Posted on | February 18, 2013 | No Comments

Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time feeling like I’m standing inside a glass, soundproof box.  I’m stuck and I’m silenced, and I don’t like either.

All my life, I’ve felt like I had something to say.

All my life I’ve felt like if I could just find the time to sit down and write, the words would be there for me.  I would reach deep down in this magical “free time” and find awe-inspiring and epic words and I would think to myself “Yes, this. Absolutely this. This is the amazing I’ve been waiting so desperately to say.” Only it turns out that “finding time to write” is a magical misnomer that hangs out with “finding time to do laundry” and “working out on the weekends as a single mom.” It turns out that waiting for time to chase my dreams has left me just waiting.  Waiting and clutching my dreams like a worn out purse, perched on a platform of an abandoned station, waiting for a train that last ran decades ago.

My train of time, my train of thought, my train of captured dreams is never coming.

This is my life: this hustle and bustle of driving to and from daycare, to and from work, to and from the grocery store.  This is my life: this crazy mixed up world of treadmill runs and chased down toys.  This is my life. It is all of it.  There is nothing more around the corner… no fairy godmother, no borrowed time, no special moment when fate and kismet lock lips with some lightening crash of momentum that leaves me breathless and forever changed.

I am forever unchanged.

I look around at the people in my life, the ones who are chasing their dreams… the musicians, the writers, the artists… and I wonder what makes me so different, what made me give up and slide in to the long line of lawyers.  I wonder when being comfortable became more important than being me.

Lately, I feel the pressure rising, the need to clench up my fist and explode through this glass case, to lurch myself, reeling into the world and announce my presence with whatever voice I have left when the glass is swept away and the cuts and bruises are tenderly bandaged.  I’ve been thinking a lot about the high school me, the college me… wondering what she’d say to me and not the other way around because, I find, I have nothing worthwhile to say to her. I think she was braver than me, stronger… more engaged in being the secret, shadowed smile of me, the one who lurks restlessly inside this pressed-suit life I’m living.  I wonder if she’d know me, wonder if she’d care to know me.

But mostly I wonder if between the two of us, we could maybe find a way to break free, to leave these trappings behind, and start again with the dreams that make being ME so much more than just being me.

That’s what I’ve been wondering… at least lately.


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    Spilled Milk (and Other Atrocities) by Law Momma is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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