Reading the Signals

There have been times that I have stayed at the party too long. Times when it has been obvious to everyone and everything but me that I needed to make a change in some significant part of my life. It has been at those times that failing to read the signals, I've had my butt kicked by the universe forcing me to make the change. It wasn't as gentle as it would have been had I made the change willingly. In fact, every time it's been extraordinarily painful. You see the universe wants one to learn the lesson in the quickest way possible. Too bad I'm a slow learner.

It isn't that I don't want to learn. It's just that I'm afraid. I've lived on the edge so long, I'm afraid if I let go of my tight hold on the scraps of grass I'm clasping I'll tumble into the abyss that lurks just below my wiggling toes. I know I can fly, that's a given. I've done it before. But my old friend, fear, tells me that those transcendent airborne moments were flukes, one of a kind miracles that can't be replicated. So I cling to the edge--the job that just isn't right anymore, the relationship that doesn't seem to work, the image of myself that doesn't quite represent the real me. I pray that things will even out, I'll feel good about everything once again. But guess what? It never does and I never do.

I fear that I will be out of a job, alone, broke, without resources, without a clue about how to live. I fear that I will be on the street, a poor example of humanity, worthless. I know better, but fear's loud voice fills my head with it's echoing condemnation of who I am and my lack of "real" success. I let fear jam the intuitional signals that tell me it's time to pack up and go home. The party's over. I let fear keep me from embracing change.

But when it's time to change, it's time to change. It's useless to believe that the party is going to go on forever. Change is a vital imperative. Without change, we become complacent, routine, stagnant. I don't want to become the scum upon the pond, but oh how I wish change was easier.

So here I sit writing these words, hearing the party shutting down behind me. I know it's time to go, but I don't know where I'm going. I'm scared, but I don't want to be kicked in the butt again. Fear's had too much to drink. Maybe I'll get it a cab, and as the designated driver of my life, I'll take myself home and read the signals along the way.

Nothing Revisited

I've been wanting to post, meaning to post, hoping to post, and I've got nothing to post. What is it about the blank page that freezes the brain, clogs the thought process and makes an otherwise intelligent woman an idiot? You've got me, but here I sit, an idiot with a keyboard typing who knows what that no one will read but me.

Sometimes, you've just got to babble even if just to yourself. The hope is that somewhere in the babble, some sense, something intelligible will come out, sort of like the chimps with the typewriters coming up with Shakespeare. Okay, well maybe that's too hopeful. Unlike the chimps, I don't have large blocks of time to just type nothing in the hopes of something meaningful arriving on the screen. But maybe, just maybe if I keep typing I'll get a clue to some profound wisdom or at least a hint about who I used to think I wanted to be.

I've spent so much time trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grow up, somehow I grew past the time I was supposed to accomplish whatever that was. Does that even make sense? Oh well, I've never been accused of making much sense.

The reality is, as some wise somebody once said, life is what happens while you're busy making plans. So here I am grown up, still trying to figure it out and babbling into the ether. Talk, talk, talk, blah, blah, blah, type, type, type. Life goes on and tomorrow the alarm clock will ring. I'll roll out of bed to face another day. I'll be confronted with an empty page and I'll babble again. Oh Cheetah, where are you when I need you?