Tolstoy had 13 kids and wrote War and Peace. I have four and complain about taking the time to sit down and write a thank you note. For heaven’s sake, I must figure out what the hell is getting in my way of getting things done that I want to do. What I am called by my spirit to do.
Others have. Evidence is everywhere I look… How was the Golden Gate Bridge built but not for the laborers, designers, thinkers, planners, and DOers. Certainly toddlers, preschoolers and elementary school age children were living with these people. Why aren’t they paralyzed when I am?
It is like giving birth I suppose.
While pregnant each time, I knew that there was some sort of enormous creature growing in my body and it was planning on squeezing out of me through a small opening. The impossibility of this act of birth rings clear in most women I know and strikes fear in our hearts. That is until it is realized that it had been done for 50 billion years.
I relax with the idea that it has been done before. I can once again fill my lungs with air simultaneously rolling with the waves of squeezing contractions one after another. It is at that moment when labor becomes for me… beautiful inspired spiritual work. Work I know I am capable of.
But I work my ass off. Every day. Even in the night while I rest. I prepare. I think. I plan.
I know that if I do my work and prepare my home, my environment, my mind, that I will gain inspiration to be my creative, loving self. I can’t function when there is laundry to do and dishes in the sink or papers on the mantle. These things get in my way of being able to do what I am being called to do. Even the simplest of tasks.
Creative work comes from clarity of vision.
But there are distractions. Evil distractions that pull me away from what I know to be the real Jennifer. Google searches that are meaningless like “how many teeth do alligators have?” Starting a organizational job that doesn’t need to be done like categorizing Legos into an Excel spread sheet. Watching “The Real Housewives of Anywhere Snooty” on TV. Reading self-help books. Going on a “diet”. Failing to get over my own childhood.
My excuses are real. As real as I am here right now typing these words. I have a great respect for these excuses. They are powerful. So powerful in fact that they are able to pull me away from my dream for myself… the dreams that I have been wanting every since the beginning of my memories.
Today is a new day and a different story. I will be powerful enough to endure the distractions.
And so, without further ado, here is my thank you note.
Thank you. Thank you for reading the words that my tired fingers press to metal keys and send to the glorious connected world of faceless friendships. For allowing me to share my tiny bits of knowledge, ideas, musings, and stupidity. For judging me and for not. For honest feedback and for lurking.
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