“There are years that ask questions and years that answer them.” --Zora Neale Hurston
If I divided the stages of my life into months of the year, then well into May I was asking when and why questions: when will I be old enough to walk to school by myself, get an allowance, wear a bra, drive a car, babysit, get a job, support myself, and why don’t they like me, why doesn’t he like me, why did he leave me, is he the one, should I marry him? Through August I asked about changing careers, going back to school, wondered if I would survive my children. By then the leaves were falling, the air turned crisp with a whiff of rain and it was mid September. What will I be when I grow up? What do I want to do now that I’m retired from my second career? What will it take for me to be satisfied? And if not now, when?
I think it might have been October when the answers came flooding in. Doris Mortman whispered in my ear, “Until you make peace with who you are, you’ll never be content with with what you have.” “Perhaps loving something is the only starting place there is for making your life your own,” advised Alice Koller, only I’m sure I heard “loving yourself.” It took me until the third week in October to start loving myself enough to be satisfied with my answers.
Now it’s November already. Somewhere along the way, I stopped asking so many questions. Even my parents in their graves are sighing about that. I wish I could tell them I’m loving myself enough to flower as a writer and artist. Love, gratitude, and major time spent taking care of my body are my answers as I look toward December.
Baruch ata adonai thank you for all the hand holding and for understanding my words through my tears. Did you always know I’d turn out OK? You did, didn’t you! Amen
No comments:
Post a Comment