I wanted to be Thoreau when I grew up. I thought living in the woods, off the land writing about life and nature and humans sounded like a really satisfying life; a life that I could be good at. What I wasn’t so fond of was the idea that in order to life a whole-hearted and peace-centered life I needed to have experience behind me. Boo.
Experience would take courage and stepping out and that was not something I was interested in doing. Ever. I wanted to hide and write and drink tea with a cat on my lap. Why couldn’t I just do this?! Please? Pretty please. I think I knew deep down that I needed experience before processing and writing. I needed to do it before writing it.
Life has a way of forcing one into experience on it’s own. I really did not need to go and seek it. I just needed to participate. Along came college and friends and work and a man and a home and children and Blue Egg Brown Nest. That was a lot of living. I almost didn’t realize how much living I had done because I was so busy doing it. I didn’t realize until the writing came quickly and easily. I had things to write about! I had a lot to say. I wanted to talk about all of it.
I look at living a bit differently now. It is happening all around me, in spite of me. I don’t feel as scared about it all as I was when I was tiny, small and young. I feel bigger and braver and am willing to participate.
Sometimes I think I am still waiting to move to the woods to become whole and purposeful. Maybe some day I will; we will. And if this happens I will have so much to reflect on. And if this does not happen, I will write here, sitting near the bubble of the coffee maker and the little boy with freckles tapping me on the shoulder saying mom.