When I began this blog, I had set a goal for myself to produce 150 pieces, something I would eventually turn into a published book of short stories and I intended to accomplish this goal within a year. Two and half years later, I am finally writing the 150th piece, I have no plans of publishing my work, but I made it!
The image of myself I have posted with this piece was taken around 1988. It was after my mother had passed, but before I was married, so the actual date is a guess at best. Before my mother passed, I was a rebel without a cause, so full of myself and to the best of my memory, not very kind. After my mother passed, I was angry and afraid and so very uncertain about what to do with my life. As fate would have it, due to the untimely loss of my mother and what transpired afterwards, I became a chef, or more aptly put, a professional cook. I’ve never thought of myself as a chef, even though I wore the costume, I don’t have what it takes to truly be a chef and I’m good with that.
I really don’t know what I have, to be whatever it is I’m supposed to be, but writing this blog has truly helped me see what I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be angry, sad, scare and uncertain, the anxiety alone is detrimental to my health, physical and mental. I didn’t even have the courage to go back and revisit what I have written because I was fairly certain it would disappoint me. Partly, because I like to think of myself as a descent writer and I believe I wouldn’t be proud of what I have put to page, but also, because when I write, it’s a cathartic release for me, I write it and it’s gone. I have no need, at this time, to revisit what I have chosen to set free.
Last week, I lost an earring, not just any earring, but the one I had made from the diamond chips of my mother’s wedding band. I had the three remaining chips (one had been lost) turned into a stud earring that I have worn on my left ear in a second piecing I had done when I was 19 or so. Shortly before my mother passed, she noticed that I had the one ear double pieced and demanded that I have the other ear double pieced so I wouldn’t be lopsided. I told her no, I thought it was cool and so long story short (too late) I honor my mother by wearing something she would have despised.
Like I was saying, I had lost the earring, most likely at work. At first, I panicked, but it was not the first time I had lost it and it returned to me, so I figured, if it was meant to be, it would come back to me. My assistant, along with myself, searched high and low, but it was nowhere to be found. I told her, “Wouldn’t it be something if my mother’s kitchen cabinet door stopped opening by itself?” Maybe it was time to let mom go, maybe she felt I was going to be okay and decided to leave and that is why I lost the earring, you know, the week before the anniversary of her passing. I took a big gulp and choked back the tears and went back to work.
A few hours later, my assistant approached me with a crumpled-up piece of paper towel. She asked, “Is this it?” I yelped, “Yes!!”, grabbed it and ran off the sales floor before anyone could see me cry. Mom hadn’t left me, maybe she wanted to give me a good nudge, making certain I hadn’t forgotten the approaching anniversary, but I had my earring and my faith restored, that I wasn’t alone.
Four days ago, marked the 36th year of her passing. I managed to get through the day without too much fuss, there were a few moments of holding back the tears, but the kitchen cabinet door continues to open by itself, so I feel safe, less scared and less uncertain. My friend who is an empath of sorts tells me that my mother is always with me, dad comes and goes, of course, but she remains with me, always. Whether it’s true or not, is inconsequential, I believe it to be true and it gives me comfort and a sense of certainty in a world filled with doubt. My belief allows me to be brave, so there, enough said.
The other day, I did a practice run of the Facebook live episode I will be doing on skin care. I have to say, I really impressed myself with how I presented the information. As I was telling my therapist about the experience, I said, “As of late, nothing really impresses me, but I’m impressing myself.” I liked that and so I jotted it down and pondered the notion…I’m impressing myself…cool.
I’ve always liked the picture of myself taken in the 80’s. Others have told me that I look mean in it, but I disagree. I tell them that I was trying to be sexy, but really, I think I was trying to be brave. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do with my life, but I knew that the man who took the picture of me, the man who would be my husband, saw me in a way I had never thought of myself and I liked it, I liked it very much and so I moved forward with a marriage I should not have, I knew I should not have, but I did it anyway. Brave? Stupid? Naïve? A combination of all three? Most likely, but here I am. The experience didn’t kill me and therefore, it made me stronger.
Am I strong enough to go back and read through the other 149 blog entries? Probably not and I’m not certain it would be good for me either. I was, who I was. I did, what I did. However, I am who I am because of who I was and what I did. What’s important, is what I chose to do next, alone or not, I need to be brave and maybe a little bit sexy too, couldn’t hurt, right?
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
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