Since the sudden and unexpected passing of my mother, I've been living in a state of fear. Fear that I haven't achieved enough, didn't do all that I could have done with my life or waited too long to pursue passions and dreams. I clearly waited too long for her to see some of them.
Engulfed in that fear, that at times crashes over my like panic, I've been trying to force myself to choose between persuits that bring me immense pleasure, joy and are creative outlets - blogging, writing fiction and designing jewlery. Going on the "one big thing" concept, I began to worry that I'd never achieve the end goal in any of them, if I couldn't narrow myself down to doing just ONE.
I forced a decision to dedicate myself to only one. I packed the others away like broken toys. Slowly, piece by piece, the tools of the trade of the others re-appear at my side. An irresistible force pulls me back and as if overnight, the decision is undone. I'm back to juggling my time between them all, yet again. I'm left feeling guilty and tortured that I'm passionate about more than one thing and have brought myself back to square one.
I was in this mind set while watching the lastest episode of Project Runway, when the guest judge spoke to a designer that was busy bastardizing her design simply because she was afraid it wasn't enough like what the others were doing. Guest judge, Elie Tahari, offered sage advice to create "from love and not fear". Do what you love and are inspired to do, not for fear of others. That really resonated with me on a personal level.
Was it any wonder things were feeling forced and contrived when I felt like everything I touched, I had this one time, last chance to make "it" perfect - no more tomorrows. I'd already let too many tomorrows breeze by me. I found myself paralized by my own expectations. When the truth is, that as long as I'm healthy and alive, there's always another chance and another day to do it better- those things that I love. The things that bring me joy and inspiration. So what if that was more than one thing and none of them ever rise above enthused hobbist. They've brought me inspiration and enlightenment and I know some of those "things" have brought pleasure to others as well.
Consequently, my one and only goal for 2013 is to live from love and not fear. Cherish the people I love. Do the things that I love. Tell the Briggs Myers INFJ in me to shut the hell up for a while. Stop ordering me about, arranging my life with the ruler's edge and the tick-tock of a clock. For goodness' sake, let me breathe!
Amen. Best thing I've read in the last few days. Doing a bit of that myself of late.
At somepoint, maybe 35, certainly 45, the "age of limits" arrived. No, I'd probably not be an Olympic athlete, great American novelist, musician, astronaut, mother/father Theresa, or end up fabulously wealthy nor likely dirt poor.
And then it occurred to me, slowly. That life is pve not pvp. I could still participate in all those things and more to some extent. The extent to which I enjoyed it which means acknowledging trade offs as legitimate. If I can enjoy those activities, those around me with the time and resources I have, I should learn to do it guilt free and without an eye on what anyone else is doing.
It's hard, but it gets easier and that's when it starts to get good. Now why did I have to wait so long to get to that point?
Happy New Year!
Posted by: Potshot | January 02, 2013 at 02:47 AM
I love that analogy, life is PVE. We are gamers at the core. No wonder I can't give that up either.
Thanks for the smile. Happy New Year to you and yours!
Posted by: Alysianah aka Saylah | January 02, 2013 at 10:52 AM
I went through similar feelings after my Dad passed away. He was just 62 years old, and I couldn't help but wonder how long I had left. It didn't help that both Dad's parents had passed away at an early age...or so I thought.
Fortunately, Dad had written his memoirs before he passed away, and my sister had them bound and printed, so on my bookshelf I have a book of my father's life (which is a great opportunity for my kids to learn about the grandfather they never knew). I turned to Dad's memoirs and discovered that despite a lifetime of alcohol abuse culminating in Alzheimer-induced senility, and despite decades of chain smoking, both my paternal grandparents had lived far longer lives than one would have expected. Both lived well into their 70s, if not 80s if I recall correctly.
I was mollified. I knew Dad's health had been poor, he'd undergone multiple knee replacement surgeries (he kept wearing them out), that he'd been on various medications for numerous ailments, etc. so it wasn't one particular thing that caused his death, and it also wasn't anything that should give me cause for concern. Considering Dad's parents both lived longer lives than him (despite abusing their own bodies) it gives me hope for an extended life of my own, that I'll have plenty of time to enjoy my life, my children, and my grandchildren. Not that I have grandkids yet, and I don't want any for at least 10-15 years, and then from my son, not my currently 8-year old daughter ;)
Posted by: Capn John | January 03, 2013 at 10:04 AM
That's wonderful that although your father had his share of issues, he'd undertaken something very few have done by writing his memoirs. What a wonderful keepsake for your whole family.
Parents are becoming grandparents fairly young these days so it's no longer a reflection of your own age. But I totally understand. :-)
Posted by: Alysianah aka Saylah | January 03, 2013 at 12:24 PM