February 26, 2011

The journey

I was sitting and looking at the Kennebec river on a beautiful summer day in Maine. It was 2010, but we were re-living 1760...
I have often heard it said, that if you would be a good writer, then write about what you know, and from the heart. Several months ago when I began this, my attempt at a 'blog', I did exactly that. This was my own story---a simple and unpretentious tale, momentous perhaps only to me, because of all of the larger-than-life emotions my journey has engendered.
My main motivation was never to please or impress someone else, but if along the way others warmly received, or even craved what I had to say, that would be a nice thing. I resolved to refrain from discussing much politics or religion, and this is not a social commentary. It is also not a vehicle for whining or complaining, although I may allow myself a good 'rant' on occasion.
I needed to write as I need to breathe, and I decided to put down in words, over time, some of the experiences and feelings that have ultimately brought me to this place at this time---A path I never could have dreamed years ago that I would ever find myself upon.

Somehow writing about them helped me to remember with great clarity, details that had become obscured in the business of day to day living. I wanted to look around me each day and really see the little house that I so loved. I wanted not only to hear the birds, and see the flowers, or the glorious fall leaves, or the snow, but to immerse myself in them---in my life. It was my way of  hanging onto those feelings and those memories---the small but profound joys and sorrows, triumphs and disappointments of an 'average' day, and to see them as anything but average.

I remembered how I felt, a 'stranger in a strange land', when I first came here. I remembered, and felt joy and pride at all the physical work I had done here. I look down now at the hands that have been the source of so much embarrassment for me, for they look far older than the rest of me, and most un-lovely. I have beaten them to death in my efforts here, and they have served me well. Perhaps it was time to secretly remember that, to rejoice in what they have and could create, and not apologize for them, or try to hide them...
It was time to remember, and to celebrate all the days of my life here---every one---every single tired, angry, hopeless, sad, giddy, joyful, ecstatic, scary, peaceful, chaotic, hopeful moment. I wanted to revel in the magic of every 'ordinary' day, and share it in print, whether I had an audience or not to love and appreciate me...

Yes, Mr. Frost, and thank you for saying it so well---I had a choice long ago. I have taken the 'road less traveled', and it has indeed, and most emphatically, 'made all the difference'~

1 comment:

Mary said...

A dear friend in Tennessee has emailed this comment to me. It is most appreciated and taken to heart. I am joyful and grateful to have so many friends that truly care about me.

"Mary dear ~
Please don't ever apologize for or
disdain work-worn hands....yours
reflect a strong, beautiful spirit and
and life's challenges well-endured.
Universally beloved Tasha had such
hands (and feet) and her beauty simply
radiated. My own dear Mother had
hands which my child's mistake
considered "embarrassing" until
she had grown older, as did I, more
importantly, and I realized the beauty
of those hands that had sustained and
supported us through childhood and
beyond. Don't be misguided by the
world's concept of beauty.... keep
polishing the beauty within that is yours.
Have a good Sunday ~ Hi to Adam.
Blessings ~