Well this one is just too obvious, and unthinkable, therefore I can't possibly write it down.
Even the lesser things I might put down here are obvious, like, I hope I never have to live on the streets, I hope I never have to watch another episode of Two and a Half Men , I hope I never have to give up coffee.
It's not hard to figure out what you don't want. It's knowing for sure what you do that can get tricky.
Well, there are a lot of things I hope to do. I've got my list like everybody else. (I refuse to call it a bucket list, however. Just, no.)
I hope to get Hijo to Mexico to meet his grandparents and other family there. I hope to go hang gliding. I hope to live in Italy. I hope to have my own ofuro in the woods. I hope to fall in love again.
But the thing I most hope to do has to do with what I wrote about in this post: I hope to get my act together enough to finish some sort of large creative project. (And then do another one and another one.)
I've already forgiven the men who've broken my heart. I've even mostly forgiven Hijo's dad for a whole lotta things that I won't go into here.
There is a forgiveness that is far more complicated than heartbreak on my mind, and I'm not sure I'm up for it. Ironically, given my last post, it has to do with parenting. It has to do with protecting those you love and who are under your care from something horrible. It has to do with acknowledging that horrible things do happen, even within your loving family, and making sure that you do everything in your power to stop it.
If someone knows about all of this, and lets it happen anyway, what's the proper reponse?
I shouldn't even be writing about this, because it's not really my story to tell. And a lot of the people in it, the bad guys, in fact, are dead. Do you need to forgive a dead person? Or does death just wipe the slate clean for you?
So now my heart breaks in a different way, for things that happened before I was born. Things I didn't know about until I was well into adulthood. Things that changed everything. Things that shed light and then created a tangle of questions that can never be completely answered.
When I saw this prompt I immediately thought, I know what all the moms are gonna post. And I am no exception.
As a mom, the thing you must forgive yourself for, the thing that you are constantly forgiving yourself for over and over again is how completely and utterly unfit for the task of mothering you are. It's something you pretty much constantly fuck up. Which is not to say that you aren't sometimes brilliant at it as well. I mean my child is thriving these days. He's an awesome kid, and my heart is full.
But I have taped to my computer right now a smack down (by a comic strip character no less) about how maybe I pay a bit too much attention to what's online at the expense of the boy in my living room. I am never present enough, engaged enough, on top of it enough.
I must forgive myself for being tired, for being impatient, for needing--sometimes very badly--to just be alone for awhile.
I remember when he was little and I was exhausted most of the time, that sense of relief, of physical lightening, when I dropped him off at his dad's for the day. I'd pull away from the curb and just feel my whole body loosening up a bit.
I have to forgive myself for never ever wanting to play Monopoly. I have to forgive myself for never ever making enough money. I have to forgive myself for not wanting to define myself soley as a mom, for needing something more.
Being a mom is, at its core, an impossible task. Yet there you are, faced with it every minute of every day. It's one of those dualities you have to carry around inside of yourself: I can't do this; I must do this.
I like many things about myself; I am a delightful person. The whole love thing seems like a bigger commitment, though. We are encouraged to love ourselves, told that we must love ourselves before we can truly love another and alla that. But what does that mean, exactly? I've never quite figured it out. But I can pick one thing.
I love that I find life open to interpretation. I love that I'm willing to change my mind. I love that I fall in love easily and crazily and with all sorts of people (sometimes at the same time). I love that I can sit in a train compartment with a group of people that don't speak my language and have a lovely time with them. I love that I learn from my mistakes. This may sound like a jumble of different things, but what it really boils down to is that I'm open. And I love that about myself. I want to let all of life in and not shy away from it. I want to consider many points of view. I want to see that people change, that I can change, that there's no such thing as being truly stuck. To me, all of that is openness. It's letting go, it's faith. And while I may not always be as open as I'd like, I'm always pushing at the door.
(OK, quick, I have to say something self-deprecating, because this is a bit much.) (I can't think of anything properly self-deprecating right now. Damn.)
Hate is a pretty strong word. We try not to hate, right? We avoid it. Hate implies a lot of passion. I don't know that I feel that passionately about myself over anything, good or bad. But it's the first day of this 30 day dealio, so I'll play along.
I hate my inablilty to get focused enough to complete any sort of relatively big creative project (like, say, a novel). Hell, even a well-crafted short story would be a major accomplishment at this point. It's not that I don't think I have the ability, it's more that I can't narrow the range of my thoughts and my will and my desire down to a small enough range to sit down and work on it day after day. I am scattered. I am easily distracted. I want to write AND take fotos AND make prints AND read and and and.
You might say I have no discipline, but I hate that word. I hate that I get a lot of encouragement and it only makes it harder to push forward. I hate that I seem to be scared not just of doing well, but of the work it takes to do anything at all. (Oh, the hate, it is flying now.)
The nice thing about hate is that it carries energy, and that means there's something there to work with. Hate is better than "meh."
Discovered via the fabulous Miss Grace, whom I met in Santa Cruz last weekend, I bring you 30 Days of Truth! Since I'm usually completely full of it, I thought this might be a refreshing change. Also, it is chock full of writing prompts and sometimes, that's just what your lazy writer needs: something to kick her in the butt. I'm sure as hell not going to come up with 30 days of my own content ideas.
I reserve the right to mess with these in any way I see fit, to deviate, ignore, double up, or otherwise just do my own thing with it. Because, as I believe I mentioned, am lazy, and also have a two year old's reaction to anyone telling me what to do.
The list asks me to tell you such things as my views on gay marriage, something that I get complimented on a lot, and it starts out with the always entertaining, something that I hate about myself. Tune in tomorrow for all the fun.