Healing

I cut my thumb last night while I was volunteering. It's not a severe injury, but because of the direction of the cut, each time I try to use my thumb the throbbing seems to go straight through me.

Apparently, I don't deal well with even the smallest amount of pain. The cut is already beginning to heal. In a week or two, I won't even feel it anymore.

I've been thinking this morning about other kinds of healing. Looking back on those severe events that seemed to suck the light and possibilities out of the future, now I hardly feel them. They have healed. Or, rather, I have healed. The shattered pieces of me have come back together into a whole. I didn't realize that it was possible to heal so completely.

Drawing a comparison between myself and those we serve, I am grateful for the time and safety I had to drawn up into myself and lick my wounds. Without a safety net of friends and family and the good luck of an education and stubborn determination, my life could have taken a different turn. It's possible that I might not have made it.

Nourishing

I am coming to understand the true meanings of being malnourished. While it is most directly a physical aliment, I think it has mental and emotional ramifications that go much deeper.

Eating healthier, exercising my body and mind I feel nourished and strong. I feel balanced and clear headed; productive and content.

All of this renews my frustration with the food we feed people who are homeless. It's shocking to see such malnourishment in a land of plenty.

Regretting

I spent a lot of time thinking about regret this weekend.

I am reading a book that will be published next month. The author was an up and coming fresh voice in the early 60's. He won awards and was celebrated for his talent. Than, life took over. He spent the next 45 years working in office equipment and raising a family.

Now, 47 years after his first book was published, he has published his second...and it's terrible. Somewhere along the way he lost that voice that made him unique and fresh. His latest manuscript is ripe with regret. Even his protagonist echos his pleas for a "do-over".

I feel bad for the guy. But, I will be writing a negative review.

I can't help but to apply this lesson to myself. As I re-read my writing over the last 10 years, I see a subtle shift. Maybe it's a natural progression from girl to woman, from student to adult. But, I don't want to let the next 40 years of my life slip by without honing my talent. I don't want to let my voice disappear. More than anything else, I don't want to regret the choices I make.

Writing

I am writing again. Not just this little daily indulgence in self-importance. I have gone back to the 2004 project. Before today, I had not even read it through since 2006. There is a lot in it that I like.

I particularly like the characters. I didn't realize that I missed them until I pulled out the manuscript and started reading. It felt a lot like revisiting old friends that I hadn't expected to see again. I remember when I began the project thinking that I wanted the characters to have warmth and depth and, of course, many flaws. I still have more work to do to bring out some of the soft underbelly in Mitch, the journalist, but he's coming along.

One of my characters dies pretty early in the project. I remember the day I killed him. Though his death was relatively peaceful, letting him die was brutal. His death is necessary to the plot. But, it still really affects me. This morning, reading the chapters before his death makes me rethink letting him die. If only there was another way to move the plot along.

I'm looking for an editor. I need someone to help me shape my thoughts and clarify some themes. I also just need someone to encourage me to turn out more pages. Writing has always been such a solitary pursuit for me. The idea of opening up this project to criticism is unsettling, though I know it's necessary.

I'm a believer in timing and, to some extent, fate. I'm not going to seek out an editor. When the time comes, I know one will present itself.

Learning

I feel like there are lessons we are supposed to learn along the way in life. Apparently, one of these lessons I have yet to master, because I keep making the same mistake. Over and over again.

Maybe the lesson this time is to recognize the pattern and be consciously aware of it. I guess that is a step in the right direction.

If every mistake teaches us something, than the challenge for me is to not ignore that lesson.

It's frustrating because I feel like I have made a lot of progress. I am in a completely different place from this time last year. I am a better person. I'm stronger. I wake up each morning with purpose. Last year I didn't.

So why do I fall into the same trap. More accurately, why do I seek out the same trap.

Obviously, I still have a lot of learning to do.

Worrying

I'm worried about a friend. It started small. A red flag here or there. But, I'm growing increasing concerned about him. I've been losing sleep over it.

It's a precarious position because it is a new friendship. I care about this guy and I am extremely concerned for his future.

Having said that, where does my responsibility begin and end regarding his personal safety and happiness.

Working at a homeless shelter, I have learned a lot about drug use. It is my belief that a large majority of the people who end up in our shelter have a drug abuse issue. By majority I mean somewhere in the neighborhood of 90%. Of course that's an oversimplification and doesn't take into account the many other issues they face. But, drug use and abuse seems to be the glue that connects them.

So when my friend begins to exhibit warning signs of drug abuse, I take it pretty seriously. I just don't want to over-react or wreck the friendship with him by discussing the issue.

So, for now, I just sit here worrying about him.

Celebrating

Everyone is celebrating. Our event was a huge success. The best we've had in the six year history of the event. The credit should really go to our consultants who worked their fingers to the bone on our behalf.

I'm thrilled that everything went as smoothly as it did.

Now on to the next one. Event #2 is less than 2 months away.

Hiding

I've been thinking about the ways that I hide. I am by nature reclusive. But, it seems recently, I have been hiding in plain sight. Many nights that means blending into the background of a coffee shop with a book. Existing among many other people, but separating myself from them. Hiding in the world of the book.

The link that I've made recently in my mind is between that and hiding from the world behind a wall of weight and self-esteem issues. Working through many of those issues and watching the weight melt away, it occurs to me that I habitually separate and isolate myself. The twisted part is that I convince myself that I am being kind or considerate by doing so. In my mind, it seems unfathomable that someone might want to spend time with me. So, I continue to hide. Like now, in the early morning hours of a beautiful Saturday, my dark and quiet office feels quite comfortable.

Daydreaming

The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. The inmates outside of my office window are mowing the grass, which seems to have grown a foot in the last week. It is the kind of day made for daydreaming.

Unfortunately, there is much work to be done. So the daydreaming has to be confined to the lunch hour.

When I was a kid, it was days like today that I remember staring out the window at school and dreaming about the future. Like most boy crazy girls, those dreams usually revolved around a special boy.

I guess that little girl never really grew up. Today I am still staring out my window, daydreaming about a special boy. I guess some things are never going to change.

Sipping

I've been sipping coffee for years. I consider it a hobby, but also recognize it as an addiction. Recently, I've been sipping coffee at a great little coffee shop in my new neighborhood. It now occupies the shell of the recently closed First Edition Bookstore. The place has a great vibe. I attribute it to the residue of brilliance that I think must be left behind from all those years of housing such works of art.

I feel like myself while I'm sipping at the Coffee House. It's rare to find a place like that. With each small latte I am reminded to enjoy and sip slowly.

Enjoying

I don't use the word perfect often. But, what a perfect day.

Coffee with Mom at my favorite coffee house this morning. A trip to the newly re-opened farmers market, where I found some great shiitakes. Off to the gym to treadmill for 40 minutes. A quick shower and change and off to the Food Bank to VAP.

A quick stop by work to return a few e-mails, a quick stop at the grocery store, and maybe the liquor store.

Then an afternoon of reading on my patio in the sun, listen to a baseball game across the street.

Perfect.

I has occurred to me recently to really enjoy these days. Not just the perfect ones like today, but this time period in my life. I realize, at least in fleeting moments, that these are the days I will look back on fondly someday. The days when I was single and didn't have kids. The days I could spend any way I wanted to. The days when there wasn't someone at home waiting for me. I know I'll look back someday and miss days like today.

Thinking

I've been thinking a lot lately. Which, I guess, is the source of inspiration for this incarnation of a blog. I'm not a blogger. At least, to this point in my life, I haven't been a blogger.

But, I have been thinking about a lot of things and haven't had the venue to voice opinions. So, I have begun this humble pursuit to voice some concerns, comments and observations.

I do so assuming that it will not have a reader. If these words find themselves being read, it is of no effort of mine.

However, if an audience stumbles upon my soliloquy, I will introduce myself be saying I am in my thirties...early thirties, that is. I am single and I work at a homeless shelter.

Beyond that, the specifics don't really matter. For those are the highlights of who I am, though painted with a rather broad brush.