Stage Actress
Film Star
Globetrotting Philanthropist
French/English Translator
FBI Profiler
Sports Photographer
Humanitarian Activist
Forensic Pathologist (does this blog count??)
Published Author
Lawyer
Truck Driver
Doctor
Therapist
Stay At Home Mom/Wife
These were the things I longed to be, some from childhood, some from today. Yet, I am none of them. Not even just a little. Part of me is sad about that fact. Part of me is still grieving. The same part of me grieves for daydreamt lives unknown and education not yet earned. After all these years, I am still haunted by the losses, those choices.
It's natural, right? I mean, it's normal for a girl like me to think about the girl that could've been, used to be, should've been, might've been. We all do that, right? It doesn't mean I'm unhappy with where I am and what I have. It doesn't mean I don't appreciate it, and am ever grateful and humbled by my gifts -- even the unwelcomed ones.
The passion I have to offer has no place to dwell outside of me, yet I feel it's angry hand shoving against my elastic chest, stretching the chest walls like a very full bubblegum bubble. As an outlet, I've made practice of reading experiences of real people, listening to their stories of adventure and allowing my passion to feed off those details and some how become satiated; however, it's not working anymore. The more stories of adventure I hear and read make me want to MOVE. They make me want to BE. They make me want to transcend vicariousness and leap feverishly into empowered life, living, breathing, being that which I long to do, be, see, offer.....
Oddly, it's moments like this I crave the solitude. The complete solitude of an open meadow, and timeworn stone building, laboring the land, prayer for hours on end -- a spiritual catharsis.
I know I have all I need. In the end that's all that matters, right?
I trust the process.
I just wish I could get past the pushing, stifled passion....
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