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What to do when you are no longer You?
This is the world I am living in right now. One where I am in limbo. Maybe some would see it as freedom, other's hell, but I, well I think that it's all a part of my larger journey. In this journey I am blessed to experience, to feel the multitude of emotion and angst that this journey will provide. Yet, I am cautious, maybe a lil dubious, but certainly curious.
I've often thought of writing as a tool, as an activity that brings people some form of clear headed euphoria, a feeling of settled body and soul. I also have thought of it as a hobby that I use when I have time, when I make time, when I believe I need to do it.
Right now I have all the time in the world. My world is chaotic, unscheduled, unsettled, filled with free time and confusion. I am mending, I am re-cooperating. I am searching for the activity, the employment, the passion that I may take on as a new career. I am shaken, and troubled. I fear the newness of a soon to be created path, I fear the departure of the only career I truly loved. I fear I will not love this new path, and I am uncertain that I need a new path. Doctors will tell me what I need to know when the time comes. They will make recommendations and referrals, and scribble on note pads and prescription paper. They will assert their knowledge onto me, they will question my intentions, my certainties, my convictions. Then they will determine for me my reality. That I may never go back to what I do. Which in man speak is "I may never go back to who I am".
Why is it men tie themselves to their work so much that it is not simply something they do, but it is part of them? It is their characteristic, their bourne rite, their place in the world. And once it is challenged, the man is challenged. Not simply "You can do other work", but "You can be a different you". I like who I am, what I have, where I have been, the growth of those around me, the journey I have been very blessed to be a part of. Yet, here I am unable to 'be' me, unable to conceive of a different world, one where I do something different, where I can be someone different, where my once loved job is possibly a memory, where my once connected self becomes disconnected, unentangled with the drama and frustration of human suffering where part of me belongs.
My writing can be now a common every day occurrence, one where I need not fight schedule demands and team meetings, diaper changes and supper making. I can write any time of my day. That too scares me. For if I do not write when I can, when I have opportunity to do so, then am I ever to be the 'writer' I envisioned myself to be? IF I cannot let go of what may be gone already, how can I move toward that which I dream to be?