I'm a rambler. I tend to have too many thoughts coming at a single time and my hands (even on a keyboard) simply cannot keep up with the thoughts, idea, people, dreams and questions that come to my mind...but I try. I like to think that I have some kind of clue about something but the older I get I really don't have any great idea...I'm just some normal person who probably deals with the same crap that everyone else deals with -- maybe I think about that more than other but I'm not anything better (or probably worse) than anyone else.
We were driving long windy roads this weekend on our trip back from Camping at Alley Springs...and something inside of me felt different...better, healed...and I caught that feeling and for a second I didn't need anything to make it all feel better...that feeling was content. I realized how rare that feeling is -- so often I'm trying to make something better for me -- for the kids -- for Scott -- for my Mom...something better...rarely I'm at peace with it.
And in truth that lack of being content is what drives me crazy...not that I'm longing for peace but it's what gets all my fears and self hate coming to the surface. The life that was unlived -- and what if I die tomorrow -- and did I make a bad choice -- and will it ever be enough. I realized that even though I was sick to my stomach (windy roads) for that moment that feeling that all is OK -- that fleeting bitch of a feeling -- was what I was actually after.
It's hard to stomach that the feeling hides away and doesn't show up too often -- and moreover what caused the feeling (how can I get it again???). It wasn't the drive...it was something greater. Time spent slowly...reading to my kids with no care of the time...feeling like I could enjoy the moment...that I was loved and cared for...all of the above?
