I'm Sad That:

 

 

Years ago, when I was reading a lot of S.A.R.K. books (I still love that crazy gal!), I came across an exercise she talked about frequently doing in her journals called "I Want". Basically, you sit with blank paper and pen (or colorful markers if you wanna be like SARK), and just open up your heart and imagination and let yourself scribble down what you WANT... Anything from immediate needs like "a snack" or "a hug" to wild imaginings like "an apartment in Rome" or "gossamer wings". You just let go and write. I love this exercise and I've done several of these lists of my own over the years, including more than a few here on the blog. I will always write these lists, I suspect. They are such a good place to center your heart, to check in with yourself, to dream a little, and to be a kid again. 

Well, the other day I was taking my daily walk, and I was feeling all kinds of feelings, and they were generally wistful and melancholy, and I was letting the walk absorb these waves of feelings... breathing deeply and looking for signs of autumn color... when I saw a group of boys ride by me on their bikes, caught up in the beautiful weekend morning sunshine. And a thought came to me so sharply: I am sad that my kids never became bike riders-- not in the way these boys were...riding bikes in a gang and having the ultimate freedom to roam neighborhoods and fly down hills. And this one distinct thought, a palpable expression of my sadness, became the first item on a new sort of list. Instead of a whole stack of "I Want"s.... I pulled out my phone and began a list of "I'm Sad That..."

Maybe it's not the same kind of healthy exercise that the "I Want" list is... But maybe it kind of is? Either way, it became a tender catharsis of the feelings that had been building up all morning, and it felt good and right to let them live on "paper"... to take them out and examine them a little bit in the light of day. The more I walked, and let myself feel, the more of these little thoughts would drift in and I'd add them to my list. It wasn't a deluge of bitter thoughts... just one thought here, then a few minutes later another.... Just little hurts that rose up as I was already feeling raw and open. Ultimately, I ran out of items to add, and I ended my walk by listening to a gorgeous song my friend Micah sent me the day before, Brandi Carlile's "This Time Tomorrow (In The Canyon Haze)". I'd never heard it before, and it was perfect--finally breaking open that buildup of moodiness in me-- and I cried as I stood by my parked car. A good cry. A cleansing wave. 

And then my car wouldn't start and real life crowded back in, and that was that. Isn't that just like life? Ha.

Anyway... I don't know if it's too personal to actually post my list, but it's my blogjournal, so I'm gonna do what I want. Only 5 people are reading this, anyway, and you are all people I love, and I know you know me well... We've probably talked about a few of these in person anyway!

So it's cool. Here we go.

I’m sad that:

• My kids don’t ride bikes
• I don’t have a big lovely front porch to put chairs on and decorate for seasons and sit on in the evenings
• We can’t afford a new car
• Joe is trying so hard to repair the dryer and dishwasher and they are still not quite there
• Joe is going out of town twice this month
• Friendships fade
• Noah is aging out of trick or treating 
• I don’t play the banjo anymore
• I can’t have a carb free-for-all anymore
• The pumpkin patch costs so much to visit!!
• We can’t keep things close forever
• I left my wireless earbuds at home today
• The sun is already setting too soon
• Instagram took the sound off of some of my reels
• They keep growing up
• Quinn’s betta fish kept dying
• I’m crabby when I’m hot
• Cross country didn’t “take” for Noah
• I never put Lucy in dance class or something like it
• I don’t think my kids have a “bestie” or tribe
• I have so much “stuff”
• I’m not good at gardening/yard work
  

See? Nothing earth-shattering.... Just little wishes and teeny regrets. Honestly, it's kind of nice to know that there's not anything really devastating on there. It speaks to a life that is mostly so very blessed. It's okay. And I'm okay. 

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