’s eyes
and see his need to be reassured and loved. What a massive puzzle that one is,
the great unsolvable one, death and what comes next, if anything.
My dad asked me if I believed in God. I told him yes, I believe
in Spirit. I don’t know if I believe in a man-like figure sitting up on a great
throne somewhere in the sky, but I believe in Spirit and our connection to it
and our world/universe. I don’t know if I helped him with my answer in any way,
but he seemed satisfied for the moment.
Life is what I have now. Writing is what helps keep me “me.”
I am blessed I can write. I am blessed to be here with my father in this time
of his life and mine. I am blessed by the many challenges and joys life is
offering to me right now. I will do my best to live up to all of these blessings.
I am tired of my fear of failure. No one said this path of words would be
smooth and straight with no uphill grades. After all, I am alive; I have
written five novels so far. I guess it’s
time to forget what I might or not leave behind me when my turn comes to go. I guess
all I need to do is live, and write. What comes next, well, that’s the next
piece of the puzzle to find, isn’t it?
Image from:
lovelywhatevers.blogspot.com