Growing Old, But Never Growing Up

Sometimes I feel as if I’ve been sitting at the ‘starting line’ my whole life, and have never heard the word ‘go’. Even though it should’ve been obvious, and even though someone might’ve said it, I…somehow, just never heard the signal to get off and running when it comes to my life, goals…dreams. In my mind, it recently occurred to me—struck me quite clearly, actually—that perhaps I’ve never been able to move on past my greatest childhood tragedy: the death of my dad. I’m still stuck at nine years-old, and very much afraid to face the world without my ‘Tribal Leader’.

Waiting…waiting, I have let so many years pass me by; yet I still sit…day after day, waiting for the words ‘go…make a name for yourself in this vast world. Sing your little heart out! Show them what you’re made of…out there.  Never stop trying’. Stranded within my own childhood innocents, the shock of my father’s sudden passing had left me spellbound, dumbfounded my entire life. Until…! Until it finally occurred to me, only a handful of days ago, that I am growing old and my time is passing.

Already…my children–born during my young-adulthood days–are grown, and I am a Grand-Mommy. My late-in-life Baby is already five, I’m on marriage number two.  And…still, I have remained a child…waiting on my Daddy’s truck to pull up in the driveway, coming home from work.  –Or for him to come in and tuck me in at night…and tell me, “It’s okay to let go and become what you were put on this earth to be. Show me what you can do. I believe in you.” Perhaps, if I’m lucky, I might hear Dad say those words in a dream someday.

For the time, I feel I am healing a little at a time just in writing this; admitting, realizing just how very traumatized I was when our world stood still.  –The day my Dad stopped breathing the air of this world. He was our strength, the head of our family, the one everyone came to see and the reason our house was always thriving with good company. My dad struggled with his own demons, like alcohol, and horrible nightmares of the days he was a Marine in World War II. I still remember hearing him scream like a scared little boy, dreaming of the terrible things he had seen in the war. He was so young then, back in those horrible days of WWII. Perhaps my dad never heard the word ‘go’ either; though…still, he found himself running. –Running into a life of adulthood, a wife and six kids to-come before he left us all. Like me, I believe my dad must’ve grown old before he grew up.

I feel this must happen to a lot of lost, traumatized souls out there. We wait for the word ‘go’. Somehow, we sit still waiting to grow up…just as life is passing us by. I have come to the brutal realization that I have been standing on the platform entire life, and never boarded the train. Time after time, I have let opportunity pass me by, without ever really trying. I know, deep down, I haven’t even participated when it comes to working towards my dreams and goals. My forever young mind, perhaps, is still stranded back in 1977…waiting for Daddy to come home.

Finally facing up to, admitting, this reality, I feel is just the first step in pulling myself up into the here and now of my life. I must be my own ‘signal’ to begin—I must say to myself, ‘Go…! It is time to be an adult, even though you’d like to stay safely locked away in childhood; in the days before he left you.’ I pray there is still time to find the ‘me’…I was always meant to be.

Going Inland

Some thoughts on Sailing, and being a woman at the Helm

Writing & Wanderlust

So…we went inland for the Easter holiday, to see family in La Porte.  Funny how we’ve blended into the weave of fellow IBC’s (Islanders by Choice) here on our Gulf Coastal Island home.  Even still, we long for the water, the rocking back and forth of our sailboat, the clinking of the masts in the wind.  We visited with a local marina the day after Easter, after we got back to the island from a second trip to La Porte in two days because Nico left his phone at his Mom’s the day before.  I have to admit, that day was a good one: lunching with Nico’s dad (the baby’s only living Grandpa), the lolly-gag-of-a-drive back to the island, the visit to the marina…and the smell of the water…down along the slips.

My wanderlust is really getting to me these days, and I miss our sailboat more and more.  If…

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Finding Our True North

It seems like finding our ‘true north’ is near-impossible at times.  The harder we try to find our way…to chart another course,  the more we tend to get stuck in the mud of the monotonous…everyday life. I know there are many others out there in the world, like us, who long for la Sprezzatura; as the Italians refer to that certain ease of life and making difficult matters seem easy.

As I observe the norm of the majority, I see that…like us, most folks in America and abroad tend to box themselves into a way of life that is rather impossible at times to maintain. Like trying to escape quicksand, the more they make the more they spend. I ask myself: why? It really makes no sense at all, yet most of us just keep on keeping on, like robots programmed to do something over and over and over again. Where’s the fun? Where’s the adventure? Where’s the…life, in that? Still…I see no reason to work one’s life away (the only one we get) for stuff and material possessions one might never get the time to enjoy. It’s the sad truth–the American way! For us, me and my family, it’s the wrong way.

Yesterday, my husband got up…had a bite to eat–a taco I had just made–and he went sailing. It was a beautiful morning to be on the water, moving along under power of the invisible. To me, there is nothing more exuberating than when the wind is coaxing us along on its wings, when we are being carried on the water by the mysterious force that has never been seen with the naked eye. Sailing is beautiful in-and-of itself; so peaceful, so powerful, so intoxicating. To me…sailing is really living!

Looking back through history, sailboats were a means to another seashore, the mode of transportation, the only mode of transport. The captain would chart his course, hoist the sails, and let the wind take him to where he needed to land. It wasn’t a sport, it was a way of life. I feel that modern way of life has lost its luster to much extent. The passion is gone, that certain ease of life is missing, we’ve yet to find that certain Kefi, the Greeks know so well. Like sailors of long-past-days, we have-yet to find our True North.

It’s really not as hard as it seems; all we must do is sit…think…feel. You see…? If you sit and allow your mind to wander, relax and see the things you love to do–a past place visited, a place you’ve been, something you’ve done or experienced–you’ll know you’ve found that one thing, or your true self when it all lines up. First the thought comes to mind, then your heart starts to race…you feel a rush of excitement, the adrenaline starts to pump, and you feel more alive…even younger! THAT is the thing for you; your true North.

When you find it…never let it go. For if,or when, you do…you will cease to live in a sense. Your world will turn several shades of gray; it will lack color. But then, if you allow yourself, you’ll let your thoughts find your ‘happy place’, and you’ll chart your course…no matter the obstacles in your path. You will look back on your former life, the robotic…monotonous…for-naught lifestyle you’d been accustomed to, and you’ll feel a sense of relief that you did it; you stepped out of the norm and you found your Kefi. And…you’ll finally feel free!

*This life we’re in, it ain’t worth living. The life we love is worth fighting for* — The Big Seashore by Gypsy Vin Rose (http://www.gypsyvinrose.com)

LIVING ON GOLDEN POND

Each day, I try to wake up with a brand-new perspective on life–I love to see the sunrise on golden pond. And I must admit, there are many days I awake to find myself not seeing the brighter side of things; like yesterday…when I had allowed myself to become downtrodden from events in the past
which no longer matter in the future. I tell myself, ‘I cannot change what has already come-to-pass’, but I can alter how I cope with such adversities of life.
I know it sounds rather cliche’, but Each Day really is a New Beginning.

Many people wait for the New Year to bring change to their selves or surroundings, but I choose to make it happen on a daily basis. I have to…because I am the only one who has to live in my skin.
So…if I don’t like something about ‘me’, I chisel away at the unacceptable part of myself and start working on molding the new & improved ‘me’ into shape. Sounds a bit funny I guess, but if you sit and think about these words I write…you will see that we could all use a bit of molding, chiselling, reshaping from time to time.

I find, following close examination, that sometimes I scrutinize myself and everyone around me way too much. I have no control over what others do, but how I respond to things is all on me. I realize I am too sensitive; as my mother always told me. I need to develop a ‘thicker skin’, so to speak. We all do, I guess…every now and again.

In the end…all we are really left with is the very thing we came into this world with–ourselves and the ones who love us most…if we’re lucky.

Which brings me back to what really matters to me in my immediate life; I see my children…their beautiful faces–two of whom I miss so much my heart feels like it is bleeding. I see my husband–the man who wakes up daily to trudge off to a job he hates more and more each day…for pay he sometimes doesn’t even get on time. I hear our daughter say “Bye Daddy”, every time he opens the door.

It makes me sad. Day after day, my time is spent without him; except for weekends; which fly-by in a glance. Day after day, I miss the rhythm of our old Volkswagen Camper Van humming down the highways and biways, looking forward to the next town…the next new discovery or adventure. I miss the sunrise over a new horizon, though I love the one I see on cloudless days. I miss the feel of tiny grains of sand, sifting softly between my toes; the big seashore is calling.

I miss my Mom…I miss my Dad; though they have both been gone too long. Losing your ‘Life’s Blood’, the one’s who gave you life, leaves you feeling like you have no home, like you belong to no one anymore, like you are only half-alive. God forbid, if-ever anyone has ever lost a child; well…I can’t imagine that. I only know that such a loss…to me, would leave me barely alive at all.

I know I ramble on a bit, but that’s just how my thoughts have always worked. I write and write and write…hoping I’ll find the feelings I bury so deep within myself. I’ve never really learned to cope with some of my deepest pains. Perhaps…I never really have grown up after all.

*Never Lose Your Inner-Child*

Struggling To Live Below Our Means

I’ve often heard sorted-stories of people working endless hours, even double shifts or weekends, to live above their means and ‘keep up with the Jones’.  But…rarely do I hear of someone struggling to live below their means.

This in a nutshell, is exactly what my husband and I have been trying to do for several years now.  This is what seems impossible to do in this day and age.  Still, we keep searching for ways to keep dwindling down the cost of living so we can actually sock money away for a real emergency or for a way of life actually worth living.

To us, ‘living’ isn’t getting up day after day to go to the same place…to do the same thing…to be met with the same outcome week after week, month after month, year after year.  This is the norm for the majority of societal folks, but it just isn’t ‘for’ a small percentage of us who desperately want quality over quantity, used but paid for over new and in-debt to pay for, free time rather than overtime, or living over ‘never enough stuff’ and bragging rights. We’d much rather own our old and used assets than be paying for something until we’re too old to enjoy that asset or perhaps never make it to the ‘pay off’ date.

It is a grim reality, but even-still…it’s a fact-of-life for so many hard working folks who go through life like robots and never even realize it.  Is this the way it was supposed to be back when this country became a country?  I wonder what our forefathers had in mind for our nation…for our way of life.  I wonder what they thought living really was all about.

I’m not talking about what the history books tell about our nation’s history, but rather what the people of long-ago felt from day to day, what they dreamed, what they wanted for their futures or that of their children.  I wonder about so many things; too many things for one woman’s mind to bear at times.  I am the victim, I guess, of an over-active imagination or restless mind and spirit.

So…with that ‘bit of a rant’ behind me, I am still in pursuit of a different…less complicated, lower cost-of-living, way of life.  I know…somewhere out there, we (me and my family) will find a place where we can live below our means and actually be allowed to do so in peace and with little or less judgment from those folks zooming along in their big trucks or fancy cars they struggle to pay for, or those who live in big, fine houses they’ll be paying off until they have one foot in the grave.  I’ll take living with less and actually owning my rickety old stuff, and being happy to know it’s really mine, over grinding my nose to look good to people who don’t really know me at all. Which, in turn, means they’re opinions aren’t worth a hill-of-beans.

The simple life might seem rather elusive where we are standing right now, but I feel sure that it’s just over the next horizon.  It’s so close…I can feel it!  To me, that’s something worth looking forward to and worth every ounce of sacrifice I can muster.

When you’re attempting to live the good life—less really is more.

*Simplify Your Life—Free Your Soul*

.V..

Living in St. Croix — Dream Life

Last night…me and Baby were dancing in the streets of St. Croix. Wearing colorful pastels, we were in the middle of a Fashion Parade. It was so lively…so bright…we were so happy.

I didn’t see Nico, but I somehow sensed that he was out in the Boat Parade. My Dad was there…he was the King; a well-known, well respected man. He was in pastel colors, wearing a Fedora hat; standing on a boat…waving in the parade. We were staying in a bright and sunny villa in the middle of town. Me and Baby were smiling and laughing…dancing and twirling.

I was wearing a pink knit sundress…I somehow knew I’d designed myself; though it was sold by Victoria’s Secret. I looked so vibrant…glowing. Baby was older, but not much. We opened our door to see beautiful Victoria’s Secret models holding hands, trailing each other in a Conga line; dancing down the stone streets.

One of the tall blondes turned to me and waved, smiling as she called out, “I’ll call you as soon as we’re done here! I have your number.”
I replied, “Ok! Talk to you later.” And me and Baby danced our way back into the villa. It was wonderful!

Then…I woke up!

*We’re never too old to Dream*