… but I would have to wait to be published until all the principles are dead.
Who am I? Who have I been for the past 40-odd years? (And they really have been “odd” years…)
It seems I am still tossed by winds of change and indecision. I sell my soul for the thrill of a moment. As long as I think I can keep it hidden, I indulge all manner of vices. What kind of a woman does this? What kind of a mother? What kind of a wife?
I have revealed myself (unintentionally, of course) to my kids as altogether human, and to a large degree, a hypocrite. I never thought I would be hypocritical. If there were ONE thing I could say about myself, is that I was authentic.
Now I find myself wearying of the tasks
that come along with such an average life
being an average wife.
As the minutes become hours, days become years (tick-tock tick-tock)
I find myself desperate to FEEL again, to be alive, to be loved, to be wanted. The future stretches ahead of me, certainly with it’s seasons and joys, as the kids are up and out of the nest and they find their own lives and loves and then later the season of grand-parenthood, retirement, all spent with my best friend, my husband, my companion … but in my heart and soul, I am still young, vibrant, and the familiarity of his love is as comfortable as a warm quilt. When I long for the unfamiliar, forbidden, exciting unknown… The igniting of a spark from a mere touch. A new pair of lips to kiss.
The future spreads out ahead of me, and I see only deterioration.
Is this what mid-life crises are? Is what I’m going through as common, as pedestrian, as banal as a simple mid-life crisis?
I want to be better than this. I want to choose honor. I need to respect myself. But what the hell do I stand for, at the end of the day? To impress someone who doesn’t even know me, not really, I am willing to give over my hard-won convictions?
Or was it merely a fever.
From the beginning, my life could have been a sitcom, but with a dark and sinister twist. Born into a blended family (Brady Bunch meets The Lucy Show), the “favorite” baby … but then sexually abused before age 10. Sexually mature in ways I cannot (in retrospect) fathom, as I recall the ages at which I did x y and z… And seeing my dear daughter come through those same ages with appropriate innocence and purity, thank God.
The teen years wasted since school came easy for me, I did not value the opportunity to learn, explore, find out new things.
College, another season of my life where, again, in retrospect, I look back and think — WHAT was I thinking? Not that I wouldn’t undo the wild experiences of my youth — or possibly even do more — because I don’t really regret the things I tried and did… I regret the things I SAID without engaging my brain first. I was NOT observant. I did NOT take time to learn about people. I was very capricious how I spent my time and affections. I learned about my world, about politics and history and literature. But i did NOT shut my mouth and open my eyes.
Marriage: Capriciously entered into, but luckily so very blessed with a good, decent man. he wouldn’t hurt me for the world. And yet… and yet… Is it a character flaw in me that I need and want passion, excitement and thrill? Is is too much to ask of any multi-decade relationship?
I don’t really expect answers. I just want to send this out into the void of the blogosphere. Here where I am virtually invisible and very much anonymous.