My Journey Continues

Time has become irrelevant for me.  It used to be so important and all my life, I never had enough of it.  I learned to live at a rapid pace, cramming as much as I could into an already packed schedule.  I drove at top speeds to get from one place to the next and with technology, added texting and talking on cell phones to the harried pace.  Working, eating, cooking, cleaning, sleeping….it all ran together with the occasional night out with my husband or holiday with family to slow it down for a breath.  Where did it all go?  I was moving so fast, I forgot to live.  Now it is gone…and different. It feels odd to have so much of it now and it’s as if I’m living in a time warp where nothing seems as what it was.  The frenzy in which I lived is over, just as the life I had is in the past.  Time stretches out in front of me with a vastness I can’t fill.  I feel lost in the vortex, lost in my thoughts, lost in my life.  I wish I could manipulate the hours to trade my past for

In my never-ending quest to find peace it’s most recently come to my attention that I am an Emotionalist/Spiritualist. The definition of an Emotionalist is One whose conduct, thought or rhetoric is governed by emotion rather than reason.  A Spiritualist is a person who believes that the spirits of the dead can communicate with living people. I am a strong business woman, who is self-taught in all the things that I have used to rise up in the work world.  To hear I am an emotionalist knocks me down a notch in my own self esteem.  I don’t want to know that what I’m feeling is ruling my behavior over reason or fact.  But by accepting this rational I am acknowledging who I really am.  My emotions drive my impulse to act or re-act too quickly, getting myself into bad situations at times.  Maybe letting my instinct rule my behavior has made it harder for me to let go of my grief.  I constantly look for ways to empower myself to understand my mourning.  I think that the

There has been one constant in my life in the last thirty-five years that squats in my brain like an inactive virus.  Over time, I have acknowledged its existence, sometimes feeling annoyed but mostly frustrated when it washes over me like a tidal wave.  That single emotion, that sounds so innocuous but that I carry with me at all times, is restlessness.  It forever hovers in my psyche, waiting to rear up and drive me insane with its ability to make me feel like I need to crawl out of my skin. The only period in my life when it was caged and dormant was when I was married to my husband.  It makes me wonder if the love I received from him tamed it into submission.  Now that he is gone, it is coming undone.  I can feel it breaking out of its hibernation and consuming pieces of my mind.  Is love the antidote? I sometimes ask myself, how can something so inane as restlessness cause me to go crazy.   I can only explain it from my perspective…that it is this ever present emotion

As a child, I never worried about what I could remember and what I could not.  Life was all about the present, playing outside, having friends and what was for dinner.  As I grew older, I became more aware of remembering things, especially if I had a big test at school or an important appointment, but didn’t give it to much thought as I was still learning to be me.  As I grew into my twenties and thirties, memory was still something I took for granted.  I had it and didn’t have to think about it.  I could easily remember what time I had to be at work, doctor’s appointments, how to complete tasks and time for dates, concerts or parties. At some point in my life, my memory shifted.  Gradually, I had to start logging engagements or birthdays into a yearly planner.  I could no longer accept without question that I would remember everything.  I lost my keys, purse, the remote and my glasses.  My yearly planner turned into my calendar on my smart phone, which had an alarm to warn me