sea glass

we wandered the short beach

eyes downcast

focus intent on the rocks under our feet

eyes searching for sea glass

feet pushing the water worn rocks aside

hunting for hidden beauty

i stopped to grasp a piece and held it to him

he came near and held his hand out

i placed it in his palm

for him to inspect

he lifted it and turned it

looking, examining

he tossed it back into the waves

his explanation simple

it wasn’t ready yet

the waves hadn’t worn it down enough

it was just broken glass

it hadn’t been exposed enough

it hadn’t weathered enough to be

beautiful yet.

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now, not later

“the trouble is you think you have time”

I came across this quote today and thought instantly how much I needed to hear it today. It caught something in me and struck a nerve in that I have been seeing so much lately that I am procrastinating. From the plants that I want to re-pot to the furniture I want to refinish to the book I have been saying I’ll get to being serious about – it all just simmers under the surface and I keep telling myself that I will get to it…soon…just not today.

So I saw this quote and immediately all of this popped into my head and I thought, “I should write a little something about this and try to sort my head out with it all” and then I thought, “I’ll make a note to do it later so I don’t forget” …and there you have it. I have an entire list of notes of things that made me go “yeah! I want to write about that!”, but not the writing to go with the notes.

But instead, this time (after laughing out loud at the irony of that) I stopped what I was doing and opened up a new blank document and started typing.

The fact is that we don;t know how much time we have. Even if it’s not something final like death that will be the thing that stops us (and really,in that case, we probably won’t care too much, we’ll be dead), any number of things can pop up that will affect whether or not a dream or a goal can be followed through on.

I had great aspirations when I was 15 years old of all the things I wanted to do and places I wanted to see. I’m 44 now and none have been realized. I’m not dead, life just got in the way and I kept pushing things off and making other things a priority and voila, here I am almost 30 years later and still saying “someday”. If I’m not smart, 30 more years will be gone and I’ll be wishing I had chosen differently. Regret is not something I want to have with me in my golden years. Days have a way of running by and piling up, making days into weeks and weeks into months and before I know it, that draft of a book of writings if still just a draft and I am still going to start seriously working on it – someday.

The problem is that I keep thinking that I will get to those things eventually. These are things that I really want to do or achieve, so why don’t I? I’m not afraid of hard work or effort. That’s not it. So what it comes down to is that here is no reason. Turning over a new page and taking this to heart – and a blog post is written…now, and not “later”.

fine, even.

How long can I hide?

How long can I be ok? Fine, even?

How long can I go on pretending that I believe the mask that is so easy to put on for others?

The same mask that I know isn’t really fooling me at all.

But I try.

I want to believe that the creeping memories and reminders aren’t there.

It hurts less that way.

Not really, but I tell myself that it does.

That the memories aren’t just waiting for that moment when my mind is quiet and unguarded and they can spring up and catch me.

I know how good I am at seeing them in the periphery of my mind’s eye, and turning away to elude their grasp on me in that moment.

But they haven’t been avoided, they know it and so do I.

I do, really.

I’ve played phantom with them and won this time.

But I won’t always win.

They know it and so do I.

Yet I tell myself that I am doing ok. Fine, even.

That I am so much better than this time last year.

Look at me…

I’m ok, fine even.

It’s not even on my radar as the weeks and then days come closer.

Not even one little bit.

See how ok I am? Fine, even.

As that date that I want to ignore and pretend has no meaning to me relentlessly approaches.

It’s just another month, ticking by.

His journals sit in the closet next to his remains.

I get out a towel from the linen closet and don’t see that.

Not at all.

The box with his shirt that doesn’t smell of him anymore.

Not after all this time.

None of it’s not even there to me.

Neither is this month.

The fear is there though.

The fear of not pretending.

So I let myself believe that I’m ok, fine even.

Until I can almost even believe it myself.

And I hope and I wish.

That I don’t fall to so many pieces that I can’t come back together again.

So I hold on tightly.

And I’m ok. Fine, even.