May 20, 2017 § Leave a comment
It’s been a few weeks since I wrote properly. My thoughts, like my life, have been disjointed and somewhat sporadic of late. With me being back at work for the last two weeks, time to sit around and be moody and artistically inclined has also been in short supply. It’s nice to be back at Il Ristorante with a coffee (followed by a glass of Prosecco, ovviamente).
Yesterday would have been my sixth wedding anniversary. How do I feel about this? Well, not as nostalgic as I would have thought to be honest. Having said that, Adam is having dinner with his new girlfriend at one of our favourite restaurants tonight – ironically over the road from Il Ristorante – which I don’t feel awesome about. We spoke briefly today and I’d have liked to have caught up for a drink or a dinner tonight but he had other plans. These are the ways in which our lives move on I guess. I am spending the night with my beautiful Italian fidanzato, and Adam is creating new memories in old haunts.
Many people expressed their surprise at our separation, which in itself is not that surprising I suppose. It was easy to look at Adam’s and my marriage, our life, our things, and envy our apparent joys and successes. It was the same when I left Rome; people couldn’t understand what happened, they needed reasons and explanations as to what I wasn’t satisfied with to try and compute, to try and understand. And the answer was/is that there is no simple answer. There is no one thing that makes a marriage untenable. With Rome, my decision was practically instant and therefore probably quite reflective of how much I had already exited the relationship. Despite my mindset, his reaction to our breakup was so incredibly traumatic and something I wanted to avoid again at all costs. I never thought I would ever see a man as stricken as Rome was again. And although with Adam it was a slow and excruciating disentanglement, the severance from him and our marriage was worse than I could have ever expected. It made my breakup from Rome seem like childsplay. True, Adam and I had been together almost twice as long as Rome and I had, and we had the added complications of marriage and children and a house and all those things that I didn’t have to worry about when I walked away from Rome. I tell you, there are few things that bring on guilt and self-loathing like leaving a loved one.
Several of my/our friends asked over the ensuing months what happened, why we broke up and where we went wrong. Despite it not really being anyone else’s business, I had to start making up vague answers like “Well, it was a lot of things really…” or “It’s too complicated to explain…”. And whilst these are true, for the most part these answers got me out of having to tell someone that I left my husband because I met another man who I wanted to spend my time with instead. The Young Italian would die if I told him, but if it wasn’t for him there’s a good chance I would still be married, though not for long. My marriage to Adam was never going to last, I knew that going into the marriage (although I think Adam had secret hopes of being able to tame my wild heart), but I did love him so it was going to take someone magnificent to be able to pull me away from him. I’d had my dalliances but these sorts of men come and go. I knew it would have to be someone very special to draw me away from my husband, and it did.
What I haven’t spent any time doing yet is exploring for myself the reasons why I left (other than a stunning, brown-skinned, young Italian man). For one thing, there was the age difference. This was never, ever, ever a problem for me, not a consideration of any type at all in all our long years together, until I met The Young Italian and his friends. I remember distinctly the first weekend that I met his cousin at the pool at their apartment, and it was like a blinding moment of lucidity – THIS was what it was like to have friends my own age, to socialise with people my own age, to feel like the young age that I was. To go from having a 45yo husband to a 30yo lover – well I mean it’s hardly comparing apples with apples, is it? Aside from the obvious superficial benefits, there is a distinct difference in the life stages (i.e. where they are in their lives, in themselves) between a 45yo man and 30yo man. Since I was a teenager I had always been ahead of age, mature beyond my years, an old soul. For that period of time in my life and into my early 20’s, I was purposely seeking an older man – someone who was intelligent, experienced, worldly, financially secure, solid in their career, possibly already a father, someone comfortable in their own skin and their own habits. At the time I was creating such turmoil in my life trying to find out who I was that I needed someone who already knew who they were. My head was in the clouds so I needed someone whose feet were on the ground. And so in a sense these relationships provided with me what I needed at the time, they served me a purpose until they didn’t.
Then there were the children. The truth is I never loved Adam’s kids. I cared about them, I absolutely wanted the best for them, I was considerate and thoughtful towards them and I made an enormous amount of sacrifices to provide for them. Every single person I’ve spoken to has told me that it’s different when they’re not your own children – and of course it has to be true, not that I know any different really. But the kids and I never really clicked; in fact worse than that, they caused me an incredible amount of grief and resentment over the years despite my best efforts to have it otherwise. Because of my experiences with them, I decided while I was with Adam that I didn’t want to have my own children, that I just wasn’t a babies/kids kind of woman. And I was completely set in my resolve, ask anyone who tried to tell me that I would change my mind eventually how fiercely I would argue with them.
But… it’s so interesting how these things, these core values of who you are (or who you think you are) and the things you want in your life can change when you meet the right person. Since meeting The Young Italian, children are most definitely on the [somewhat distant] horizon – and believe me, no one has been more surprised by this than me.
Whilst I think it takes more than just these two things to uncreate a marriage, the more I think about it – and have thought about it for the last several months – the more I suspect that these things, plus other more trivial things, slowly ate away at the foundations of why were were together. Our day to day living was very comfortable. We had always been great friends and that never changed, to the very end, and even now to some extent I suppose. We laughed a lot, we indulged a lot, we lived a very comfortable lifestyle and wanted for little. We fought infrequently, but when we did fight it was awful and it would take me days to recover. Adam was very capable of being a vicious, spiteful man when we argued and in the days following. I often felt alone and trapped, simultaneously. I almost always felt misunderstood, which exacerbated my loneliness exponentially. In our later years we did not communicate well at all. I kept my mouth shut for the vast majority of the time on any matters potentially controversial because these discussions would always end in disagreement then argument, followed by tears and finally isolation. Perhaps it was these things that undermined the integrity of our relationship, that chipped away at the basis of why were together, why we stayed together. Why did we stay together for so long? Was it true love? Or just that we were so comfortable that we had no reason not to be together? Are these things the same?
May 19, 2017 § 2 Comments
So today would have been my sixth wedding anniversary with my [now ex-] husband. A surreal and bittersweet day.
I am so grateful for the long years we spent together – filled with ups and downs, but they were golden. That we are able to maintain a friendship today is testament to the respect and love (of sorts) that we still hold for each other, and ultimately the kind of people that we are.
Life isn’t always easy, but mine has been better for knowing Adam. And despite the hardships of our separation, I know there is multitudes of love and happiness ahead for him, for both of us.
April 15, 2017 § Leave a comment
Listening to: L’appuntamento, by someone other than Ornella Vanoni.
I have started meditating again. There is a knack to meditation; it is in itself a fine art which requires constant practice to refine and garner the most benefit. Despite starting again quite recently, it has been easier to slip into than I anticipated. I like to think this is my body and mind’s way of accepting that it’s something I need, that it is serving a purpose for us all.
I had a moment this morning while I was at The Apartment. I always wake early, almost always before The Young Italian (who is most definitely not a morning person). Early morning meditation always works best for me, in the cool morning air, in the peace and quiet before everyone else starts bustling around. I have to say West Leedy is an especially nice area to meditate in – it’s filled with the cliché of leafy trees, singing birds, the low hum of traffic, morning coffees being made and distant chatter.
It was surprisingly easy to slip into the stream this morning. I did my stretching and took a few moments setting up my posture and getting into my breathing rhythm, and within just a few minutes I had reached this unexpected, slightly weird place of total inner bliss. That doesn’t happen very often and it particularly threw me off this morning because of all the turmoil and stress that has been going on lately, I was just really expecting to have to fight it the entire way and really battle into it (as I so often have in the past). So to be fronted this morning with total ease instead was surprising but pleasant… then even more surprising was that within a few more minutes of silent stillness I actually started tearing up. Tears. During meditation. Unheard of! Well, not entirely… but it’s been a long, long time since I’ve been there (Brandon Bays, The Journey). It was just another one of those really lovely moments of total validation, where everything just felt right, that the Universe and everything in my body was just singing that this place, this moment my presence and being was exactly where it’s supposed to be. I’ve had these little moments every now and then along the way over the last few months and, shit, I’ve needed them given the multitude and magnitude of happenings. I am a person who is particularly susceptible to guilt so I’ve had to be especially cautious about how much I buy into this over the last several months – enough to keep myself grounded and to not be disrespectful or dismissive of the events which I’ve been through and through which I have put others; but not enough to cause myself more harm than necessary and to maintain some semblance of sanity. Guilt can be a slippery road which only leads downwards, at least for me. So having these little markers along the way, these little moments of validation which say, “Hey, you’re doing okay, you’re not a completely shit person, you’ve made the right choice for yourself and for your life and everything is going to be okay,” – well, these moments are truly invaluable, particularly once the dust from the chase starts to settle, as it invariably does – and must, and the pace of living starts to slow. These are the moments where we are most susceptible to doubt and regret, questioning the validity of our apparently self-serving past decisions and actions. When the quiet comes so too do the questions, hence the writing now.
Now that I am settling into my new skin and testing out the boundaries of this new life, it has been refreshing to find that I am asking questions but the right kind, or the better kind, at least for me. I find myself now with so much time – something which has always been so valuable to me and of which previously I’ve never been able to find enough of. Every aspect of my life with Adam and the kids was about time management. My every day living cycled through this revolving door of either not having enough time or having time but not the right kind. My time with the kids was so negative, in every sense of the word, there is no more succinct way to put it, therefore my time with Adam started off so treasured but then we eventually reached this awful place where the once-precious time that we had together was no longer valued at all. I look at my life pre-separation, I even read the writing from back then in which I used to lament that I had too many things to do and not enough time in which to do them, not enough time to live in a way which I felt was authentic or realising the potential of my life or my ability to live fully and wholly. Post-separation and it’s still me, I’m still the same person with the same capacity to live, but I have so much time I don’t know what to do with it all sometimes. I have so much time that I can literally sit around and think about all the time I have and devise ways to best utilise it. Imagine that!
Even now – I can’t remember the last time I sat in a cafe or a wine bar and just wrote, with no real purpose, no deadline or timeframe, no real need to be anywhere or do anything other than navel-gaze and talk shit and people watch. What a profound luxury this is, epically profound, and for which I am so extremely grateful (“grateful” like someone has gifted this to me, when actually it’s still just me). I used to spend huge amounts of time lamenting about the fact that I didn’t have the time to write when I was married, when really there was still the same amount of hours in the day but I was choosing to spend them differently (and it was an active choice, despite my otherwise protestations at the time). Admittedly I have now weaned myself into a slightly different lifestyle thanks to The Young Italian and his hospitality career – where previously I would always aim to be in bed by 9:30pm (10pm was a late night!), these days I am awake and still functioning at midnight and beyond, which definitely adds greater scope for more activities (productive or otherwise). But shit… to sit and write, like this, with a cup of tea or a glass of wine, by myself, looking out over the street being a moody, artistic wanker who is musing about life’s great mysteries… fucking fantastic. Fabulous. I’m 32 and I’m just starting to feel like I am living again in a way that is truly authentic for me, with almost zero regard for other people’s priorities, expectations or other self-imposed bullshit. Sure, it sounds a little selfish but it’s incredibly fulfilling nonetheless. And given the compromises I’ve made it my life for the last 10 years, I like to think I can be excused a little selfishness for now. Even if I couldn’t be excused, I honestly don’t care. It feels too good to give up right now.
March 21, 2017 § Leave a comment
The thing about birthdays is they sneak up on you every year. Two years ago I was sitting down writing about turning 30. Two years. My last birthday post was about how much can change in ten years, between decade birthdays, and now when I look at all that has happened over the last two years… it’s like cordial concentrate; the same amount of shit packed into an even smaller amount of space.
Two years ago I came to write about the difference between my near-fiancee at 20 and my then-husband at 30. Today I write about my young Italian lover at 32 – and what a joy it is to share this with him.
That he is unquestionably handsome is a given. He has the dark black curls and smooth olive skin of someone born and raised on a Mediterranean island. His fingers and hips are slender; his tongue and his lips are plump, both as they should be. His laughter is deep and throaty and tumbles out through his mouth like rich whisky falling over ice. His skin is like an untouched desert of the finest caramel-coloured sand. He is loyal, adoring and kindhearted, with flashes of cheek and mischief, and glimpses of some kind of inner grit – perhaps a dark combination of stubbornness, pride, determination and a hint of selfishness. I am calm when I am ensconced in his arms, nothing else matters. And my body quietens whenever our eyes meet, though his gaze is only ever momentary; there is fear holding him back from falling into my eyes the way I fall into his. He is generous with his kisses and I melt when his tongue battles with mine, his hand wrapped around my jaw or my throat.
He does not trust me fully, nor himself. For all his beauty, he is uncertain; generous yet guarded, charismatic yet cautious. My fierce heart wants to protect him from all the hurts of life, all its injustices and mistruths and ugliness for he deserves only love, truth and beauty (that may be a line from Moulin Rouge). I would give him the world in return for his glass heart and care for it like my own, as if it were a piece of my own body. Slowly slowly, he says.
The world turns and I find a new life. At 32, I have become that which I have always feared – The Single Woman In Her Thirties. I’ve always considered them a frightful breed – incessantly hunting for their future husband and father of their future children, becoming more desperate as the months and years tick by. One of the best parts of being married was avoiding the pitfalls of single life (terrible reason to stay married, by the way). Though marriage was never something that I truly wanted; I fought against it the whole way, capitulating only to appease my family and my partner. The ending of my marriage, like many things in my life, was dramatic and painful, leaving bruises inside and out. But as always I have come out fighting, full of independent spirit and renewed resolve, while some small part of me sticks my middle finger up and yells at the Universe that I told them it wasn’t going to work! Her wild heart has not yet been tamed.
In the place of comfortable married life – because it was comfortable, that much is certain – has come new forms of love. New love for new friends – these incredible, marvellous people who have walked into my life either for some hidden purpose or by sheer luck. I sound like a broken record but I thank the Universe almost daily for bringing me so many beautiful souls, the fresh perspectives they provide me with and their friendship that they honour me with. Renewed love for old friends – where some friendships from a marriage are lost by natural selection (they are his friends, they were hers), there is a huge amount of joy in rediscovering old friends with whom you have so much history. And most importantly a reconnection to my love for life – a restored appetite and hunger to soak up every experience, every moment, every tear and laugh and wound. My heart is full, in the best way.
And though it has undoubtedly come at a cost, if this is where life lands me at 32, I can only be grateful and gracious.
May 23, 2016 § Leave a comment
So I am sitting here calmly with a cup of green tea trying to be all zen about writing that my marriage is no longer awesome.
Don’t get me wrong – it’s not bad. But it’s nowhere near as good as what we make out in our obligatory anniversary cards. Not recently, at least.
Why is this so? Let me count the ways, said Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
Number one: I am writing. I am writing about my no-longer-awesome marriage. I am not talking about my no-longer-awesome marriage. I am especially not talking to my husband about our no-longer-awesome marriage. This is the first and biggest problem and look, truth be told, probably the problem from which all other problems stem.
It’s at times like this that I hear Adam’s ex-wife’s voice in my head which greatly compounds my anger, frustration and sadness: “Keep that man talking or you will lose him”. Yep. I’m feeling ya, sister (though I’d die before telling her that).
I am so disappointed that we have fallen into this cliché. We are the married couple who no longer talk. If I keep this up, because I know he can and will, we will become the married couple who grow to resent each other (he never talks to me, she never gives me sex), the married couple who become bored of each other, the married couple who cheat on each other just to feel something and then eventually the married couple who are the separated couple.
I am disappointed because I feel like I have failed to keep us from reaching this place, knowing full well that it is Adam’s default position so therefore my “job” to keep us on track. And disappointed because Adam either doesn’t notice – or worse (and as I suspect), notices and does not care enough to make a change. This is where acknowledgement comes in.
Like many alpha men, Adam is a compulsive and self-confessed Mr Fix-It. This is wonderful for mechanics, electrical issues and knots. This is often useless for marriages, although I will admit to recently wondering how I could lead him to think there are things “wrong” with our marriage that he must “fix” (if you can’t beat them…). The thing is there are so many nuances and idiosyncrasies within a marriage that require more than just a straight forward fix – there are sensitivities and histories to navigate, personal traits and behaviours to account for. But alternatively sometimes “the fix” is as simple as acknowledgement – a statement or gesture to say to someone “I understand” or “I hear you” or “I can see you are in pain and whilst there is nothing I can do to stop it I want you to know that I care”. If ever that sentence tumbled from my husband’s lips I would faint on the spot.
For example, I am currently working in a job that makes me very miserable. Adam listens to my gripes and whilst I think he can understand my day-to-day frustrations, I don’t think he fully grasps my distress because he has likely never been in this position. This is, of course, not his fault. Also, there is nothing that Adam can do about my job situation – he cannot fix my misery. This is also not his fault. Therefore, having reviewed the situation, Adam’s position is that there is nothing else he can do therefore he moves on without looking back (I actually suspect he gets bored or frustrated or depressed with my attitude towards the whole thing which probably doesn’t help how he is handling it).
The difference with acknowledgement is not trying to fix a problem, but just being there, being truly supportive by holding me and saying “I know baby, this sucks. It must be really hard for you. I’m sorry you had such a shitty time today.” We talk a lot about supporting each other but this is not always Adam’s strong point. He feels he is very supportive, however as we have already established our perspectives of support are quite different (this also contributes to a no-longer-awesome marriage). I feel that Adam doesn’t see the value in acknowledgement, there is no tangible benefit from it therefore why waste your time? BECAUSE IT MAKES YOUR WIFE FEEL BETTER, I shout inwardly.
Recently I emailed him with the tiniest little vent about how I disliked the fact that he would be spending regular time with his ex-wife, starting in a couple of weeks time. He/they are doing this for their daughter which I completely understand. However I am not super comfortable with the arrangement (which was made without us talking about it first which probably didn’t help) and explained to Adam how I felt about it in a non-aggressive way. I acknowledged that there was no problem for him to fix per se and therefore no action required on his part, and reminded him of a recent counselling session during which we agreed that sometimes I just need to be acknowledged. I sent the email with fears of a stinging retort but with hopes of a gentle acknowledgement, something along the lines of “It’s perfectly understandable how you feel babe, just remember that I am doing this for Elizabeth and that I love you very much”. I am guessing that in his mind, the first point was repeating something I had already said (doing this for Elizabeth) and the second point was a given (I love you very much) therefore there was nothing more to be said.
I sat and waited for a reply – good or bad – that day and the next. I realised the day after that no reply would be coming. I feared/dreaded that he’d gotten so pissed off at my comments that he would ignore them all together. But, I said to myself, I had specifically said in my email that I needed to be understood or acknowledged so surely he got that and could make an effort to overcome any pissed-offness. I asked him about it at the dinner table tonight – a misunderstanding I guess, as so often happens over email; he read my “I don’t expect you to do anything” (i.e. change your plans) as “I don’t need you to acknowledge my email” despite whatever else I said beyond that (i.e. I just need to be acknowledged). Silently, I struggled to understand how he could fail to see what I thought that a fairly obvious cry for acknowledgement and tried to think of a calm way in which I could verbalise and still ask for this, at which point Adam cleared up any further possible confusion by saying “Well, I received and read your email.” And that was the end of that.
I was unable to stop from crying. Anger startles me into tears for some stupid reason; it always has. As the tears welled, I felt foolish and embarrassed and ridiculous – the misery of my job is creeping into many facets of my life. I had to leave the table and eventually the kitchen because I couldn’t stop crying. I went to the bathroom and cried hard into my towel and then against the toilet roll. After a minute or two I washed my face and returned to the kitchen. Adam was reading a magazine and I wanted to rip it from his hands and tear it into pieces just to get him to look at me, to acknowledge the fact that his wife was just in the toilet crying her heart out whether he agrees with her reasons for needing to do it or not. After he finished his magazine article, we navigated around each other as we cleaned the kitchen without looking at each other, without speaking and without touching.
We will each go to bed this evening and get up in the morning in this same manner of non-communication which is becoming more and more frequent. As I said at the beginning, Adam either doesn’t notice – or worse, notices and does not care enough to make a change (because a man cannot fail to notice that his wife will not touch him). There is no acknowledgement.
This is just one symptom of a no-longer-awesome marriage.
May 10, 2016 § Leave a comment
I would like to say that Adam and I are at something of an impasse, though this is not quite accurate. An impasse suggests that two parties are involved a disagreement or conflict of some sort and have thus far been unable to negotiate a resolution, though not for lack of trying. This is not the case for me as I suspect only I am the only party aware of such a disagreement or conflict.
For some time I have been trying, in my maniacal control-freak way, to pinpoint the precursor to our current environment. Of course no such “ringing of the bells” moment exists; instead I suspect it is a combination of several things such as me losing my job, being unemployed for three months with an increasing amount of pressure to find employment, starting a new job which makes me miserable and no longer sharing a workplace with my husband. All these events and processes, whilst appearing reasonably innocuous, bring with them a subtle kind of emotional stress.
I am finding that I completely underestimated the impact of leaving my job. I was in no way ready for how this would change me as a person. It turns out my job formed a massive part of my identity in two ways: (1) as an experienced professional whose advice was valued and whose work was trusted; and (2) as the wife and partner of Adam, another experienced professional whose advice was valued and whose work was trusted.
I have never been shy when it comes to self-congratulations about my work or my job. I know I was good at it, I know I achieved good things, I know I was respected by my peers. I know that some people probably disliked me or disagreed with my attitude or approach at times, but I was completely okay with this. It turns out that without having a job, my self-worth and measure of success has plummeted. This is surprising but something I can get my head around.
What I have been shy about, however, is my dependence on any one person – let alone a man. Adam and I never really worked together as such (well, once, and it was a disaster, let me tell you) but we have always worked together. We have been together, more than most other couples I know, for the vast majority of the last nine years. And yet because of my blinkers when it comes to my ideal versus actual reality of my own independence, I find myself flailing around like a fish out of water when I am forcibly separated from the man who I now call my husband. Gone are the shared car rides and the shared calendars, the impromptu lunch dates and impromptu crossing of paths, the six daily internal phone calls and the sixteen daily internal emails. When I sit and really think about it, I have lost a massive part of my relationship with my husband and more so than that – with my friend, my best friend of nine years. I have lost a part of our relationship that was so commonplace to us that we never had to work at it, never thought to speak about it or stop to cherish its value. Like many of the most treasured things in life, it was something that you don’t realise you treasure until it’s gone. And it might seem silly to people that have never worked with their partner, or have worked with them and never enjoyed it, or to anyone who isn’t us. But it was something we shared together for a long time and now we don’t. This is harder for me to get my head around.
I say “dependence” because a very good friend of mine once made a remark (which I suspect was off-the-cuff for her but has stuck with me for some weird reason) about the uncanny amount of time I spend with Adam, delivered in a way that made it sound like a bad thing. Like we could use more time apart. I found this incredibly curious at the time, partly because I didn’t realise we spent a lot of time together, let alone enough to make people actually notice and comment on it, but also in large part because I knew she didn’t particularly like spending time with her partner at the time (or at least it was always made to look that way). On reflection I thought that perhaps Adam and I spent and still do spend a lot of time together but, again, it was commonplace for us and so I never thought anything odd of it until her comment. That night when I was mulling over the conversation again I suddenly had a moment of “Ugggghhhh! Does that mean I’m co-dependent??” Anyone who know me will know how much I value my perceived independence and how repellant the ideas of reliance, dependence or neediness are to me. Shortly after that epiphany I pulled myself together and told myself that CLEARLY I wasn’t co-dependent because I would NEVER in my right mind allow myself to enter such a state.
But the psyche has funny, secret ways of evolving itself – such as making you believe that you are actually a completely solid, self-functioning, independent woman when really you are actually surrendering more and more to this idea of trust and true intimacy and togetherness (but don’t actually say the words out loud in case she hears which would be chaos!). When I explain to my friends that I have really been struggling because I don’t work with Adam anymore, every single one of them looks at me like I’m a crazy person. A crazy dependent person.
May 8, 2016 § Leave a comment
One of a writer’s greatest fears is not having anything to say.
I itch and scratch, buying fancy new writing implements, but the words do not come as easily as they once did. Instead of thoughts pouring forth, they are sought, constructed, carefully considered. Does this mean I no longer have important things to say? Would anyone care if I did
They say that if you get the inside right, the outside will follow (whoever “they” are). My insides have never been right, never will be right. This makes me slightly miserable about my outside. But it doesn’t stop me from trying on the inside. One thing that hasn’t changed, despite my waning ability to articulate it, is my skill, my habit, my need to turn inwards, to seek the hidden meanings, hidden truths. To search the cavities of my consciousness for the answers. Forever the navel gazer! But a stronger version of myself because of it. Knowledge is power after all.
For many years I have avoided writing or stopped writing all together because the story was too big, the words were too many. There was so much to say so how could I find the place to start? And the right place at that? How would I know if it was the right place? What would happen if it was the wrong place? Even my writing is not immune to my need for control in all things.
And what if I got the story wrong? What if people didn’t understand, what if I used the wrong words, failed to convey the strength, the power of my message. So many of my stories are important, so important, that the fear of failing to share it adequately, to speak the truth perfectly as it occurs for me has caused me to turn away and bury the words. When you write about matters of the heart and mind, there is nothing worse than someone being unable to grasp the depth of the concepts or experiences you disclose because of your poorly chosen syntax.
I still have so much to say. Stories to share, experiences to impart, books I must write. I have to take a deep breath and just start again.
Just keep running, keep moving, keep chasing… just around the next corner… keep running, don’t stop, don’t give up…