I've spent a lot of time lately remembering the Christmases of my childhood and the enchantment they held for me. I always loved the lights and the sparkling ornaments on the tree. I'd stand in the dark for hours just gazing in awe at their beauty. I would put on a record of holiday music and get swept up in the wonder of it all. I sang and I listened and I watched the colored lights twinkling in front of me....the smell of the fresh pine and of bayberry candles hanging in the air around me...until I was carried off to a magical place, far from all the humiliation, scolding, and derision that seemed to follow me everywhere. It was there, in that magical world, that I could breathe and enjoy a few moments of the peace and joy that so frequently eluded me.
And I LOVED the packages! I cared little for what they might contain. It was the bright bows and colorful wrappings that I found so captivating. I used to wait for a time when no one was around, so I could pick up and cradle each gift, one by one. I didn't shake them or try to peek beneath the paper. I merely wanted to handle each of them and look at it up close. I should explain that my mother used to spend HOURS decorating these packages. Trees with small ornaments, stockings full of fruit and candy, snow scenes with sleighs and snowmen, these were only some of them. They grew more elaborate each year. One I remember with great fondness, was a fireplace with a fire that looked real and a mantel with stockings hanging from it. But even those packages without such adornment held a fascination for me. They looked so pretty there, reflecting the shimmering lights and glass balls that hung from the branches above. I wish I could go there again. I wish I could take you there. We could all use a little magic....
May you experience magic in this, and EVERY season of your new year.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
Backdraft
There are many rooms within my soul. Some, I visit when I can, just to hang out and enjoy their atmosphere. These are sunlit, open rooms full of joy, laughter, hope, peace, and safety.
But there are other rooms....rooms that stay shut tight...locked rooms at the end of dark, scary hallways I usually avoid....rooms best NOT visited.
These are the rooms that contain the ever smoldering embers of disappointment, fear, shame, anger....and pain. Inside these rooms, there's still plenty of fuel to burn. The fuel is made up of memories that, under everyday circumstances, seethe quietly behind closed doors....lacking the oxygen that would cause them to ignite all over again. Still, the memories do exist in these rooms...smoking remnants of the past that never burn out. They are but fiery coals hidden under a layer of ash....until....someone comes along and decides to...open...the...door.
Slowly, they turn the knob to one of the "forbidden" doors. The embers within recieve new life and then... suddenly...in a blinding flash, the memories explode and ignite anew, blazing forth with searing heat....scorching the hallways and leaving me badly burned. Paralyzed by shock, all I can do is look on in mute horror at the hideous conflagration before me. Finally, it consumes me, leaving me gutted. Where is the person who opened the door? They are almost always able to flee the scene unscathed and watch from a distance until charred ruins are all that remain.
I am devastated.....................BUT....the door opener never stays long enough to see what happens next. If that person were to be patient and look closely, they would see me slowly....quietly....piece by piece...arise from those ashes.
Then I manage to stuff the feelings and memories into another room, where they burn low and nearly go out. But the memories are still there, closed up tight, until the next wind blows in through an open door....
But there are other rooms....rooms that stay shut tight...locked rooms at the end of dark, scary hallways I usually avoid....rooms best NOT visited.
These are the rooms that contain the ever smoldering embers of disappointment, fear, shame, anger....and pain. Inside these rooms, there's still plenty of fuel to burn. The fuel is made up of memories that, under everyday circumstances, seethe quietly behind closed doors....lacking the oxygen that would cause them to ignite all over again. Still, the memories do exist in these rooms...smoking remnants of the past that never burn out. They are but fiery coals hidden under a layer of ash....until....someone comes along and decides to...open...the...door.
Slowly, they turn the knob to one of the "forbidden" doors. The embers within recieve new life and then... suddenly...in a blinding flash, the memories explode and ignite anew, blazing forth with searing heat....scorching the hallways and leaving me badly burned. Paralyzed by shock, all I can do is look on in mute horror at the hideous conflagration before me. Finally, it consumes me, leaving me gutted. Where is the person who opened the door? They are almost always able to flee the scene unscathed and watch from a distance until charred ruins are all that remain.
I am devastated.....................BUT....the door opener never stays long enough to see what happens next. If that person were to be patient and look closely, they would see me slowly....quietly....piece by piece...arise from those ashes.
Then I manage to stuff the feelings and memories into another room, where they burn low and nearly go out. But the memories are still there, closed up tight, until the next wind blows in through an open door....
Thursday, December 9, 2010
BLUE
A few years ago, I had a conversation with a counselor. I told her how I had always felt "different". This is how I explained it to her....
It's like I'm BLUE. The COLOR blue. Everyone around me ranges from peach to tan to brown to dark mocha. Not me. I'M BLUE. That makes me stand out everywhere I go. When I was young, I just thought being blue was normal. But soon, I learned that blue was WEIRD....unusual....odd...out of place. So, I learned to hide my "blueness". As time went on, I developed a variety of disguises to prevent "regular" people from seeing that I was actually blue. I could usually succeed....for awhile. I could manage to make myself acceptable to those who were non-blue. But eventually the blue would always start to show through, despite my best efforts to keep it a secret. I would try to keep a lid on my secret, but sooner or later, it would just come screaming forth from somewhere deep inside, "I'M BLUE!!!!!" Of course, that caused most people to bolt in fear and disgust like I was Pepe Le Pew with leprosy!
With a few people, I was allowed to get closer. Eventually,there would come a time when I would feel safe enough to show them my blueness...at least a big part of it. But those people left too...most of them. Some put an abrupt end to their relationship with me. Others slowly backed away a little at a time until they were far away. More often than not, they simply disappeared. No warning. No explanation. Gone.
That sort of thing takes a toll on a person, I can tell you. But I always wondered what the hell was WRONG with me! Inside, I was always screaming, "WHY?!!!" It hurt....
This counselor suggested at some point, that I had ADD. "Me?", I replied incredulously. "ME??? No way! Uh-uh. That's not it' That's not me!!"
But of course, she was right. And now I know what makes me "blue". I also know I'm not alone in my blueness. "Regular" people still disappear on me. I'm still afraid to reveal my true identity. But somehow, it feels a bit better now that I understand things more. There's NOTHING "wrong" with me. I'm OK.
I'm just BLUE.....Are you?
It's like I'm BLUE. The COLOR blue. Everyone around me ranges from peach to tan to brown to dark mocha. Not me. I'M BLUE. That makes me stand out everywhere I go. When I was young, I just thought being blue was normal. But soon, I learned that blue was WEIRD....unusual....odd...out of place. So, I learned to hide my "blueness". As time went on, I developed a variety of disguises to prevent "regular" people from seeing that I was actually blue. I could usually succeed....for awhile. I could manage to make myself acceptable to those who were non-blue. But eventually the blue would always start to show through, despite my best efforts to keep it a secret. I would try to keep a lid on my secret, but sooner or later, it would just come screaming forth from somewhere deep inside, "I'M BLUE!!!!!" Of course, that caused most people to bolt in fear and disgust like I was Pepe Le Pew with leprosy!
With a few people, I was allowed to get closer. Eventually,there would come a time when I would feel safe enough to show them my blueness...at least a big part of it. But those people left too...most of them. Some put an abrupt end to their relationship with me. Others slowly backed away a little at a time until they were far away. More often than not, they simply disappeared. No warning. No explanation. Gone.
That sort of thing takes a toll on a person, I can tell you. But I always wondered what the hell was WRONG with me! Inside, I was always screaming, "WHY?!!!" It hurt....
This counselor suggested at some point, that I had ADD. "Me?", I replied incredulously. "ME??? No way! Uh-uh. That's not it' That's not me!!"
But of course, she was right. And now I know what makes me "blue". I also know I'm not alone in my blueness. "Regular" people still disappear on me. I'm still afraid to reveal my true identity. But somehow, it feels a bit better now that I understand things more. There's NOTHING "wrong" with me. I'm OK.
I'm just BLUE.....Are you?
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Life Underground
As far back as I can remember, I've wanted to be a different person. From the age of 10 or so, I've dreamed of living as this deeply compassionate, loving, approachable, down-to-earth person who makes a difference in the lives of any who cross my path. And honestly....deep down....that is who I am. I have always been a very caring and sensitive person. One with a sincere desire to reach out to all the misfits, rejects, and wounded souls in the world and wrap them all in a blanket of love. To be a haven for the downtrodden, the battered, the ravaged spirits that wander through life shrouded in despair.
I'm not trying to sound melodramatic or corny here. What I'm saying is truly heartfelt. Having been on the receiving end of much ridicule and shame, I well understand how painful it is. I also know the ache of feeling lonely on an almost cosmic level....to feel as though I do not belong in this world. Over the decades of my life, I have become all too familiar with the scorn and derision reserved for those who see the world differently from their peers.
Perhaps it is these very facts that have driven this loving person to take refuge in the underground place that exists somewhere inside me, where few people are allowed to go. I DO care about the pain and suffering of others.....so much...TOO MUCH. But what is it that most people "out there" see? They see sarcasm, jokes, and rude, abrupt interruptions. They see a person who seems to be "somewhere else", someone whose comments are "off the wall". They see the person who lives "up top".... the OUTER wall of who I am....
I long to reach out to others with compassion and love.... to walk through this life in mindfulness; radiating peace. And I have my moments. But the majority of the time, I find myself being easily irritated by so many things and people...so many. When no one is around, I imagine being kind, patient, and thoughtful...the sort of person who makes everyone around her feel accepted and welcome. But in real life, I feel as though I'm on some sort of runaway train... hijacked....hurtling through the years ...threatening to derail at any moment. I live each day with my mind racing....my senses on overload. I feel assaulted by the noise, the small talk, the callous indifference, and the oblivion with which so many seem to surround themselves. I often end up feeling resentful of those around me because they don't speak my language. Because I don't belong in their world. So, I go home to my warm, safe room, where I can retreat from all the swirling confusion and madness that rages "out there". I breathe a sigh of relief....then I dream of being this other person......
I'm not trying to sound melodramatic or corny here. What I'm saying is truly heartfelt. Having been on the receiving end of much ridicule and shame, I well understand how painful it is. I also know the ache of feeling lonely on an almost cosmic level....to feel as though I do not belong in this world. Over the decades of my life, I have become all too familiar with the scorn and derision reserved for those who see the world differently from their peers.
Perhaps it is these very facts that have driven this loving person to take refuge in the underground place that exists somewhere inside me, where few people are allowed to go. I DO care about the pain and suffering of others.....so much...TOO MUCH. But what is it that most people "out there" see? They see sarcasm, jokes, and rude, abrupt interruptions. They see a person who seems to be "somewhere else", someone whose comments are "off the wall". They see the person who lives "up top".... the OUTER wall of who I am....
I long to reach out to others with compassion and love.... to walk through this life in mindfulness; radiating peace. And I have my moments. But the majority of the time, I find myself being easily irritated by so many things and people...so many. When no one is around, I imagine being kind, patient, and thoughtful...the sort of person who makes everyone around her feel accepted and welcome. But in real life, I feel as though I'm on some sort of runaway train... hijacked....hurtling through the years ...threatening to derail at any moment. I live each day with my mind racing....my senses on overload. I feel assaulted by the noise, the small talk, the callous indifference, and the oblivion with which so many seem to surround themselves. I often end up feeling resentful of those around me because they don't speak my language. Because I don't belong in their world. So, I go home to my warm, safe room, where I can retreat from all the swirling confusion and madness that rages "out there". I breathe a sigh of relief....then I dream of being this other person......
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Square Peg
I have a clear memory of sitting in an English class in a small high school....
The teacher was talking about traveling to far off places. Without really thinking, I started doing my best imitation of a slide guitar playing Aloha Oe. Well...I was trying to create "mood music" for her lecture, I suppose. Next thing I knew, she was dragging me out into the hall and asking me what kind of example I thought I was setting. ME....setting an example? Hmmm...
I seem to recall a number of incidents like that.
When I was 8, we lived in Europe and for awhile, I attended school at a Catholic convent. I was the ONLY American in my class. Suddenly, out of the blue, I started singing, "Every Monday, every Monday, one, two, three, one, two, three", to the tune of Frere Jacques. The whole class erupted in laughter. Well...NOT the teacher. She made me stand in the corner, but not before yelling at me at the top of her lungs about how I was a disgrace to my family....
I remember saying things when in a group. Apropos of nothing. They just came to me. Sometimes, people thought they were very funny. More often though, a silence came over the room and they looked at me like I had two heads. Either that, or they exchanged "knowing" glances with each other, as if to say, "Okaaay...that was weird!"
There were times though, when I enjoyed this "on the fly" wit of mine. For example, I took a college course in Nonverbal Communication once. Students were going up in front of the class to try to communicate something to the rest of us without using words. I can't remember what she was trying to tell us, but I can picture one young lady gesturing maniacally at the class. At some point, she stopped and asked, "What am I doing?" Without thinking, I blurted out, "Drugs?" This time, even the teacher laughed. I felt very clever at that moment. Whether I really WAS is a matter of conjecture...
Another such occasion was on a certain job I had a few years back. There were two young ladies there who seemed to delight in "tattling" to the manager about people for anything and everything. One night, after closing, a few of us were talking about those two while we performed our closing duties. Off the top of my head, I started singing, to the tune of We Are Santa's Elves (from the old Rudolph program):
We are Susie's elves
We keep to ourselves
Our heads rattle, we like to tattle
We are Susie's elves
The others thought it quite amusing. I must admit, I was pleased with myself just then.
Like most people with ADD, I could go on and on. However, those of you with ADD know what I mean...and those who don't, probably find this all rather bizarre. Oh well, as they say...you had to BE THERE....
The teacher was talking about traveling to far off places. Without really thinking, I started doing my best imitation of a slide guitar playing Aloha Oe. Well...I was trying to create "mood music" for her lecture, I suppose. Next thing I knew, she was dragging me out into the hall and asking me what kind of example I thought I was setting. ME....setting an example? Hmmm...
I seem to recall a number of incidents like that.
When I was 8, we lived in Europe and for awhile, I attended school at a Catholic convent. I was the ONLY American in my class. Suddenly, out of the blue, I started singing, "Every Monday, every Monday, one, two, three, one, two, three", to the tune of Frere Jacques. The whole class erupted in laughter. Well...NOT the teacher. She made me stand in the corner, but not before yelling at me at the top of her lungs about how I was a disgrace to my family....
I remember saying things when in a group. Apropos of nothing. They just came to me. Sometimes, people thought they were very funny. More often though, a silence came over the room and they looked at me like I had two heads. Either that, or they exchanged "knowing" glances with each other, as if to say, "Okaaay...that was weird!"
There were times though, when I enjoyed this "on the fly" wit of mine. For example, I took a college course in Nonverbal Communication once. Students were going up in front of the class to try to communicate something to the rest of us without using words. I can't remember what she was trying to tell us, but I can picture one young lady gesturing maniacally at the class. At some point, she stopped and asked, "What am I doing?" Without thinking, I blurted out, "Drugs?" This time, even the teacher laughed. I felt very clever at that moment. Whether I really WAS is a matter of conjecture...
Another such occasion was on a certain job I had a few years back. There were two young ladies there who seemed to delight in "tattling" to the manager about people for anything and everything. One night, after closing, a few of us were talking about those two while we performed our closing duties. Off the top of my head, I started singing, to the tune of We Are Santa's Elves (from the old Rudolph program):
We are Susie's elves
We keep to ourselves
Our heads rattle, we like to tattle
We are Susie's elves
The others thought it quite amusing. I must admit, I was pleased with myself just then.
Like most people with ADD, I could go on and on. However, those of you with ADD know what I mean...and those who don't, probably find this all rather bizarre. Oh well, as they say...you had to BE THERE....
Friday, November 19, 2010
A Postcard From Neverland
(For Coogie....Thanks for the inspiration)
My kids are all grown up now. I have grandchildren. My driver's license says I've hit that half century mark. My face has lines on it that weren't there twenty years ago. My body feels every bit as old as it is. I certainly never get "carded" anymore.
But that's just my facade, the "outside" part of me. The person I am INSIDE is quite different than most would guess. The truth is, I've lived my entire adult life feeling like I'm really still a kid. Sometimes, I feel like a baby inside, crying with the pain and rage of abandonment. Other times, I feel like I'm in elementary school...scared and lonely...playful and silly. Sometimes I can hear the child in me screaming in terror or shouting "It's not fair! It's NOT FAIR!" through a blinding torrent of bitter tears.
Like a child, I get distracted by so many things...I get caught up in the world inside my head and I forget that there are things I should be doing. My mental "pockets" are crammed full of things I find along the way...some of it is rare and beautiful, but a lot of it is really just fascinating "junk" that grabs my attention. Like those kids in the "Family Circus" cartoon, my mind meanders over, under, and through....taking a long and convoluted path from point A to point B.
Over time I have explored an astronomical array of temporary interests...some in which I became absorbed to the exclusion of all else for days on end, then pushed aside for weeks, months, years, a lifetime...and some were just a "blip" on the screen of my existence, burning hot and bright, then vanishing in a wisp of smoke to be carried away on a changing wind.
I am forever misplacing things or leaving them behind. I blurt out things that sound funny in my head, but may be inappropriate to the situation.
Very often, I feel as though I live in perpetual adolescence...confused, anxious, unsure of myself. I often find myself lost in daydreams and fantasies, perhaps because reality is too harsh.
It is hard to see myself as a really, truly grown up person.Other people see a serious, somewhat restrained adult who seems confident and experienced. But inside, I am afraid and uncertain how to act or what is expected of me. Inside, I DON'T feel my age at all...ever. In my MIND, I've never reached adulthood. In my mind, I've spent most of my life somewhere between 10 and 17 years old, give or take a few now and then. I used to imagine that, by the time I hit 40, I would no longer feel this way, think this way, act this way. Well, I passed up 40 a long time ago, and STILL...here I am...just a kid in my mind.
My mind...at times a wasteland....often a playland....but forever...Neverland.
My kids are all grown up now. I have grandchildren. My driver's license says I've hit that half century mark. My face has lines on it that weren't there twenty years ago. My body feels every bit as old as it is. I certainly never get "carded" anymore.
But that's just my facade, the "outside" part of me. The person I am INSIDE is quite different than most would guess. The truth is, I've lived my entire adult life feeling like I'm really still a kid. Sometimes, I feel like a baby inside, crying with the pain and rage of abandonment. Other times, I feel like I'm in elementary school...scared and lonely...playful and silly. Sometimes I can hear the child in me screaming in terror or shouting "It's not fair! It's NOT FAIR!" through a blinding torrent of bitter tears.
Like a child, I get distracted by so many things...I get caught up in the world inside my head and I forget that there are things I should be doing. My mental "pockets" are crammed full of things I find along the way...some of it is rare and beautiful, but a lot of it is really just fascinating "junk" that grabs my attention. Like those kids in the "Family Circus" cartoon, my mind meanders over, under, and through....taking a long and convoluted path from point A to point B.
Over time I have explored an astronomical array of temporary interests...some in which I became absorbed to the exclusion of all else for days on end, then pushed aside for weeks, months, years, a lifetime...and some were just a "blip" on the screen of my existence, burning hot and bright, then vanishing in a wisp of smoke to be carried away on a changing wind.
I am forever misplacing things or leaving them behind. I blurt out things that sound funny in my head, but may be inappropriate to the situation.
Very often, I feel as though I live in perpetual adolescence...confused, anxious, unsure of myself. I often find myself lost in daydreams and fantasies, perhaps because reality is too harsh.
It is hard to see myself as a really, truly grown up person.Other people see a serious, somewhat restrained adult who seems confident and experienced. But inside, I am afraid and uncertain how to act or what is expected of me. Inside, I DON'T feel my age at all...ever. In my MIND, I've never reached adulthood. In my mind, I've spent most of my life somewhere between 10 and 17 years old, give or take a few now and then. I used to imagine that, by the time I hit 40, I would no longer feel this way, think this way, act this way. Well, I passed up 40 a long time ago, and STILL...here I am...just a kid in my mind.
My mind...at times a wasteland....often a playland....but forever...Neverland.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The 11th Hour
It has been said that, for a person with ADD, there exists two points in time: NOW...and NOT now. So, when an assignment is given weeks in advance of the deadline, we tend to think, "Not now". Even a few days (or less) before the due date, the "not now" mode may be the place from which we operate. For me, as the deadline gets closer, an alarm starts going off way in the back of my mind...the kind that begins at a very low volume, then gradually makes its way to the FRONT of my mind, building in both volume and frequency.
now.....now.....now....now..now..now..NOW..NOW..NOWNOWNOW..
NOWNOWNOW.. NOW!!!NOW!!!NOW!!!
You get the idea. Like one who is able to sleep the sleep of the dead while an alarm blares only inches from her head, I can sometimes ignore the "nownow" alarm. But,at the same time, on some level, I am keenly aware of the alarm going off. At this very moment, my nownow alarm is quite loud and insistent, reminding me that I have a rather large assignment (which I have not started) due tomorrow night. Is this blog an insidious tool of procrastination? I wonder.......
now.....now.....now....now..now..now..NOW..NOW..NOWNOWNOW..
NOWNOWNOW.. NOW!!!NOW!!!NOW!!!
You get the idea. Like one who is able to sleep the sleep of the dead while an alarm blares only inches from her head, I can sometimes ignore the "nownow" alarm. But,at the same time, on some level, I am keenly aware of the alarm going off. At this very moment, my nownow alarm is quite loud and insistent, reminding me that I have a rather large assignment (which I have not started) due tomorrow night. Is this blog an insidious tool of procrastination? I wonder.......
Sunday, November 14, 2010
The Road To Hell
They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. For those of us with ADD, it is a well traveled road. It is a road strewn with unfinished writings, paintings, and projects of all descriptions. The road we travel is cluttered with thoughts and feelings unexpressed, words unsaid, and books unread. It is made up of cards we buy, then forget to send....rooms half painted....chores partly completed. The path we tread is evidenced by piles of things we mean to get to; recipes we intend to try, letters we intend to answer, magazines with articles we want to clip,and past due bills we have vowed to pay....when we can.
Perhaps more unsettling than any of these, are things which are not obvious to those outside ourselves. Brilliant ideas never tried, lifelong dreams never pursued, experiences we have only longed for but been afraid to go after. Our minds are full of perfect phrases, captivating choreography, amazing artwork, and beautiful, haunting music....never to be revealed in the real world.
Most of us are surrounded by that which remains permanently undone...so many "good intentions" never brought to fruition...frozen in time like a photograph, forever preserved AS IS, leaving the observer to guess at the story it tells.
Such is the life of a person with ADD. We do indeed dance to the beat of a different drum....and yes, it IS a road unknown to most of the people we encounter. In my experience, our many good intentions are NOT what paves this road. Our road is paved with all that I have just descibed, and so much more. Our road does not lead TO hell, but often the road IS hell. Though our lives contain much beauty, joy, and wonder, the road we walk is a difficult one. It is a winding, twisting, unpredictable path full of steep inclines and nearly insurmountable obstacles. Yet we manage somehow to prevail, to continue our journey with a stubborn tenacity that some find it impossible to comprehend. A hard road, but nonetheless the only one we know. Were I able to choose another, smoother road, would I choose IT over the wonderful creativity I have always known? Would I rather walk a straighter, more "ordinary" path? I think not. Given the choice, I would rather remain on the journey to which I was born. It is, for me, the more interesting one...
Perhaps more unsettling than any of these, are things which are not obvious to those outside ourselves. Brilliant ideas never tried, lifelong dreams never pursued, experiences we have only longed for but been afraid to go after. Our minds are full of perfect phrases, captivating choreography, amazing artwork, and beautiful, haunting music....never to be revealed in the real world.
Most of us are surrounded by that which remains permanently undone...so many "good intentions" never brought to fruition...frozen in time like a photograph, forever preserved AS IS, leaving the observer to guess at the story it tells.
Such is the life of a person with ADD. We do indeed dance to the beat of a different drum....and yes, it IS a road unknown to most of the people we encounter. In my experience, our many good intentions are NOT what paves this road. Our road is paved with all that I have just descibed, and so much more. Our road does not lead TO hell, but often the road IS hell. Though our lives contain much beauty, joy, and wonder, the road we walk is a difficult one. It is a winding, twisting, unpredictable path full of steep inclines and nearly insurmountable obstacles. Yet we manage somehow to prevail, to continue our journey with a stubborn tenacity that some find it impossible to comprehend. A hard road, but nonetheless the only one we know. Were I able to choose another, smoother road, would I choose IT over the wonderful creativity I have always known? Would I rather walk a straighter, more "ordinary" path? I think not. Given the choice, I would rather remain on the journey to which I was born. It is, for me, the more interesting one...
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Reflections on youth
What I miss about my youth (other than my body, of course) is the feeling that all of life is ahead of me, that the world is waiting for me, that my possibilities for the future are endless. Ah, youth....
I used to spend hours sitting alone, watching the clouds go by... gazing at a sunset...or looking up at the stars on a clear night....dreaming....dreaming...dreaming of what my future would be like...making a difference...changing lives...marriage...family.
Now that I'm middle aged, I wonder what I should realistically hope for. What dreams can I still dream for real?
I've come far enough down this road that I am pretty jaded and cynical. Deep inside a stone fortress, a softer person still exists...dormant and alone...never finding a safe time or place to step out into the open...perhaps having forgotten how.
Oh to feel again the breeze that whispers of hope...of dreams yet to be awakened and nourished into being! Oh to know once more the thrill of looking forward to a vision blossoming into glorious reality!
Ever so deep within me, the dreamer slumbers, oblivious to all...yet, now and then, through a crack in the fortress wall, there appears the faintest glimmer of a world I once believed in, a person I used to be. If I look closely and squint my eyes, I can almost see....but no...perhaps it WAS just an illusion after all...
I used to spend hours sitting alone, watching the clouds go by... gazing at a sunset...or looking up at the stars on a clear night....dreaming....dreaming...dreaming of what my future would be like...making a difference...changing lives...marriage...family.
Now that I'm middle aged, I wonder what I should realistically hope for. What dreams can I still dream for real?
I've come far enough down this road that I am pretty jaded and cynical. Deep inside a stone fortress, a softer person still exists...dormant and alone...never finding a safe time or place to step out into the open...perhaps having forgotten how.
Oh to feel again the breeze that whispers of hope...of dreams yet to be awakened and nourished into being! Oh to know once more the thrill of looking forward to a vision blossoming into glorious reality!
Ever so deep within me, the dreamer slumbers, oblivious to all...yet, now and then, through a crack in the fortress wall, there appears the faintest glimmer of a world I once believed in, a person I used to be. If I look closely and squint my eyes, I can almost see....but no...perhaps it WAS just an illusion after all...
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