It's that time of year again...
In a few weeks, I'll celebrate another birthday (and celebrate I will! I love my birthday! It's the only day of the year dedicated entirely to me), but it's not the number that bothers me; it's the time lost. The time I let slip away.
What I don't like, and what's been bumming me out for about a week now, is the fact that another year has gone by and I haven't accomplished the things I set out to do this time last year. Oh sure, I was sidelined by health problems, surgery, and recovery, but in my mind those are excuses. I had all of this 'free' time on my hands and I did nothing with it. Another lie I tell myself.
I am very good (or very bad) about not seeing the baby steps, the progress I've made as I step, skip, and, sometimes, crawl along the path of life. I'm hard on myself. Harder than anyone else in the world (and beyond) could ever be. Why am I this way? Damned if I know. But as the years tick by, I'm learning to like myself more, love myself more, appreciate who I am, the qualities I like and the qualities I don't. Because it is a combination of these that make me the person I am. And I know that, even if, at times, I forget.
I'm reading, as I do about this time every year, one of Sarah Ban Breathnach's books. I love her books. They speak to me like no others. This year, it's Something More. Because that's my constant state of being lately. Always wanting Something More. Not more stuff. More of something I can't put my finger on, an ambiguous feeling that there's more to me, more to my soul. That I haven't reached my full potential. That I'm not living authentically.
Time's running out. Oh, there's no dark cloud in my future, at least none that I know about, but life isn't forever. I hope I have double what I've already lived. I'd be good with that. But that doesn't give me back the time that's gone. It's behind me, unattainable, unchangeable. All I have is what's in front of me - this second, this minute, this hour, this day. I'd be a fool not to make the most of it.
As much as I hate going through my dark times, beating myself up, calling myself names, feeling absolutely useless and pathetic, I like when I reach the other side and see the light again. My creative juices start flowing, no longer stuck in amber. I look forward to what I do next, am excited to see what I create. I smile. At my fur babies, at my husband, at nature, at myself. I like me again.
Though I don't understand why, maybe I need to slog through my emotional sludge once in a while to gain a clearer perspective. To recharge my spirit. To appreciate who I am and embrace what I have to offer. Or maybe that's all a bunch of crap. Either way, I'm back. The weight I've been carrying has dissipated, floating up into the ether.
So maybe, today is my birthday, the day of my re-birth, as a happier, wiser person, eager to excavate (another of Sarah's terms) the gems hidden in my soul, ready to dust them off and share them with the world.
Yup, sounds like a pretty good plan to me!