Being Stubborn on my Less Traveled Path

I write every day, telling my story, talking about life. There’s something in me that says if I write it all down, it’ll prove I don’t just sit around doing nothing. Thinking- work (contemplation) is as much a part of life as physical work.

I keep track of times, not perfectly, but it gives an insight into my days. Recording thoughts and actions is kind of a way of proving I was here, and I’ve lived an interesting life (at least, to me).  Yes, there is the mundane and the repetitions, but sometimes, something insightful comes out of my ruminations.

I feel sad. As with many things I am recognizing about my life is that no one else really cares. I feel that everything in my life and this house are things only I care about. There is nothing here no one else would want. The half a dozen books half written and the three written but that’s as far as I’ve gone … (My mother’s voice echoes from the past: “You never finish anything.”) No one will ever read my journals, poems, or manuscripts. I AM the only one who cares.

My paintings pile up around the house. I just don’t have it in me any more to run them around to different art shows or set up at exhibitions. But I won’t stop painting or writing.

I’ve led an interesting life, a different life. There have been many lessons, but I’ve pretty much forged my own path; even when I didn’t realize I was doing so.  Now I see I’ve been slogging along mostly off the beaten paths. Oh, I’ve occasionally jumped on one band wagon or another, but never for long. I am not a follower.

I take the paths less traveled, sometimes hacking through brush and undergrowth. Stand in one spot too long and the vines will wrap around feet, wind up, and eventually strangle you. Gotta keep moving.

But these days, with stiffening limbs and pain, the physicalness is getting harder. I wonder about end-of-life and being less mobile. Does that make me think and worry even more? There’s another lesson in here somewhere.

Perhaps it’s part of letting go. Stop worrying about things I have no control over. And if I have no control over it, I don’t want to see or hear about it. Yes, conversations are good, but to have crap shoved in your face every day, stuff you don’t care about …

As I keep saying, I feel hounded and harassed. And I refuse to join in. I WILL continue to walk my own path! (And when I can’t get around anymore, I’ll want to be done.)