September 19, 2018
I even get compliments. That’s how well I wear my fall favorite foot attire of rag socks and sandals. I cannot help it. It’s a “me” look. First wearing the coupled worn socks and sandals to be ‘tongue-in-cheek’, I quickly discovered that the fashion deities have their own sense of humor. I am now in lust permanently with socks and sandals…
I could not get it out of my head, no matter how much I tried. “Juvenile,” I scolded myself. “Unnecessary,” I sneered with the worst self-loathing. (As if the waste of time in my own expression somehow made the world turn slower). “Pick it up,” I jeered again. “You have better things to do and no one else is..” I drifted off in an argument quickly debunked by my own philosophy. “Won’t you ever let this rest?”
Nope. I need to write. For the ga-zillionth time I have wrestled with the replacement, any replacement – please! – for the need to write.
Nope. I need to write. I would wish that urge on everyone although I would also pray for a dousing of talent to share the ride with such desire. In my case I have discovered another unique desire of mine: I need to struggle. I will always and forever need to wrestle in my mind with thought, expression and words.
I think it is going to be a magical ride, indeed.
Enough commentary. Let’s get on with life and my penchant for double negatives and redundant prepositions. None of you are English teachers, are you? I once was. But that is another story.
Probably the most egotistical point in my life, among the many activities which I could label as ego-driven (but aren’t they all? Isn’t life just one ego-drive after another? Especially if you are fortunate to have been born into civilization with immunizations and fresh water and no perpetual civil wars, you pretty much are engaged with yourself. But not all humans are fortunate. There are many who have none of the three conditions of modern life. Miles to walk for fresh water. Diseases spreading through populations. Civil wars and corrupt governments with no moral codes or boundaries.) The practice of selfie snapped portraits will never stop to amaze me. And the ease of editting photography.
And the ease of communication. And the various differences in the need of each of us to communicate. I am astounded both at the existence of the variety of needs to reach out and the lessons the awareness of the variety of needs has taught me. I am not the center of my universe although I could easily conclude so with the indulgence of social media. But I like to think that it shows me even more than I am not. The world is wide and inviting. Even if I could not move or mobilize or be physical, I would still be both satisfied and grow even more desirous to explore the world. What is Israel like? I can take a virtual tour. Satisfied? Yes. But no. I would like to see it again. And now that I have seen it virtually thirty plus times, I would like to know how the wind across the Dead Sea smells. What does the sand of the Jordan River feel like, pressed between my toes?
In these most recent years I have grown fond of sharing my life and chronicling daily. At times I would write mercilessly every feeling, every thought, every situation. Day after day. Then I would combine stories with photography. What does my world look like? What are the every day things which inspire me? Both practices answered the questions, “How do I get through the day? How can I manage my feelings and my world?”
Today, like every day, I work and I write in my head and I take photos. I am attending classes for my job in a city which is unfamiliar to me. I love my work and I love the classes I am attending. I am, again, fortunate, to work for a company which is providing me lodging and “per diem” to improve myself. Oh sure, I am going to have to work hard. Of course, I am. Of course! And of course, I feel indebted.
That is kind of a nice feeling.
For my in-depth merchandising project, I am studying jewelry. I have nine days to be as much of an expert as I possibly can be. I found myself studying at lunch today. Diagramming displays with my earbuds feeding my brain old Journey tunes, I wrote to my son a dream I have for him. I hope he finds in life, moments in which he gives himself permission to be smart. What an odd wish. I had hesitated to send it to him. He never, I believe, had that issue. But I had. There are many reasons not to be smart which have nothing to do with anything. But today, while diagramming, I gave myself permission to explore. Not for even my own ego, not to show off, not to compete. Not for my parents, not for a man, and not for spite. Maybe for a company. But maybe for me and my brain, to grow into myself.
And there is the regret, if I let it in. I wish I had given that permission to myself years ago. I wrote to my son, to please let himself be smart. For him. But I smiled as I wrote it for I saw that permission when we met over the weekend for supper. (He is now away at college.) He brought his calculus with him. I watched him solve problems while we waited for appetizers. We talked of solutions while we ate.
I do believe that my son has taught me something too. “Mom.”
“It’s ok to be smart.”
Blessings to you. I am grateful for your time here with me.
Love. Lots and lots of love. (After all, it’s not like pie!)
And a kiss.