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I had an epiphany last week. For the first time I saw something very clearly. It was a bit like being struck in the head. I think I may actually have seen lights but since it was a very sunny day I can't be sure. Sunlight was pouring in through the windows, where curtains weren't pulled.
I was going around, picking up things and putting away laundry. I usually have tons of it but only because I hate putting laundry away. Anyway, I was talking... yes, talking. No, I didn't have company. I was alone. I frequently talk to God when I'm doing housework.
I simply hold long conversations about everything that is bugging me. If I'm mad, sad, or just frustrated. If I have complaints, I share them. And for your information, yes, I do think He's here. Sometimes, as you've seen on this blog, He answers me.
So anyway, I'm putting away laundry when suddenly there was this explosion in my mind and I hear these words coming out of my own mouth." I'm doing exactly what I've always wanted to do." No, not the laundry.
I'm not sure but I'd almost swear that the earth's axis shifted just a bit. Or it could have been the explosion. Whatever it was I was stunned for a little while and didn't know what to think. Did I really say that? Surely not. Did I?
"So, what are you complaining about?"
That's exactly what went through my head! Exactly the words that came to me, almost immediately, well, after I got over the shock I had to answer, didn't I.
What was I complaining about? I didn't have an answer. I am doing exactly what I've always wanted to do. I'm at home. I have tons of time to write. How many times have I sat in my office, when I had an office, and said, I wish I could just stay home and write! I mean, really. So, why am I always complaining?
I suppose I have some gripes. I don't like not having any money. I'm broke. Not enough money to do much more than pay the bills and have lunch out once in awhile. That's it. The strange thing is, that while I don't like not having any money, I don't actually care a lot. I can't explain that but that's how I think of it. I don't like it but I don't care. I've been broke before.. admittedly a long time ago.
I'm battling rheumatoid arthritis. Some days are pure hell on my body. I can't walk. I can't hold a book. I can't type. I can't sleep. I can't sit. Those are the worst and thankfully, the rarest days. I hurt every day but not at peak levels. Thank you. But even if my hands hurt, like today, I still struggle to write. Because that is what I want to do.
My granddaughter is living with me and she is such a joy to be around.. well, most of the time. She can be exhausting but honestly, I feel better when she is here because I focus on her and not on me so much.
So, here I was, in the middle of my bedroom and emblazoned in my mind was this 42* pica banner: For the first time in my life I'm doing exactly what I always wanted to do.
I realized that what confounding me was that I have no idea how to handle it! Really. As soon as I had the thought I realized this was my problem. In fact, it was what had been causing the problems ever since I decided to quit my job.
My whole life has been lived for other people. I had purpose. Mama needed me and I needed her. I was something of a lifesaver to her the way Sarah is to me. She died and I married the next week. Jerry needed me and I needed him. I spent the next 35 years being Jerry's wife, supportive of his decisions, moving around the world and back. It was my favorite job.
Five years after I married, I became a Mom and spent the last 35 years of my life being a mother to not only my sons but in some sense to their wives. I went to college, not just because I wanted to, but because I had to help support my family. And a good thing I did, too. We'd have been in serious trouble when Jerry got sick.
So, I have lived all this time doing things because people needed me to do them. I loved my life. I want it back every day that passes but not once, in all that time, can I remember really doing something solely for myself, simply because I wanted to do it. Even in the last six years, I've only done a couple of things for me because I wanted to do them. The family always came first.
Now that I'm doing what I always wanted to do, it is the hardest thing I've ever done. I don't know exactly how to do it.
So, how did this ... epiphany help. What did you get out of it?
Do not laugh.
Of course not.
No really. Don't laugh.
I try very hard to take you as seriously as you do yourself.
I asked you not to laugh.
Note: 'Pica" was how fonts used to be measure in print journalism.