Unwritten

"Unwritten"
Natasha Bedingfield

I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined
I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned
I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines
We've been conditioned to not make mistakes, but I can't live that way

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in

No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten.
Flip the page to the next chapter that is the book of my life… empty…nada…nothing…a blank canvas waiting for the next stroke of fate’s pen.

Exciting.

Scary.

Yet…is it fate or the more purposeful plodding forward that will determine the tone of the scribblings placed there by the muses of the future?

What do I want my life to say about me…the woman who inhabits these bits of bone and skin…the being who takes up such an infinitesimal space in this magnificent, boundless universe?

Once upon not so long ago I did not care. It made not one whit of difference to me what the pages of my life might read. Jim’s death robbed me of the willfulness to chart my own map and I became nothing more than a bit of flotsam in the current of life.

Healing took time. Wallowing in pain, sorrow and self pity I buried that willful, outlaw child I once was among my husband’s ashes. Yet…somewhere deep within the scarred shell she clung to the small bit of hope that dimly lit the cavern in which she was entombed.

Without looking back into my journal I cannot say exactly when the shell began to crack. I do recall writing that I had to find a way to make Jim’s life mean more than his death. Jim loved life…I’ve written that many times in the last 5 years. Three heart attacks could not dampen his enthusiasm for this world and the people in it. How could I…out of my own love for him…do any less?

You’ve read my words in this blog…you know how I have struggled with finding balance…serenity…peace…and joy again. I still struggle at times.

The one thing I know for certain is that I do not want to look back on those pages and wish I had written something else.

Having said all that, I find I find myself still searching for the key to living a more creative life. Call it inertia…lack of motivation…plain old laziness…I have not taken one creative step forward in weeks. So many things pique my curiosity…photography…wire jewelry…simple mosaics…all of which I have some rudimentary knowledge but would like to learn more…perhaps even enough to make a humble, part-time living.

What is it that holds me back? How is it that I don’t seem to push myself beyond the basic research into classes that will teach me what I want to learn? Where is the stumbling block?

You will be surprised…maybe…that in the examination I admitted the answer lies within myself.

Fear…yes…fear…as much of succeeding as failing.

Now how whacked is that?

Time for one of those boot kicks I’m so famous for giving to others.

No more excuses.

No more “one day when I have time”….

I am now financially committed to 12 weeks of classes on jewelry making through the art school at our little Podunk art museum here in town.

Stay tuned for Chapter 2.