candles, cake, moving trucks, hearts, etc...

Out of place. Familiarity lurks in the unknown shadows; a comfort zone questioned. I am getting older. My mom is having heart troubles. No big deal, she says. No biggie. I am her daughter; I fall victim to the idea that mom knows best. Immediate heart catheritization on Friday. March 2nd, a day that has been for the past three years, a day of varying goodbyes. The first remarkable March 2nd was a day that allowed me to say goodbye to my very destructive life; the following year forced me to say goodbye to someone who had moved my heart, and last year; I lost my grandmother that day. I said goodbye to her a few days later during a beautiful memorial service. It is silly to question the future. It is impossible for me to not think that March 2nd will always represent goodbyes. So this year, I am hoping it is about ushering out the unfortunate heart troubles my mom seems to be having. I keep coming back to the fact that I am getting older. Usually I am reinforcing this myself; after all it is my birthday tomorrow. It seems though that the things that keep reminding me that I am growing up have nothing to do with another candle in my cake. It happens that my dad et al. are leaving; moving across the country. The comfort of a family unit that I have had since I moved to Arizona nearly nine years ago is shifting about 2500 miles away. Granted, the unit has not remained static; sometimes shifting just barely othertimes it felt as if earth itself was shattering. My dad married a wonderful woman, who has become a best friend; I have two little brothers that will start becoming east coast boys in basically a matter of minutes. I have a dad who thinks I have abandonment issues, and thinks I feel like I am being left behind. Silly thoughts I think, but not for a dad. He has been my rock here; I think he forgets that he will still be my rock. He just happens to be a little bit farther away. I remind them every day that I am an adult. I am rapidly, as in 6 hours rapidly, approaching my late twenties.

I am exhilerated and yet a little bit conscious of the real fear behind getting older. The fear of loss. A day, a single day, is one in a series of progressions that will bring us our greatest joys, and our largest defeats. This knowledge becomes much more palpable once loss has been experienced, and grief has taken your breath away. But tomorrow, the literal tomorrow, I will be a year older. Another year has graciosuly been offered for me to shape and mold as I so desire. No matter the degree of fear, I have always loved play-dough; I can't imagine that changing any time soon. Cheers to another year, and to a myriad of goodbye's that could enter my life sooner than later.

losing voice

I took a break from writing. It wasn't a conscious decision. I feel as if my creative voice fell away. I am again under the microscope of perfection. I find myself here occasionally; paralyzed by my own expectations that are rooted in some unreachable, unattainable far away place. I end up choking, smothered by my own boundaries.

The truth is I only write when I am in turmoil. Having touched upon this subject before I don't know why I am surprised by this observation. Now comes the difficult part of finding the root of my unease. Work is intense and great, yet temporary. My home is in effect not really a home any longer. It is a shell, housing my goods until I can find a place to call home. That's unnerving. I am in a relationship. Mind you, I am not bad at relationships, it is only that I have a hard time being still while involved with someone. I am always anticipating the unexpected disappearance of my partner. Whom ever this partner is does not matter; they are arbitrary in my issues of abandonment. I believe that I am good, fundamentally good. Though it seems I fall short of being good enough. This is strange to me. I certainly have insecurities; but I believe I am worth it, to someone I am worth it. This post may be read, it may not be, but as I discussed in a previous post, that's not why I write. I use this medium to understand what it is that my silence is screaming. So far I am not any closer to interpreting this foreign language of mine. I do believe now though that things are a little more tumultuous than I was giving them credit for. Nothing in my life is currently bad, so when I have these feelings of unease, I fear the worst. It is apparent that I am uncomfortable in complacency. Though, isn't that a contradiction in terms? I am certainly unsettled, I just haven't yet found the defining point. It seems that there must be more than one specific notion for this feeling that I feel.

Armed with self-acceptance I will move forward. I like to wrap things up in pretty, little, exquisite boxes and be sure that all is settled. That won't happen today. Oh life, here I am.