breath through it. . .

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.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in shoes and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s