How many blog posts start out with “I’m suffering from a severe case of writer’s block.” It’s like the modern day equivalent of a zinesters “Sorry this issue is late.” But it’s true in my case. I’ve been in denial that my lack of online presence has anything to do with internal factors, instead blaming it on the externals of Being Busy and Having Other Obligations.

If I’m honest, I’m not too busy. Creativity is a priority for me, so taking time to write should be part of that busy-ness. Yet, I find myself avoiding writing, both publicly and privately, even though I’m in serious need of an outlet.

Things here at the house are good, in spite of the overarching stress of an impending, potentially disruptive event. Both children are making progress towards their individual goals, and I’m doing my best to balance the needs of all of our family members with the resources available to each individual family member. I have plans in my head of perhaps traveling to New Orleans in December or January to visit a friend and get away from all of this…stuff.

In other words, we’re surviving. Sometimes thriving, sometimes not. Surviving You, Always…

Success, and Failure…

I am working on trusting myself. Assessing the damage. I’d like to assume I am bulletproof, but I am not. The other day, I surprised myself by bursting into tears, an act which used to occur far more frequently. Is it that I feel less, or that I’m better at suppressing? Has honesty become a commodity too precious for me to spare?

There’s a part of me that wants to hide…become anonymous. But there’s another part of me that says I am anonymous. If I don’t actively seek to share, no one will know I said it, and that’s fine. Those who seek me out will get what they seek.

In general, everything is fine. I’ve been playing the Sims a lot lately, attempting to exercise/exorcise my need to control by controlling my little e-families. I turned to Monk one day and said “My SIM doesn’t complain about his schoolwork.” Yes, I realize it’s ridiculous, but you do what you can. This world is a very strange place to live. This time is a very strange increment.

The writing prompt from WordPress is to write a letter to yourself at 14. I feel like I’m trying to do that in raising my children the way I am attempting to raise them. My letter would say this:

Dear L (or M…or C)…

Stop working so hard to be perfect.

None of the things you think matter matters nearly as much as you thought. And the things you think do not matter? Turns out those don’t really matter much, either.

Listen to the tao. Don’t just hear…absorb.

Be open to experiences, but maintain your distance from them. Remain critical, in a hopeful way. Trust your instincts, but please learn to differentiate instinct from fear.

Listen to punk rock.

Listen to folk rock.

Listen to the anarchists.

Read zines. Learn about community. Don’t forget, but if you do forget – you will be reminded, so don’t worry.

Don’t worry.

Live freely.

Love openly. Err on the side of kindness. It really fucking hurts to trust. I know. But trust anyway. Stay in touch with loved ones. Pay attention. STOP WORRYING. It really is true that within the margin of error and certain parameters, everything really does turn out ok. But don’t forget those who dwell outside of those parameters for whom things do not turn out ok. When taking risks, consider them, as well as yourself. Don’t confuse luck for skill. Don’t mistake circumstance for predestiny. Give more credit than you accept. Worry is negative goal setting. DON’T GET INVOLVED IN RELATIONSHIPS UNTIL YOU UNDERSTAND FULLY WHAT YOU ARE GETTING YOURSELF INTO. It’s not selfish to conserve your own energy, provided you don’t make promises you can’t keep while preserving that energy. Be nice to your mama.

❤ Really think about what means the most to you & don’t let anyone interrupt or destroy those things.

And be thankful for what you’ve got…