And.... "OMG"? Did I really just write that?
I've entered the texting universe. I was at a work meeting yesterday with some younger folks, talking about scheduling things, and asked if I could email them some information. They looked at me kind of blankly. I pressed on, asking "Is that okay? Do you check email?" And they somewhat sheepishly said, "Well. Not really. We text."
So I guess maybe I will, too.
But that's a sidenote, a small tangent of sorts. It's not why I wanted to post. I came here this morning because I woke up wanting to write, talked myself out of it, glanced at my email, looked at my Facebook, thought Oh, what the hell, I'll look at my blog - and my friend Lisette had posted a comment. And that felt so good... to have been read. To have been heard.
I woke up with ENVY this morning.
That's what I was gonna write about.
I hate ENVY. It is my least favorite feeling, and one that plagued me through my 20's, and sometimes it comes back to visit.
It is enervating - is that the right word? It Takes my Energy, is what I'm trying to say. I leave myself, my world, my son, my husband, my life, to think about Someone Else's Life and long for it.
I was beginning to berate myself for my ENVY, labeling it a character defect or a sin or what-label-have-you, and then a quieter voice spoke up -
"What is your ENVY trying to teach you?"
And whoa. Quiet thunderclap. Of course - I envy because I long for something I think I want, I think I don't have - and maybe those thoughts are true.
I am missing something in my life. Something I want.
It might be dressed up in different colors, and maybe I don't ACTUALLY want to travel the world performing like Mike Daisey and Jean-Michele Gregory (although I do, kinda), and maybe I don't ACTUALLY want to be a surfing Life Coach living at Half Moon Bay like my friend Corrine (although I do, sorta) -
Whatever the exterior activities look like, I realize that I DO want, DO long for Creativity. I want to write and perform again. I long for new experiences, for travel. I long for independence, for self-employment freedom, for MORE FUN.
I have a really good gig. I must admit that. I have a job in the arts. I get to be relatively creative. I am relatively well paid.
But I'm not on stage. I'm struggling spiritually. I'm sliding sideways into dangerous habits of escapism, which I know from long experience means I'm ignoring some real need inside. And if I keep longing for escape, sooner or later I'll take a possibly dangerous step in a likely dangerous direction.
So, this morning, at least, I decided to write.
And now, on a hot Saturday, I'll go be a mom. Finn, my 4 year old son, has our whole day planned. We'll go to:
Mommy & Me Ballet class (us in our sweats with a handful of little girls in pink tutus with their moms in nice exercise clothes);
Starbucks (for our snack/treat)
The Model Train Museum in Balboa Park (to which we MUST ride the Park Trolley), then we'll
Walk Over the Bridge to the Cactus Garden, then we'll
Go to the Rose Garden, then we'll
Go to Another Park
And that will be my Saturday.
Not bad. Not bad.