Have You Seen My Missing Life?

 

 

It just goes to show you, it’s always something. I’ve never been one to ascribe to this line of thinking, but the tragedies falling like so many dominoes around me for the past six years have flipped a switch within me, turning me into the Roseanne Roseannadanna of the twenty-first century. Mimicking the attitude of the brash, explosive character played by the lovely and talented late Gilda Radner was certainly not something to which I aspired. For most of my life, I have considered myself an unapologetic optimist, a glass-half full kind of gal with a penchant for looking for the proverbial silver lining in every cloud.

I tell you, I thought I was gonna die! Another Roseanne Roseannadanna gem, this phrase has taken on a life of its own for me. Oh, joy! As if I always wanted to be a bitchy, 53-year-old woman with a healthy sense of impending doom. In my previous life - before I became an unrepentant pessimist – friends would have described me as happy, fun-loving, friendly, and (not to be forgotten) optimistic. My smile was perennially plastered on my face. Where the hell has that woman gone?

What are you trying to do, make me sick? I remember when I turned fifty, I was seeing a therapist (and in this case, I use that term very loosely, a more fitting title would be emotional terrorist) who glibly informed me that very often, when women turn fifty, they redefine their lives and emerge as a stronger version of themselves. This she told me as I sat in her office a blubbering, shuddering mass of exploding emotions. A year later, after extensive torturous mining of my shattered emotions, I made the decision to leave her office and never return; resolving instead to find my own way through the minefield that had become my life.

So, how did that work out for me, you may ask. Not so great. Not really great at all. Seems my therapeutic skills leave much to be desired. Hence, the pessimism, bitchiness, doom and gloom attitude, etc, etc.

Having grown weary of being the reincarnation of the brash, road-weary, explosive Ms. Roseannadanna, I jumped back into the pool and found another therapist. She is the polar opposite of my former emotional terrorist therapist. I’m actually starting to believe that the sun may very well rise again and someday I may start looking for those silver linings again.

Maybe I’ll even find my sense of humor again. What a bonus that would be!

The Only Way Out

 

_{photo by menchaca17}

LIFE IS ALWAYS MORE TROUBLE THAN YOU THOUGHT IT WOULD BE...

As we near the end of yet another year, so arrives the inevitable impulse to engage in reflection. We grade each passing year – assigning words like good, worst, best - as if the preceding twelve months have somehow earned a rating, a pass or fail on some celestial report card. We hand out wishes for a happy new year like so much confetti at a parade. We stack last year alongside previous years and compare, judge, rate; we reflect. We make lists chronicling the year: the best of, the worst of, my favorite, my least favorite. Again – reflection, grading, rating.

When we finish dissecting the year past, we start on the year to come. Now our reflection turns to speculation. We wonder at what the New Year holds, we set goals, strike bargains with ourselves, hope, wish, and dream. More confetti wishes sprinkle our conversations with each other. It’s not that our words aren’t sincere, for indeed they are. We certainly hope for better times, both for ourselves and for our loved ones. It’s the human condition to seek improvement, to long for more or better.

Given all this reflection and wishing and hoping, the question begs asking: do we stop there; or are we moved to action? There is a choice to be made on every level, be it personal, professional, relational, and even on a grander scale all the way to global. Do we make the choice or do we settle for wishing and hoping?

On a personal level, I am forced to admit that I have become a voyeur of my own life. I have allowed myself to become so overwhelmed by the capricious nature of life that I have settled for letting my life take its own course, instead of grabbing the reins myself. The state of malaise I have wallowed in has led me to a place of deep discontent. The bad news is that I’ve reached a dead-end. The good news is that the only way out is up.

All of my reflection has led me to understand that I’ve been waiting, waiting, waiting for my life to take a turn for the better. I have graded the past six years and found them wanting. Yes, those years were filled with knock-out punches, but that is nothing novel. Who among us hasn’t faced some of the worst life has to offer and still come back swinging? I simply stopped swinging back. It’s as if I sat down in the rubble and refused to get back up. Then the tide of life easily carried me to that proverbial dead-end.

I don’t like this dank, dark dead-end I find myself in. I haven’t liked it for years, but it became familiar enough that I was willing to stay there. For whatever reason – providence, divine intervention, the encouragement of family and dear friends (yes, you, dear ones) – I finally remembered to look up. Yes, indeed, the only way out is up. I’m headed in that direction.

It’s a beginning…