untitled...

I just wrote a post and deleted it. It wasn't because I didn't want you, dear reader, to read what I had to say. But I felt it was truer to myself to commit those thoughts and feelings to my heart.. to take them inside where they can solidify...instead of committing them to paper (or whatever you call this) to be injested visually by others...

Im not a professional writer anymore... or much, these days. I have been pondering tonight what it was that made me so happy about writing for the OC Register. Outside of the challenge to come up with a catchy, well-written lead, I know what fueled me... I helped people. I was able to wield my pen to inform, to inspire, but also to support... and that's what I loved the most. I loved writing about companies (especially female-owned) who offered lovely goods or services and using my power of the press to support their endeavours. Of course their story alone had merit, but it was my way of helping people who had a dream get their chance in the spotlight. Even if it was one small story in the paper for a single day, recycled the next. It truly was my spark.

When my focus had to turn to helping myself more, I lost my spark. When creativity was churned out for dollars more than satisfaction, I lost my spark. I know that's the way of the real world, but it extinguished something inside of me...

Now Im happy to just work for money because I still find a level of satisfaction in simply doing a good job and making a wage that supports me and my boys. Nothing to be ashamed of in that. I will find my spark again one day. I will care about helping people through my words again one day. To inspire. To encourage. To support.

One day. Again.

A "writer" on writing...

I'm pondering if there comes a point in your life where you hit a crossroads and realize that it's simply time for a change... I am perhaps there.

I'm not sure if it's the result of my bouts of emotional and physical exhaustion over a span of months, or perhaps it's the milky froth of reality that settles on top after a stirring...

So much of my identity is wrapped in the fact that I'm a writer. To not do this becomes a question for me not of monetary value, but of my value as a person. It is, after all, what I had wanted to be since I was a child. [That, and an actress. An English teacher. A singer, like Amy Grant. And a mom.]

I have lost my spark. I'm not sure how to regain it. The effort required is simply nowhere to be found in this body, or in this heart. Not anymore. I'm tired.

Far gone are the days of SqueezeOC, where although I had my share of setbacks and weaknesses, I produced well-written, creative stories and brought some good ideas to the table. Despite my lack of "face time" and limited capacities being the Mom on staff who did that full-time job with little to no child care support.

Walked away from my fashion writing gig. Not so great at fiction writing; proven that. Wrapping up and then ceasing to take on anymore freelance writing clients. Fate at the Register is pending.

I know that, ultimately, my identity is not in what I do, but who I am...
So here's to embracing that...

Patience

I have waited a long time for deep, heartfelt desires to come to me. Put the hope out into the universe through heart and mind and whispered prayers for years, many years... to now finally have these hopes, real and true, in my life. They have finally come, filling the spaces in my heart to overflowing. So thankful....beyond words...

Hope

"Hope" is the thing with feathers
-Emily Dickinson

"Hope" is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—

I've heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

Grace

In the past, it seems that whenever I made a mistake I often had to pay through loss...requiring me to let go, grieve, gird up, move on. A severance.

It's nice to realize that life is not always going to be this way... that we have room to not have it all together sometimes, and simply be human, but we don't have to pay through losing what matters to us... we get to keep, because we are meant to have. This is Grace.

Life, etc.

If I had a gigantic metaphysical eraser and could go back and delete some of the decisions I have made over the past few months, I would. But we live this life moment by moment, and sometimes it's like traveling in a heavy mist where we can only see a few feet in front of our faces... so we use wisdom and go slow. I sped through the fog and managed to come out with only a few dings and bruises, so I should be thankful.

I have realized a lot about myself tonight. When you take yourself out of your environment and into a, well, better environment, it's easy to reflect on what you are missing.

Space, for one. The simplest terms. Humans need their space. And my living situation is tolerable, but far from ideal. I'm working to remedy that and provide more for us.....

I know I can be edgy, and it's because, while I know that I'm a good mom, or can be a good mom, I need my space. Literally and figuratively. Always - especially now - I've been balancing work and kids on my own... and I get really fucking tired. And since I never had the finances required to balance these things, I've just had to struggle... and it's easy to get frustrated as a result. (I'm soooo that mom that doesn't live solely to be a mom, and I don't think that's bad. I love my kids. But I'd hire a nanny lickety-split just to have time to jog, or go to the mall by myself... with no shame).

When you struggle for years financially, it's so easy to think poorly. Though I realize that rich and poor are not necessarily a balance in your bank account. It is truly a state of mind. I must remember that regardless of good fortunes or misfortunes, I have to keep my eyes above that horizon line, to keep my gaze on these things that I truly want and aspire to. I can't even tell you the last time I felt truly taken care of...(aside from recent kindness)... I always feel so taken care of at home... my parents' house is so nice and spacious - and grown up - all the makings of my dad's hard work. And though I always assumed I would, I haven't been able to truly take care of myself like that -- financially speaking. Always knew I would be successful, just wondering when the hell that was going to happen. It has always been my job, since I moved here 12 years ago, to take care of myself and give myself the life to which I grew accustomed...and it's not about things, it's about a feeling of knowing that I can depend on myself to keep the bills paid, and never have to fret about the basics. I have pared my life back to such a degree that I truly have only the essentials to deal with, and hope to stay that way regardless of where I go in life. And I do plan to go up...

I have to remember to keep my sights high... To keep my gaze higher, and not allow myself to slip into this moderate, ho-hum thinking. I need to remember what I'm capable of and what I want out of this life, and set my goals and aspirations to match this...

somewhere i have never travelled... e e cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands