Who Knew........?

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In leap frogging back and forth through last year's journal, I nearly threw it through my window in disgust at how whiny I sounded. Instead I threw it across the room where it landed and stayed behind the couch. Yes, last year had brought more than a reasonable share of worry, heartache, pain and grief into my life; and I recorded all of it in fits and starts of emotional verbiage. For nearly a month I have kept pen off paper, convinced my random thoughts didn't deserve any attempt at posterity. SUCH a depressing feeling for someone such as I. And then fate intervened. I ran out of something to read......... When at loose ends and overloaded with cabin fever, I move furniture around. Not having anything to read certainly leaves me at loose end. Not having the company of a living breathing human being for weeks on end gives me cabin fever. So of course I found my journal again, but this time I read it from front to back without leapfrogging. It was rather a revelation at how my tiny little mind works. The entries between my emotional rantings painted a very different picture to that of the passages written in the throes of anger, pain and just plain whining. I realized that the balance of my nature, the determined eclecticism of my mind, that I had spent over 50 years nurturing, was a very fragile state of being indeed. When it came right down to the basics of the human condition....especially love and death, my sense of self was not as fixed as I blithely believed when not under stress. I have always considered the journey of birth to death a series of phases from which we learn about ourselves and the world around us, and therefore grow in understanding and hopefully, tolerance. Certain facets of our character and personality remain immutable in maturity and determine the quality of our lives if we recognize them as such. All the rest are like leaves in the wind, blowing in one direction or another as circumstances demand. We are none of us so fixed in WHO WE ARE that we cannot change ourselves if we but try. I have always believed that and will continue to believe it. However, what my journal of the past year revealed to me, practically in capital letters, is that underneath the surface of my conception of myself, I am nothing more than an unanchored boat drifting around the ocean of my life allowing occasional riptides to batter me in ways I thought I had more control over. At first this really pissed me off. After all, I'm old enough to be a grandmother! I should know better. I should be more mature in my handling of my life. I should, I should, I should. Well the-hell-with-that! I've spent too much time and effort controlling myself, trying to live up to the social lessons pounded into my head when I was young. That is not to say they had no value, but they certainly stunted the growth of the ME that longed to be recognized as worthwhile simply as I was. Unruly tides and all. Last year was one of the most difficult years of my life. On the surface, I handled it rather well. I lived up to the expectations of others. But in the final analysis, I know that I let myself down. I retreated too far into myself and withdrew too far from the contacts and relationships that shape the joys of my life. The fact that no one else really seemed to notice doesn't excuse me from the responsibilities I abdicated. I am more convinced than ever now, that a person true to themselves, never really reaches that state of being 'grownup' wherein the world makes total sense and the bumps in the road of life are manageable. We can control our reactions to circumstances. What we can't always control is the circumstances themselves that require action and reaction. Optimism is the most valuable tool we have at our disposal as we weave our way through the labyrinth of life. In re-reading my journal I also discovered it was not all tantrums and self disgust. That was just the affect on the surface of the words. The most encouraging and consistent thing I found while reading my journal was the thread of optimism that wove it's subtle way through every entry. And seeing that, feeling it,and reflecting on it now, has centered me and made me understand that it is that very thing, that optimism, that is truly the anchor of my life. I am not as adrift as I first perceived. My journal is back on my private bookshelf in my office where it belongs. It will never again end up ignored behind the couch. If you don't keep a journal, you are missing so much of yourself and your journey through life. I suppose for some, the lot is kind of journal. Is it for you? Have you learned anything about yourself from it? Have you even tried............