Looking Back

On several occasions I have started and restarted writing a book.  I was reading back on some of what I had written and came across this.  I am so very grateful I chose to share my story, to move beyond the fear of having people know "me" and the truth about what I face in life.  I am so grateful for all of the support I have found, the conversations I get to take part in, this journey.  I just thought I would share...


I often wonder what my life looks like from the outside. I envision this snapshot, a picture captured in a moment. In one moment a definition is created and analyzed. Quite like any picture, putting forth a perception that allows people to see what they want. If only they knew what reality lays outside the frame. I hold on to those moments, the ones that convince the world of my strength, my independence. I have been told when I walk into a room people notice me, that I have mastered the arts of communication and people skills. That is exactly what I want people to see. I am proud of that person, the one that radiates happiness and confidence. It is in my nature to want to be that person, and I am, but outside the frame, there is a very different story to be told. Ever since I was young, I have known exactly what I wanted from life, and I was never going to let life offer me anything less. I was going to be in control of my destiny. I was going to be successful, and more importantly, I was going to make a difference. Perception plays games with us. It allows us to become our harshest critics, and worse yet, it allows us to become enablers of our situations. Life is much easier to get through if you can always find a way to point the finger of blame just beyond yourself. And it is not to say that there are many things in life that we cannot control; it is just a question of being able to take what life hands us and make of it what we want.

I have often written out my circumstances, attempting to tell a story that would allow me to make something positive of my situation. I have contemplated hiding behind the anonymity of writing, leaving myself out of this story in order to maintain some semblance of pride. Only in doing so I would be failing myself, in hiding behind my story I would simply be enabling myself to continue hiding. I am tired of hiding. It has taken me a long time to recognize that this is even my story. Because I know once I accept this as my story, then I have to accept the responsibility of telling it. I will no longer be able to hide in that picture, in that moment of silent perfection that I can alter into whatever enables me to hide beyond myself. That moment of blissful ignorance that convinces me I can make you see only what I want you to see. I once believed control was a gift we each possessed, given to us to provide us each with the ability to make the world cooperate with us. I was wrong. Control is a beautiful illusion, a trick played on us, and an ignorance we have created in the spirit of self-preservation. I believe control is simply a theory dangled in front of us, and we grab on with both hands in the spirit of feeling more powerful. I wish I could say I recognized this sooner, but if I had, then I would be writing a different story.