give me back my youth

Today, I miss being a kid for about a million reasons. I miss being naïve and worry-free. Frankly, more than anything, I miss the days where the word introspection had little to no meaning.

I miss being frustrated with people about things that I made up in my mind rather than being legitimately frustrated. Does that even make sense? It did in my head. I suppose I mean that often as children, we lose our cool for illegitimate reasons since we lack as sense of intuition and observation in interpersonal relationships, and the older we get we (hopefully) only lose our cool most often for a justified cause. I’ll stop – this still doesn’t seem to work.

If I were 5 again I’d probably throw a tantrum of sorts right about now. I guess the adult thing would be to cry, or have a beer, or just go to sleep and hope these lovely nostalgic dreams would be gone when the alarm clock goes off.

I feel overwhelmed; in I’d say about every area of life. That’s all. And that feeling of frustration feels so much like it did when I was little. It often drew me away from crowds into a small corner of my room in my favorite painted wicker rocking chair. I was safe there. It was quiet.

My white MacBook can be my new wicker rocking char. I’m safe here, and it’s quiet.

newness and anticipation

Newness:

Happy New Year, blog world. I've slacked on my contributions in 2010 and since I don't believe in resolutions, I'll just say that I'm going to try harder this year to post on a more regular basis. No promises because I'd rather not break them.

Anticipation:

I'm anticipating change this year, and not just in a potential hairstyle change, but in a larger and much more profound sort of way. I'm hoping all that is ahead will in turn change me, and make me better. I want to be better. Some of this potential change will require me to act a a catalyst and others, I am required only to show up. Considering the many unknowns, I'm still looking forward to it.

Best,

Whitney and the non-verbal part of my mind that finds itself on this virtual notebook

gamble. it's an odd sounding word.

I don’t really care what people say about change, or that no one really does. I am my own proof and maybe I can be their exception.

If my life were a poker game I wouldn’t have any chips in front of me. I’m all in. I’m certainly no professional but it seems that anyone’s heart would pound after making that kind of a decision. There is a lot at stake, and there’s a lot to lose.

Welcome to my seat at the table. I’ve sat here a good long while, and back when I was the rule and not the exception I was quite the hoarder of my chips. 75% of the hands dealt me I’d fold without placing a bet. There never seemed to be a compelling reason to ‘go for it’. My cards were never great and bluffing was never (still isn’t) my game.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that after holding on to all that I had to give, putting it all out there to lose is less than relieving. And even while I’ve had a few really great hands, 3 come to mind, it still comes with a risk.

Some mornings I wake up and would like to pull the covers over my head and try again another day. I suppose it all stems from a fear of being inadequate (ie: I’m not holding a Royal Flush). I feel like one day everyone will find out that I’m not all I’m cracked up to be. I cry, I mess up, I can’t answer all the questions, and for all of my communication/relational advice I offer, I am in need of so much more myself.

I’m a professional bearer of burdens – have I mentioned that before? I never used to put myself into the things the way I will now. I found worthiness, and it demanded my change.
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When it comes down to it, I don’t want to take back my chips, I want them where they are. While the risk is great, and the risk is everything – so too is the potential reward.

In the mean time, my only goal is to learn how to balance the burden of great risk with the hope of greater rewards. Rocket science? Sometimes it feels that way. Someone give me a formula and I’ll see what I can do.