I remember writing frantic Facebook posts about the big things happening or potentially happening, hoping that by putting words to these dreams of bigger, greater things they might somehow become more real than layers of code splayed across my cell phone screen.
Inevitably those flights of fancy and delusions of grandeur never materialized out of the thin air I was banking upon because words need work to make magic happen, and it’s not really magic in the first place; just cause and effect. And I pity the friends who stood by and watched me almost get my act together, only to exit stage right at the first sign of resistance.
I was a do-nothing bitch, speaking possibilities and opportunities into the ether, assuming that by simply saying those things out loud I might make them real, but that’s not how this works. That’s now how any of this works.
And then my mom died.
And when she died she left behind words and words and words of things she wanted and things she dreamed that she never put the work into achieving for reasons I understand so intimately because they are so often my own excuses as well. Months and months and years and years of telling myself it was always all out of my control.
But one morning I woke up in the cold sweat of grief, moistened by my own self loathing and despair and having never finished anything I set my mind to. The exhaustive practice of blaming everyone else for my own shortcomings left me breathless and uninspired. Being the victim of every minute transgression is a drug that I’d long been addicted to, but like the street quality opiodes that plague small towns across America, it was cut with things that rotted me from the inside out.
My spirit was dying and my mother was dead and I was finally so tired of blaming her for my own failures and flaws.
So, I began to work.
A year ago I threw my heart back into the things that mattered most, stripped away the pretense, pulled back the curtains, and revealed the tiny person living inside of me who wanted everyone to believe she had it all together and she was so, so big.
And alas, I don’t.
I don’t have it all together.
But, for the first time in my life I do have the will to work though the nothing, without incessantly promising myself or anyone else that there are great things coming down the line because the reality is I don’t know what’s coming. But, if I do the work anyways…it doesn’t matter.
The grass will grow, the flowers will bloom, the bees will awaken from hibernation, and the skies will open up and allow sweet sunlight to shine through again.
So, I do the work. Do the work.
And what will be…will be.