My Desires Drive Me To….

craziland. not swaziland. what is it that makes me want something? Like what is inside of me that creates a desire? where does that start? was i born hardwired to someday love copper faucets, walnut wood furniture, high heeled shoes and of course, Brian? Or maybe my environment shaped me to love those things (except Brian. i think i would have fallen in love with him no matter what).

i’ve been laying here running my fingers through Brians quickly graying hair pondering why I want the stuff I want. sometimes i think his hair is gray because I wanted the walnut furniture, copper faucets and umpteenth pair of shoes. Tonight we found some townhouses nearby that just seemed so good for us. We didnt even go inside. But somehow, naturally for me, OCD set in. Fenced Yard. Garage. Gated Community. Bonus Room. Laundry Room. Extra storage. Brick exterior. I’ll stop now. Why do I want this? I didnt have any desire for it last year, last month or this morning for that matter. Tonight, it nearly consumes my thought pattern. I have drapes picked out for the keeping room. I’m serious. Why am I like this? Who am I kidding? why do i get this way? How complicated is a kidney donation exactly because really, thats kind of how obsessive it can get in our household. I know I’m not easily motivated – have i just found a new source of such a thing? What am I so afraid of anyway?

Fear of rejection. embarrassment. someone not liking me. failing. oh dear. did i just say the f-word? two of them actually. fear and failing. uuggh. I dont usually use the delete key when I do this. I could write in my journal, but its so much quicker to type. My thoughts race so quickly and I used to type ridiculously fast. for me, its about efficiency. and hand cramps. why would i do that to myself? life should be as comfortable as possible, right? i wouldnt want to suffer and be private too. wheres the love in vulnerability? plus i dont enjoy reading much. i wouldnt be too quick to pick up my own handwriting. i might not even be able to make out what it says.

why do i fear what people might think of me when i walk away? if i’m quiet some night and not super happy, will they think *something* about that? will they not want to talk to me next time they see me? seriously? because I was quiet? do they care? why do i? I am me. sometimes i am quiet and when I am, I am in listening mode. my mind is racing, but I am an observer. i move slowly so as not to interrupt my own thought process that is careening through my brain. sometimes I am excited and happy and curious and full of conversation. Generally after a margarita, but also when the sun is out, my children are behaving and there is money in the bank account. thats a good day at this time in my life. that might sound shallow. money and good behavior on a sunny day are not the only things that light my fire. my husbands tone of voice when he comes in the door at night is one way to make or break an evening. optimism is a grand thing. and what on earth do i have to not be optimistic about? my life is amazing! i didnt say perfect. what is perfection anyway? my life would be a fickle collection of short lived desires if i envisioned it as such. Something I learned in Georgia is that although the grass may *look* greener on the other side…it still needs to be cut! (its so cheesy) what is owning a house this year going to make me feel anyway? as if the color of the walls were going to greet me like a margarita makes me feel. i mean, pale yellow is not my thing. but what are these rented walls anyway? well, they’re insured (we have peace of mind). they are insulated (we are warm). for now, they are the structure for where we lay our heads, but home is our family. it is wherever we are and not changed by the color of the latex coating.

i dont know why i talk about my feelings. A friend of ours said to me, “heather, when I met you, i thought you were *so* confident.” ok. where did that girl go I’m wondering. obviously that same sentiment got dropped somewhere along the line. Maybe i could say less, smile more. but if i got all teary eyed less often, and only let it fly when i was alone, would that be genuine? I can be so emotional and seriously have NO earthly idea where it comes from. It always unplanned! i never used to cry but now i can just start talking and here they come. is it because i’m ok with people knowing me? do i only let my guard down around people who i trust? i think that part is definitely true. i know that confident girl oh-so well. she is alive and well. she is however in a season, afraid of failure. not being good enough. funny enough. brimming with plenty of interesting conversation. afraid of rejection.

this year i want to naturally bend toward the optimistic. not the cautious reserve of my thoughts. i need to move through giving both sides. or maybe just voicing them. i want to smile with my eyes again. let my toes dance while I’m sitting down. forget about the stupid boys in high school. the boy who said my calves were huge, the girl who scoffed at our community pool vs. her private one, and the one who said, ‘WHAT is THAT? Have you DONE that before? do you KNOW anything about it?’ and what was my response? “Nope. But I’m gonna dive in!”

forget the tone of voice. GO! DO! BE! For God! For your family! For you! live and LOVE the moment. and then, at the end of the day, reflect, but dont regret. because you were genuine. authentic Heather. dont look back. look forward. margarita monday. without the margarita.

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~ by hthr on January 7, 2007.

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