Peel ’em back.
I was sitting to do my meditation this morning, and had to talk to myself the whole way through, again and again. . . which is not really the ideal meditative state, just in case you were unclear.
usually, I listen to a guided meditation which quiets all the chatter, but today my phone is charging in a room far away. its a nice break, but my brain. good lord, my brain, was knocked loose from its chassis.
i did get the chatter of my bits to subside for just a few minutes, and “I” was able to float around in there, telling all my bits how much I am grateful for them. The old ladies by the fence, who protect and guard me from the past? They’re not old really, just bitter and loud about it. They have good hearts though, very good ones. Yeah, I waved. (they can be a little toxic, as they make opening their gate a bit less enticing than anywhere else.)
They come from a lady named Jackie that I worked with when I was a teenager. Big woman with her tissues tucked in her sleeve or into her bra. Tough. Not blown away by my whimsy or my lovely smile, I’ll tell you that much. She was one of the first times I really had to work for someone’s favor, not by being a tool, but by working hard and not acting like a highschool flippant little girl. I’m not sure I ever fully got her approval but then she was a grown woman and I was just the high schooler working at her side. I do think she knew I could work hard though. ANd honestly, the way it mattered so much what she thought, and still does, even though she is long off this earth, it really shakes me how much value I place in what other people think, even though it is clearly about them, and not me. When does it become the kate show, all about me? my decisions my own, my actions for me?
And yes, this is where my brain was, drifting onto people from the past, despite the women at the gate…, onto the ways in which I’ve always spent my life living for others, living on their praises and critiques like butter on bread. . . the layers upon layers of story I’ve got floating around in there! Some of the bits are pretty seriously anchored in, some want to be, and some are blissfully unmoored.
And it made me think some more about the newfound interest I have in being unmoored. Its been a constant in these last few weeks, and I wonder if its just dreamtalk (the no-action-intended dream talking) or no. I feel like no.
What if I get my last child through to graduation from high school and then just take off?
What if I do that? And I don’t even mind it….
what if that is REALLY who i am, not this domesticated mom-type figure who does laundry every day and is constantly sweeping? or am i both, the dedicated and devoted mom, but unmoored… what if that is me?
What if I just take off?
(the kids can have my phone number, i promise.)