The first full week of August is coming to an end. And while the weather has been more than tolerable, I can’t help but be suspicious of August’s weather intentions. I think the three H’s are still up August’s sleeve: Hot, Humid, and Hell-like. There is a reason, other than the end of swim team that folks bug out of the DC area during the month of August. It’s unbearable, stagnant, and icky (a technical weather term). When the kids were young, we would spend long days at the nearly empty pool and return in the evenings to play and sup on pizza and subs. I do miss those sweet times of August. And the school supply shopping…I definitely miss that. But that’s about it.
After suffering through the sleepless, sticky, hazy nights of August, I lie in bed and whisper, September… the stuff that puffy dreams are made of. School is in session and parents are suspiciously happy. I can almost feel the cool ocean breeze and hear the crashing waves. September means beach time and renewal. Way more so than January 1, I feel like everything is new and alive. The heat begins to ease and mornings on The Porch require socks on feet and a hoodie. I feel motivated. I feel alive.
And God knows I need it this September. As I ease back into writing and blogging and sharing life, I plan to touch upon some of the junk that has that I have allowed to consume my time and spirit. Not for sympathy or for shock value. For love. I think we often feel we are the only one. The only one who hurts. The only one who gets angry. The only one who worries. The only one who suffers lost. The only one who can’t get their butt out of the bed in the morning to do what she knows she should do, but continues to do what she knows she shouldn’t do. The only one who fails.
And counter to that, I think we need to share our successes! Our attaboys…er girls. Our victories, tiny or huge, that make us get back on that horse again after being tossed into the junk (or after jumping willingly into the junk). The met goals. The stumbling blocks overcome. The win of just going for a walk around the block. And sometimes, just keeping the “I didn’t kill anyone today” streak alive.
And just to prove the truth of what I wrote this morning, the small victory of sitting down and writing again and then the agony of defeat getting ready for work…
I think it is important to share. (Says the woman who didn’t let her children see her cry until she was 45 years old and you can imagine the freak out they experienced when she finally did.) The same woman who can credit a small handful of absolutely amazing women who showed her how to really do life. To share life. To pick each other back up after life tosses you to the dirt. To give each other a swift kick in the bum as needed and please-may-I-have-another.
I was a girl who locked herself in her closet with a flashlight, pillow, and book to avoid talking to anyone, but have always unloaded it all onto paper. Not necessarily for public consumption. Maybe I have always been a secret talker who just didn’t believe anyone wanted to hear what I had to say? Maybe I still feel that way.
So, I thank you…the five of you (up from three!) who regularly respond to my posts and encourage me to keep on talking.
You will probably regret it.