So far, I’ve been astonishingly shy about using this particular blog as therapy. Seriously, I’m astounded at myself, because it’s not that I don’t have plenty of issues to spew (eww…thanks, but I already have a handkerchief…), and it isn’t even that I don’t ever enjoy self-disclosure. I do have a LiveJournal in which I’ve been blathering for years (though yeah, some of those posts are privacy-locked, I admit), and goodness knows what’ll come out of my mouth next on Twitter. My tweets are public but (of course) succinct; my LiveJournal entries are long and rambling, but often shielded. So perhaps it’s something about the combination of Being Seen (eek!) and giving myself plenty of rope, enough to…well, I’m sure I don’t have to draw you a picture.
I’ll sort things out in time, I’m sure. Meanwhile, if I can’t yet give myself the gift of self-therapy in this blog, I can at least make an effort at self-triage.
There are, quite simply, a lot of things on my plate right now. Work things, school things, money things, family things, homemaking things, hostess-y things. And I’m having to face the fact that there is simply too much, I am going to fail at some of it.
In my darkest moments, I feel like a speeding train. The rails are where they are, and will take me where they take me; I have little to no control over the rails. Perhaps the best I can do is to just be the very best train I can be, a shining and smiling Little Engine that Could(n’t): “I think I can, I think I can, I think I — AAAAAAAAAH!”
No, there is something else I can do. I can remember what matters most. No, not in that obsessive and anxious way in which it all matters, including the kitchen sink. I can get back to basics.
What matters most? Creating the art that I feel called to create, and loving the people that I love.
As long as I can do those things every day, I am not a failure, dammit.