Dreams Delayed?

I ended my evening yesterday on news not encouraging. In the middle of priceless treasure discoveries, rich givings by life itself, my life has consisted of obstacles overcome, setbacks redeemed and yet more to overcome, plow through. And even, to re-do. It’s not an unusual story, in general. Though it’s even fairly typical as “hardship” goes, it has its unique and uncommon elements. There’s never been any solid financial wealth. Mostly it’s been a story of poverty well-dressed and holding her head above water, appearing on the verge of wealth or even consistent sustenance, taking hits from waves created on distant shores. And that is it. Nothing to whine about. It simply is. A richness of soulful knowing, growing awareness of things more precious than gold serves me feasts in dark nights, feeds me strength in bleak times. Without the struggles, would I know how sweet it all is? No. Know what, though? I’m tired of the stark contrasts. (insert whining tone here, immediately cough and clear the throat. moving right along. no more whining allowed. it will be okay!!!)

Life dishes some struggles more daunting lately. ( Two steps forward…three back? Um, wait a minute. That’s not even remotely fair! Hey! Look at all these people with me in this same seemingly rigged journey! I wonder if we’ll discover the secret.)

I rely on whatever paltry sum freelance writing can bring me at this time in my life. Believe me, paltry is a generous notion. I often feel like Jack came home with the beans and I should toss them out the window in outrage, hoping for mythical giant smashings, landing golden solutions at my doorstep. Then I laugh at myself. How silly. How delusional. Where’s the beef?! : ) So, I dig around for more opportunity but the restraints on my life make that digging a limited endeavor. I’m the childcare, and gladly so, in a separation soon heading for divorce. And amicably, kindly so. No ugly nonsense going on here. I am thankful for my feasts! Being the childcare is more affordable, on so many levels, than the alternatives that will cost me heavily in health, in peace, in so much. I did the full-time mad woman working and picking her kids up at 6pm every night. I almost died (okay, not literally). CFIDS relapsed, smashing me back to my hearth and home, wimpering like some lost child. But what I found of myself because of that disaster is priceless. I came home on levels I’d not been able to do before. Home to being mother, to being woman. And my body has been mending.

Now what? Do I go back out to full time in the wake of yesteday’s bad news? Smash me into compliance with “the way it is?” We rely on one income here while I manage it, budget up to two years and include the financial arrangements that divorce will bring. The not-ex-ex is thankful for that. The goal is to get me through college and onto a job that won’t toss me into CFIDS reruns, a job that will solidify futures. Many moons ago I put him through college, paid the bills, got increasingly more ill and crashed into motherhood. Somewhere in there it hit me that the marriage never actually happened. (Not for lack of effort here.) One year of college, years of work and then over a decade of mostly parenting with part-time and some full-time employment. All the while writing,writing, writing and going through changes epic. Here I am. It’s an oversimplification of an arduous journey. But it suffices.

The bad news? The not-quite-ex may have to take a cut in pay or worse. So…college in the fall? Or…a job at Walmart? I kinda doubt there’s much more than that. Where? How? What? When you look at the possibility that dreams will never come to fruition, you are forced to fall back on that intrinsic, that innate, that basic enjoyment of being in skin, of breathing deeply the smell of life after rain, of feeling intensely every ounce of life’s sweetest gains, of sunsets surreal and healing, moon’s ushering quiet calls…however fleeting, however seemingly small. These can never be thwarted, stolen or otherwise laid off. (A piece of cake is nice, too!)

Courtesy of Will H.
Courtesy of Will H.

And while you fall back on it all, watch the bloom of night’s horizon, you refuse to release the dreams. Even if they never reach their fullest glory. They are the balance between living and merely existing (for me, anyway).

At least…that’s how I feel today. And I’ve suddenly run out of things to say. On with the quest…

jrk

jruthkelly12 Comments

Reel Mowers and Real Change

Violet Lawn
Violet Lawn

My weekend to myself consisted of mowing the front and back lawn, pulling weeds, planning the taming of all things scrub and brush and lush North Carolina wild. There are still plants to get in the ground and whole sections of yard to manage, hedges to clip back. And all of the mowing with a Reel Mower – the kind that makes a whirring sound, the kind that my cat, Naji, does not mind lying in the yard watching me work with, the kind where he’ll lie there and just wait until it whirs right by his ears and then scoot away from, scattering wildly and rapidly as if I’ve had the unmitigated gall (totally ignoring the fact that I was mowing and then he decides to lie down 2 “rows” away from my current focus, looking as if he might actually tackle the whirring thingamajig), the kind of mower that does not ask for gas or oil or someone a little more knowledgeable about “lawn mowers” to fix. I love it. It’s exhausting and requires that I master 4 levels of “lawn” since my home rests on a hill with the front yard flat and then the side yard sloping steadily and steeply down to semi-flatness and then sheer drop-hill with a bit of a flat shelf (with a tree) and then, after the sheerest drop, there’s more flat. That’s 4 levels. It’s a total body workout.

 

While the word “lawn” typically conjures images of grass, this lawn is mostly clover, a bit of grass, chickweed, tons of violets and more clover. This is the worst year of weeds yet. So, I pull them up…except for the violets. Can’t do that, they’re far too pretty. So…I just mow them down, cringing, wishing I could’ve picked them all first. But that’s impossible. There are dozens and dozens. It’s one of those ridiculous but purple scenarios. I marvel at them as they dot my lawn and then I have to mow them down. I beg them to grow back as I watch them whiz through the blades, slinging purple and white bits and pieces all around.

 

This is my second season of Reel mowing. I admit to being daunted initially but Reel mowers are lighter, quieter and effective enough to put a yard in trimmed status. It goes well with my changing world where the yardwork and all else I had to care for before separation is mine without help. Of course, my kids can do some of the work, even some of the mowing. But this is a great time of finding my capacity to shape my world without the influence of a marriage that hummed with the lie of my inadequacy. It was not a lie started by the marriage but it certainly thrived there. It’s amazing to find healing in row after row of grass mowed, of barren landscape blooming.

 

And oftentimes it really is that simple. As the soul and body do their dance of unity across the canvas of life, healing occurs. Until then we sometimes face roadblocks. Sometimes we cannot fully join with others ‘til we’ve proven to self those things, those tasks and landmark transformations essential to the individual or simply whatever we personally require ourselves to prove by doing or simply by trying to do. It’s not about adopting a generalized rule of thumb but about knowing what is true for one. And cultivating those personal truths can be the difference between living and existing. 

 

What do you require of yourself? Everyone has requirements but they so often exist under a pile of expectations not original to the individual. As I find those personal requirements, I find a solid place to thrive. And my relationships transform. The price won’t usually be as high as the one I’ve had to pay with some more significant life changes. But it’s so worth the effort.

 

jruthkelly

jruthkelly1 Comment