I stumbled across this on Instagram the other day.  No idea who authored it.  Only 17 words and 3 puncuation marks and yet it made enough of an impact on me to save it, ponder it and, now, write about it.

The first two words jumped off my screen; capturing my attention immediately.  Your mission.  My first thoughts….my mission?  I have a mission.  I have a mission?  Do I have a mission?  I don’t think I have a mission.  I don’t have a mission, do I?  I don’t have a mission.  No mission for me.  Nope. <Anyone who knows me well knows this is how fast my brain works all the damn time>

Be so busy.  Next thought…nailed it.  I couldn’t get any busier if I tried and, trust me when I tell you, I’ve tried.  One husband, two kids, one dog, 11 chickens, two rabbits, two cats, three jobs, one blog, one obsession for poetry writing, and a partridge in a pear tree.  Had to throw in a Christmas reference. Sorry and let me issue this warning now…a Christmas blog is coming.

I barely have time most days to sit and just be.  Without thinking. Without wondering what else I could be doing or should be doing.  So I’ve nailed the “being so busy” part.

Loving your life.  Oh….be so busy loving your life.  Had to stop and think about that one.  I do love my life.  I have been blessed with incredible people to love, a roof over my head, food on my table, coffee at the ready, dancing, writing. I could go on. And on. And on.  I’m grateful.

But, what stopped me in my tracks, what made me sit and think about this picture, was the the next thought that entered my mind.  Am I so busy loving my life?  Or am I so busy doing other things that I fail to appreciate all the little wonders that appear before me every day?

Shit.  There’s a real possibiltity that the question I asked myself could be answered with a resounding yes.  When was the last time, I woke up in the morning, sat on the couch, coffeee in hand and enjoyed the fire in front of me.   Can’t remember.

When was the last time I walked along the trail and stopped to take in the sights, smells, and sounds.  Well, let’s see.  There was that one time…no…wait.  Just the other day I stopped and…nope.  I’m usually thinking aobut how I should be running or should be home doing something else.

So far, I’m failing.  Mission – nope.  Busy – yes.  Busy loving your life – nope.  Fuck.  Sorry.  I really try not to curse but I can’t help it.  I’m never good at editing myself in person and even though when I write I possess the power to backspace and delete, I don’t.  It’s me.  Get over it.

Moving on….you have no time for hate, regret or fear.  I don’t hate.  I used to.  I hated people and certain situations.  It took getting older and wiser to realize that having hate inside of you only does damage to your internal happiness not to anyone externally.

Regret.  Double edged sword for me. I try to live my life without feeling regret.  And I can say that I rarely ever regret my actions.  I act on my gut. In the moment.  Doing what feels right.  Trying to experience everything that is put in my path.

What I do regret is how my actions affect others. Or is it effect.  As long as I live I will never get those two right.  I do regret when I’ve hurt others because I haven’t thought about how my regret free actions impact those who have chosen to love me.

Fear.  Yikes.  I fear.  I fear all the time.  I fear the tangible. Heights. Bugs. Birds.  I fear what I cannot touch.  I fear failing.  I fear being hurt.  Hurting others.  I’m a walking contradicition, I know.  I fear letting people in who can change my life.  I fear change.

I’m all right with all of this because I try not to let the fear stop me.  That’s where the no regrets part comes in.  My desire to live life without regret outweighs my fears.

At the end of the day, I’m not nailing this mission.  Yes, I’ve made it my mission. I’m doing the best I can.  I am a work in progress.  I’m okay with that.

It’s a beautiful madness.  And it’s all mine.


Saying goodbye


I rarely write randomly.  My blogs are planned weeks in advance; usually sparked by something that has happened in my life but today’s blog is different. I woke up trying to process life.  It always happens when I’m on vacation.  I have time to sit and think.  And think. And think.  That’s the problem with being a writer.  Thinking leads to writing.  Writing leads to work.  I have to write.  I write my thoughts in hopes of making sense of them.  I can’t wake up and not write.  It’s who I am.

I woke up today thinking about saying goodbye to people in your life.  I often thought saying goodbye was the hardest part of ending a relationship or moving on.  It’s not. Saying goodbye is the easy part compared to living with the memories of the times you’ve spent with someone.  Goodbyes are quick.  The memories can be forever.

They’re necessary though.  Sometimes forced upon us by death or heartbreak.  A lover leaves us or a family member dies and the goodbye was theirs to say.  It wasn’t a choice you had to make.  I used to think that the types of goodbyes we have in life, those that are thrust upon us and those that we choose, were not equal.  Surely, it was more difficult to have someone leave us then choose to leave someone but I’ve changed my opinion.  Goodbyes are not created equal but whether we are left or we choose to leave, it is painful.

Being the one to say goodbye is often as heartbreaking.  We say goodbye to heal ourselves.  We say goodbye because we think it’s what’s best for someone else.  That’s the worst for me.  Saying goodbye to someone you like because you know you are not what they need is horrible.  Wanting them in your life because you enjoy what they bring to it but knowing that you don’t bring the same to theirs.

I’ve lingered too long in people’s lives. Stayed past my welcome when I knew that in the end they would get hurt.  So, after the goodbye was over, I had to live with the happy memories of them.  Goodbye was hard but it wasn’t the worst. Remembering is the worst.  I live with ghosts whose memories haunt me.

I hate being an adult sometimes. Making decisions based on someone else’s needs is not always fun.  It hurts.  In the end, you know they will be better off.  And you probably will too.  It just takes time to see it.  I long for the days when the words of Dr. Seuss ring true for me.  When I can smile because it happened.  Instead of crying because it’s over.