Half the Girl

I must, really, get back in the habit of writing a few words down every night. (There, that wasn't so bad! It's like writing a bike!) I spent years journalling faithfully. (Mostly because there was no one to talk to!) But now there's so much more INPUT. TV, email, husbands and mothers and sons. (Husbands who want to know what I'm writing and when I read it say I'm being "meta.") And yet I still carry around such a head full of thoughts.

These thoughts: Most are along the lines of "I wish..." "Someday..." and "I want...". Always looking for greener grass. could be that midlife thing. I'm not half the girl I used to be.

Yeah, that girl I used to be. She thought she could do anything. I, on the other hand, have tried. And failed. Failed to live up to her imagination of success. I finally realized I'm NOT (GASP!) the most unique, amazing, and gifted genius ever born. I know I get to feel like this sometimes, still, like when I win all those contests at Curves, but the truth is I'd rather not compete with my peers. Not that I'd know where to find them, anyway.

Peers. I'm not talking about the 40-something parents of my son's buddies, white, educated, interesting homeowners that I love so much. They're more like family. I'm thinking of an idea of a peerhood I have somewhere in the back of my brian, an idea leftover from college that I'd belong to a group of creative intellectuals who were working energetically on solving the world's problems, opening new windows for humanity. Like the ones who wrote the books I read.

I look at the lists of tasks I've created and, even though they are filled with meaning, there's something still missing at the driving core of myself. I fill my life with busyness and noise so I don't have to sit with the silence. And notice the absence of all that.