walking a tightrope

Adventure isn’t limited to the things we plan, like jumping out of airplanes. The act of coping or overcoming requires remarkable spirit and courage. I’ve battled some intense struggles in my past, the worst of which I’ve never shared, and there was a time that I looked back on those years as wasted, as holes in my life I will never fill with anything meaningful, time without my kids that I will never get back and time in my life I have lost forever. But as long as I have life to live, I have time to make up in one way or another for what I lost or took from others. Overcoming those struggles has made me better and given me experience that I have used for some good. So those years weren’t a total waste. If anything at all, they made the life I now live and the time I now spend with my family even sweeter.

. . . . . .

I wrote that hours ago, and rereading it now with fresh eyes I can see how off the mark the idea that struggle can be an adventure seems and that maybe it appears that I don’t know what it’s like to be in the clutches of hell and inches from death (which I do). So how do I put this in perspective?

Pain and fear can result in debilitation or despair and in some cases motivation. But when the crisis is over, the little stuff seems easier and life takes on new meaning. Since leaping from that airplane, there’s not a lot that seems scary to me. Since living through my hell all those years ago, the ups and downs have become more tolerable. Likely this opinion of mine isn’t shared, but I’ve lived through dull and I’d rather have to fight. Because even when the victories are few, they are sweet. With perpetual bliss being exceptionally improbable, the only alternatives are ordinary and difficult, and I don’t want to lead an ordinary life.

. . . . . .

I seem to have gotten away from myself. Ask me how I feel about this post the next time I’m in a crisis and I will probably tell you to disregard it all. But then ask again when the crisis is over.

. . . .

I’m going to a nice far-away beach on Monday. I’ll have lots to say after that trip, and even if I don’t, I’ll make something up. Nah, I won’t have to. If I write something nuts then it’s probably no more than a twisted observation of something everyone else missed.

. . . . . .
. . .. .. .. ……… .

And for anyone curious, because I know some of you have been on the edge of your seats about this as your worlds revolve around me, I passed that certification test (the first time). I reversed the invitation…and if you don’t know or remember this reference to my response to last fall’s failed attempt at the practice test, that’s fine. I’m trying super hard these days to keep my language PG, so I’ll let you guess my sentiment.

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It’s now nearly 3 am, hours since I published this post, and I’m filled with anxiety. Sometimes it takes no more than a light breeze to tip me in one direction or another. The anxiety is mild tonight, but it’s enough to make me confess that over the last hour or so I’ve craved ordinary. Sleep would be nice, too.




Author: uncaged

When Picasso painted a blue Seated Woman in a Chair, he was unconsciously thinking of me.

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