Life is extremely simple. And easy. And beautiful.
And even more complicated and busy and clutter and chaotic and so so hard and messy.
And here's the thing- feeling that first list of stuff up there makes me feel like writing and taking pictures and just marinating in the beauty of everything. And the second sentence makes me process and figure out and feel high and low. And during that during part- I don't feel like writing. I don't feel like taking pictures. I feel like taking care of business or not doing a damn thing. I feel like being private and hiding. Not because I'm depressed or sad or miserable, but because all of my energy goes into making my world feel like home. Making my head and my boys feel ok. The past few weeks we are working hard at transitioning into the new school year. My days are jam packed with pick up and drop off and therapy, therapy, therapy. Speech, Behavior- even Marriage Therapy. It's all important, and it's all overwhelming.
I like to tell stories. True ones. Sad ones that make tears plop onto my computer and clean out my brain clutter. Ones that make my heart soar. But I don't know how to write stories without endings. I've seen a few movies and read a few books with no endings. And afterwards I feel some mixture of disappoint and even a little anger. You know- when the credits are rolling and you yell at the screen- WHAT DO YOU MEAN OVER?! What about his job? Her baby? The dead guy?! You know- whatever mystery is hanging there totally unfinished. It's rude when every question isn't answered, and every stone is turned the exact same way that it started out.
But here I come to you during the in between. When life is not blissful. Or awful. Where all the questions do not yet have answers. It is here that you and I meet somewhere in the middle of real life. Because every story that we are living does not have a conclusion and morale and Van Morrison song playing while credits roll. And that's ok. Because sometimes I know what I'm doing, but mostly I'm stumbling along in the dark, waiting for someone to turn on the light. It's easy to think that writery people have their shit together- because you see the good stuff- the output. Most writers figure out life as it unfolds on the screen. The complicated becomes a little more simple. What you don't see is the in between. I don't tell you the in between because it's boring and not fun to write about and although you wouldn't enjoy reading it- you may realize- oh yes, I am that too.
You see, I am complicated and moody. I get my feelings hurt easily. I obsess over things that I don't like, things I said, things I didn't say and things I can't control- plus about four million trillion other things. Sometimes I get take out all week long, my stove and oven left untouched. Sometimes I feel confused about religion and the Bible. I frequently go 2-3 days without washing my hair. Sometimes I sleep in a shirt and wear it the next day. Sometimes I am scared. Ok- I'm scared a lot. I'm scared about how fast time goes. I'm scared that I'm not present enough. I'm scared that my parents will die any day. I'm scared when I don't speak up for myself and I'm scared when I do. I'm afraid I'm not enough for my boys. I'm scared when my marriage feels even harder than parenting. I'm scared when it's too loud sometimes, like I'm just going to start screaming and go crazy. I'm scared when it's too quiet and it's just me and my marathon of thoughts. I'm scared that I'll be so distracted that I will completely miss out on everything meaningful and most sacredly important in life. I'm scared at how scared I feel sometimes. Why can't I just decide to be relaxed and happy?
Tonight I pulled out a brand spanking new box of sidewalk chalk for Grey. Full of possibility. My boy who barely speaks, and can only write his name after months and months and months (and special pencils and special boxes drawn on paper and worksheets and grids and screaming and throwing and trying again and again and again.
He only watches Pixar movies. They are his favorite. This evening I watched him unfold in front of me, like a spellbinding dance, and I start to cry. I feel the warmed sidewalk below me. My chest feels light for the first time all day. Because for just a moment I remember, Oh yes, everything is going to be just fine. Because sometimes life IS simple, and easy, and beautiful.
And just like that- there's my ending. Or maybe just my in between.