Sometimes I get too caught up in my inner space, intent on solving it like a crime scene. I become an investigator, trying to piece together the remnants and fragments of past hurts, trying to find clues that have lead me here. I become a medical examiner, deconstructing the body I carry around, disconnected to who I was and who I am. I become a prosecutor, condemning myself for all my faults and many mistakes. I become a forensic specialist, taking the jack hammer to the hard shell that encases my heart to find what hurt it so.
There is much to investigate, but I'm not a crime scene. I'm a person. Speckled, imperfect and alive. I don't have all the answers, but I am responsible for the life I am leading right now. I can let it slip by while I swim in a murky pool of whys and wherefore. Or. I can get on it.
So that is what I choose to do. Get on with my life. I can't promise myself that every day will be as perfect as today with the sun streaming in through the windows, the smell of Murphy's oil rising from my freshly washed floor, and the smell of mowed grass wafting in from outside; but I can promise myself that today is a new day. A fresh start. A slate of possibilities.
Over the next few weeks I will be chronicling the changes I will be making, and the steps I will be taking in pursuit of a more authentic life. A more productive one. I need to tackle my procrastination and see at least one vision to its fruition. So many started projects have been left by the wayside while I moan about the way things suck in my life. Moaning doesn't get anything accomplished. Action does.
I have been considering deleting all my posts on this blog and starting fresh here too, but that would be as inauthentic as buying a rug to cover the scratched floor. There's no reason to delete anything. This blog chronicles my ups and downs, my joys and losses and it is part of me. Its the forensic evidence of who I am. Speckled, imperfect and real.
