sometimes our kids express it best. . .
if i was four, i would feel better right now. i would have stomped my feet. i would have yelled, from the roof tops. . .”it’s not fair!” i might have pulled my brother’s hair, if he was close enough to grab.
but i’m not four, not even close. i did shed a tear and i did admonish my husband for uttering the words “next time. . .” yes, next time i will do it different.
but this time (sigh) i did it all wrong.
it was a bit past 11 o’clock as i tried to get comfortable on my rubber mattress surrounded by 10-year-old girls. a sleeping bag in a quiet dark dorm room seemed the perfect spot to finish the blog i had been working on for weeks. i settled in, opened my word press app and there it was. . .nothing. no draft. nothing. hours of work, gone and i am not sure why.
i was struggling with that post anyway so maybe this was the universe’s way of clearing my mind and freeing me to start fresh. i was ok. maybe, even a bit inspired.
i wrote into the night. i wrote about my time at Keystone Science Camp nestled in the Colorado Rockies. i wrote about 5th grade girls who made me laugh and made me ponder my own childhood in a way i hadn’t in years. as my eyes began to fade i quickly saved my draft and fell into a slumber only to be had on a plastic mattress in an unlocked cabin while dreaming of the sorority massacre (remember this? no?. . .yikes, it was scary). well, anyway, don’t worry about that part. the point is, i saved my draft.
i woke up early and followed the rules of check out for our girls. i vacuumed, cleaned toilets and watched my son (from the other cabin), enjoy himself in uncensored silliness. i waited anxiously to upload my photos and finally publish my post.
when all was settled and the kids were on their hike, i sat in the cool air and edited my draft one last time. my finger grazed the settings button and i quickly hit cancel. . .and then it was the moment of dread. it was gone. my work, my writing. . .gone. i cried. “why”, i asked? is it somewhere in cyber space waiting for me to find it or is it gone? i called my tech savvy husband only to be greeted by a man engrossed in work, boo hoo.
surrounded by 60 nine and ten-year olds, i had no choice but to put my ipad away and let it go. maybe this is the key to happiness after all. . .to move on.
so, here is my attempt to move on, let go, scream through words and genuinely let cyber space encapsulate my time spent laughing with nine-year old girls about boys, girlfriends and all the drama in between. did i say drama?? i meant. . .DRAMA.
there is plenty of life to write about and i just need to remember. . .when a post isn’t flowing and i feel stuck, let it go. and, maybe the best lesson of all: i don’t need a dark room without family to inspire me to write. as nike would say, just do it!
four-year old shoes: shoes that fit just right and when they don’t they get thrown across the room with a fierce dedication to justice and righteousness. shoes that tell it like it is and then forgive themselves, and others, again and again.
forty-year old shoes: shoes that fit just right and when they don’t they are sold or given to someone who needs them, in an attempt to maintain what is right in the world. . .shoes that tell it like it is, with tact and humility, and then forgive themselves (and others) again and again.
the shoes in between: shoes that remember its ok to stomp our feet sometimes and a tear that falls might just be the freedom to help us let go and move on.