I found an old very worn leather suitcase, searching for old graph papers from a project I thought might be of use to my son. They weren't, of course they weren't but laying on the dusty, moth-eaten bottom of decades of forgotten items and curling at the edges, were my journals - thirty years of them... I read through one page and another, quite enough to leave me squirming, uncomfortable and cringing in my chair - how insipid my half truths were. They are returned to their moths and dust and I'm not certain of a voluntary return...
I applaud your bravery in writing this David - the acknowledgement of inciting the wrath of God, I knew that too though I feared the wrath of the nuns who preached to me more!
Dearest Susie, thank you for creating a scene that I could imagine, relate all too well to and commiserate with. It is inevitable, I suppose that much (most), of what we've laid down as important markers along our journey will prove completely insufficient in capturing the imaginations of others, even those who love us, and are at least a little bit interested in what we have experienced and gleaned. Better to learn to revel in these markers and their making without a care in the world about how they may be received. Joy, wonder, gratitude: gifts better shared. But so very often, gifts that are worthy in their own right, and gifts that no one else will witness with us. I suspect that we will be happier as we learn to simply experience these things rather than robbing them of half their delight by fretting over the lack of an appreciative audience.
David, this made me recall the girl of my own youth constantly aware of a “presence” looking over her shoulder and what presence wanted her to be—pious and pure and not fully herself.
Thank you for sharing what you found in your old journals. It’s a gift to see eachothers’ roots.
It does seem that we are here in part to hold one another's hands as we dial up the courage to examine those bars within the windows to our prison cells and eventually, hopefully discard the fears and beliefs that put them there. It is a gift to see each others' roots, indeed.
David. You have had quite a journey in your life and not without a few terrifying parallels to my own journey. I wish I was “shut of” the shame of it all. You are courageous, transparent, and seemingly liberated from much of your own shame load. I salute you even as my heart resonates with you around the wounds of such a journey. I am grateful you have made it to here and now. To myself and to you I say, “keep going.”
Thank you, Wes. We just never know what burdens someone else might be carrying or how much they may weigh. I suspect many of us walk through our days with sacks full of heavy stones and a sense of shame that someone else was instrumental in asking (or commanding), us to carry. It is big work to look something in the eye finally that we have only carried and felt punished by since it was first handed to us, but beautiful work, as well. Perhaps we first agreed to carry these burdens for a time so that we could learn to drop them, so that we could choose something kinder, better. You are a gift, good sir. I thank you and to your "keep going" I nod in affirmation and whisper my Amen.
"I would love to see what I would have written were I to have been honest about my thoughts and wonderments."
I am learning, albeit in fits and starts that it is possible to learn a little something about that very thing. One may walk back into those darkened rooms, wait for one's breath to slow and settle, and then look around, sniff the air, hear the train in the distance and the bird singing in the tree just outside your window and imagine what you would have written.
Your mother's advice, so profound. "Write it down".
Like you, I suspect, I've learned to love gravel and two tracks ever so much more than freeways; those roads less traveled. Thank you for the gift of being seen, and for making time to share it.
That sure reminds me of my journals from a certain period, only I was older. I've thought about going back there, to examine the juxtaposition more carefully, and probably I will. But I don't look forward to the cringyness it will elicit.
I appreciate your telling honestly and revealing that 15 year old's private hopes and fears. Makes us more sympathetic to the 15 year olds of today. They may be even more confused and doubtful and more complicated with their lives than we were back then.
This is such a generous, intuitive thought, Bob, and a great reminder. Yes, each age and generation has its own weighty and troubling set of problems to navigate, and one that must continually consider the odds of being shot while in school, and the collapse of Earth's climate within their lifetimes is a wildly complicated canvas upon which to attempt to build a wonderful life.
David, That is certainly stark and raw...with you as a 15 year old, I am amazed that, with the baggage that you carried in that place, you survived without completely going under!
Thank you, Frank. To quote one of those authors who helped keep me from going under...
"It's never too late to have a happy childhood."
“"I'm an outlaw, not a hero. I never intended to rescue you. We're our own dragons as well as our own heroes, and we have to rescue ourselves from ourselves.”
But look where you are now! You are a survivor. You are loved by many. You have a wonderful gift of words. You aren't done yet. Sending big cyber hugs and love~Cheryl
Yes, cut from the same cloth is probably more true than most of us understand. What I've learned, continue to learn is that I've only really come to know that by risking speaking of some of those things I grew up feeling 'unworthy' over. I'm so grateful that you're here.
Sat awhile after reading...just feeling this chapter in my gut. Being raised in the same guilt & shame-inducing environment, I only have a big circle of understanding of the perfectionism that tried to smother you...I know it, too.
You reveal such a vulnerable scene of your life, and now I feel what it took to open your journal that stormy day...
Those words from your 15 year-old self make me sad in an intense way---make me want to shout and cry and ride in like a warrior person... I know, I know, I know...
A heart full of courage you had whether you knew it then, or not---and you found it or maybe it found you, in all those intense days of work in the southern real. And so I love your last paragraph, my friend, how you chose "...to look back without fear, without the veil of shame, to own all of it, every bit of the raw magic...".
Smiling here, Toni, and once again grateful for someone who so generously sees past the flaws and bumbling attempts to tell the story, to offer kind words and say "I see you."
"Sat awhile after reading...just feeling this chapter in my gut. Being raised in the same guilt & shame-inducing environment, I only have a big circle of understanding of the perfectionism that tried to smother you...I know it, too."
this... this reminder, this acknowledgement that we are not alone. That others have had to navigate some of the same terrain, battle the same sorts of demons.
of your posts. This one comes on the tail of "Lost ...". It's not my place to provide empty platitudes, other than to say "Beware of snakes and inner tropes that may harm you."
Thank you Susan for your kind note. Wondering if there are clues implied within to frustrations with finding them appearing in seemingly random sequence. Am I reading that correctly?
I found an old very worn leather suitcase, searching for old graph papers from a project I thought might be of use to my son. They weren't, of course they weren't but laying on the dusty, moth-eaten bottom of decades of forgotten items and curling at the edges, were my journals - thirty years of them... I read through one page and another, quite enough to leave me squirming, uncomfortable and cringing in my chair - how insipid my half truths were. They are returned to their moths and dust and I'm not certain of a voluntary return...
I applaud your bravery in writing this David - the acknowledgement of inciting the wrath of God, I knew that too though I feared the wrath of the nuns who preached to me more!
Dearest Susie, thank you for creating a scene that I could imagine, relate all too well to and commiserate with. It is inevitable, I suppose that much (most), of what we've laid down as important markers along our journey will prove completely insufficient in capturing the imaginations of others, even those who love us, and are at least a little bit interested in what we have experienced and gleaned. Better to learn to revel in these markers and their making without a care in the world about how they may be received. Joy, wonder, gratitude: gifts better shared. But so very often, gifts that are worthy in their own right, and gifts that no one else will witness with us. I suspect that we will be happier as we learn to simply experience these things rather than robbing them of half their delight by fretting over the lack of an appreciative audience.
I'm so pleased, once again that you are here...
David, this made me recall the girl of my own youth constantly aware of a “presence” looking over her shoulder and what presence wanted her to be—pious and pure and not fully herself.
Thank you for sharing what you found in your old journals. It’s a gift to see eachothers’ roots.
It does seem that we are here in part to hold one another's hands as we dial up the courage to examine those bars within the windows to our prison cells and eventually, hopefully discard the fears and beliefs that put them there. It is a gift to see each others' roots, indeed.
David. You have had quite a journey in your life and not without a few terrifying parallels to my own journey. I wish I was “shut of” the shame of it all. You are courageous, transparent, and seemingly liberated from much of your own shame load. I salute you even as my heart resonates with you around the wounds of such a journey. I am grateful you have made it to here and now. To myself and to you I say, “keep going.”
"To myself and to you I say, “keep going.”"
Thank you, Wes. We just never know what burdens someone else might be carrying or how much they may weigh. I suspect many of us walk through our days with sacks full of heavy stones and a sense of shame that someone else was instrumental in asking (or commanding), us to carry. It is big work to look something in the eye finally that we have only carried and felt punished by since it was first handed to us, but beautiful work, as well. Perhaps we first agreed to carry these burdens for a time so that we could learn to drop them, so that we could choose something kinder, better. You are a gift, good sir. I thank you and to your "keep going" I nod in affirmation and whisper my Amen.
My mother, a writer, advised me more often than any other advice and to any and all others who may or may not be looking for advice, "write it down".
Yet... Really?
What if someone saw what I was writing? It might look untoward or as if I was less than the bright, squeaky clean, good child.
I would love to see what I would have written were I to have been honest about my thoughts and wonderments.
Your loss of those true words is deep.
"I would love to see what I would have written were I to have been honest about my thoughts and wonderments."
I am learning, albeit in fits and starts that it is possible to learn a little something about that very thing. One may walk back into those darkened rooms, wait for one's breath to slow and settle, and then look around, sniff the air, hear the train in the distance and the bird singing in the tree just outside your window and imagine what you would have written.
Your mother's advice, so profound. "Write it down".
Thank you for sharing this, Donna. Truly.
Thank you for filling in some blanks over decades of time, for vulnerability, raw, and soul searching—the hard stuff.
It’s the road less traveled.
Like you, I suspect, I've learned to love gravel and two tracks ever so much more than freeways; those roads less traveled. Thank you for the gift of being seen, and for making time to share it.
That sure reminds me of my journals from a certain period, only I was older. I've thought about going back there, to examine the juxtaposition more carefully, and probably I will. But I don't look forward to the cringyness it will elicit.
"But I don't look forward to the cringyness it will elicit."
There is a special quality to the light on the other side of such a passage.
Thank you for making time to offer such solidarity...
David,
I appreciate your telling honestly and revealing that 15 year old's private hopes and fears. Makes us more sympathetic to the 15 year olds of today. They may be even more confused and doubtful and more complicated with their lives than we were back then.
This is such a generous, intuitive thought, Bob, and a great reminder. Yes, each age and generation has its own weighty and troubling set of problems to navigate, and one that must continually consider the odds of being shot while in school, and the collapse of Earth's climate within their lifetimes is a wildly complicated canvas upon which to attempt to build a wonderful life.
David, That is certainly stark and raw...with you as a 15 year old, I am amazed that, with the baggage that you carried in that place, you survived without completely going under!
Thank you, Frank. To quote one of those authors who helped keep me from going under...
"It's never too late to have a happy childhood."
“"I'm an outlaw, not a hero. I never intended to rescue you. We're our own dragons as well as our own heroes, and we have to rescue ourselves from ourselves.”
― Tom Robbins, Still Life with Woodpecker
But look where you are now! You are a survivor. You are loved by many. You have a wonderful gift of words. You aren't done yet. Sending big cyber hugs and love~Cheryl
Thank you, Cheryl.
Yes, a survivor and yes, not done yet. Thank you for finding your way through this piece of the story to offer such encouragement.
Happy Sunday. Many of us cut from the same cloth. May you find peace 🕊️ We’re ALL worthy ✨❤️🔥✨
Thank you, M. Iggy for generous, peaceful wishes.
Yes, cut from the same cloth is probably more true than most of us understand. What I've learned, continue to learn is that I've only really come to know that by risking speaking of some of those things I grew up feeling 'unworthy' over. I'm so grateful that you're here.
Sat awhile after reading...just feeling this chapter in my gut. Being raised in the same guilt & shame-inducing environment, I only have a big circle of understanding of the perfectionism that tried to smother you...I know it, too.
You reveal such a vulnerable scene of your life, and now I feel what it took to open your journal that stormy day...
Those words from your 15 year-old self make me sad in an intense way---make me want to shout and cry and ride in like a warrior person... I know, I know, I know...
A heart full of courage you had whether you knew it then, or not---and you found it or maybe it found you, in all those intense days of work in the southern real. And so I love your last paragraph, my friend, how you chose "...to look back without fear, without the veil of shame, to own all of it, every bit of the raw magic...".
Smiling here, Toni, and once again grateful for someone who so generously sees past the flaws and bumbling attempts to tell the story, to offer kind words and say "I see you."
"Sat awhile after reading...just feeling this chapter in my gut. Being raised in the same guilt & shame-inducing environment, I only have a big circle of understanding of the perfectionism that tried to smother you...I know it, too."
this... this reminder, this acknowledgement that we are not alone. That others have had to navigate some of the same terrain, battle the same sorts of demons.
Thank you for such kindness.
I've read and enjoyed several
of your posts. This one comes on the tail of "Lost ...". It's not my place to provide empty platitudes, other than to say "Beware of snakes and inner tropes that may harm you."
David,
Darn sequencing problem:
I have read several of your posts and have enjoyed each one of them.
Thank you Susan for your kind note. Wondering if there are clues implied within to frustrations with finding them appearing in seemingly random sequence. Am I reading that correctly?