Fears that sound ridiculous...out loud...

1) There won't be anyone waiting for me at the other end of this journey. The people who know me now won't like the new me, and the reason I got this way in the first place is no one liked me before...how can I know anyone will like me then?

How it feels to start

I want to acknowledge it. As I'm running the hot soapy water in the sink for the dishes, I can actually feel the depression: in my forehead, in my shoulders, in my arms. I believe that if I keep going, it will fall off. I do wonder if there's a spiritual warfare component -- ready for that if there is.

Joy. That's the answer. "Rejoice in the Lord always...again, I say, rejoice." That's a command, if ever I heard one. The chick on The Ellen Show today who got a new car -- she didn't have to be told to rejoice. Apparently, however, we are to rejoice even when it's not automatic.

It makes sense to me, given what I'm struggling through right now. I have a really good life. If I were asked to write out my ideal life I would write out exactly what I have (minus the health problems, the messy apartment, the disorganization). What I don't have is joy.

I can visualize it, I can imagine it, I can dream it, I can plan for it...and when I finally get ready to go, ready to get off the couch and go for it...I meet my first challenge. Getting off the couch. It hurts.

Everything hurts. Everything is uncomfortable. When I start to try to live the life I imagine, it doesn't feel like I'd imagined. It feels like trying to live the life I imagine with 200 pounds packed inside and outside of me.

So I have a choice, here -- I can try anyway, fail some and hurt a lot...or I can quit. Quitting is a real option -- I might even get famous for living naked in my bed for a few years before I die. Even if I don't go out that spectacularly (?) I could probably get by, maybe have some happiness. I think that's what a lot of people in my position end up doing. So it really is an option.

I don't want that option, of course. So I'm going to have to do something else. It is *not* an option to begin right now feeling light and happy and energetic. I'm going to have to find joy *before* I get there.

I'm going to have to find paths to joy that can coexist with the pain and the discomfort. I'm going to have to find joy in small successes, and get my eyes off of all the work that is yet to be done. I think for me that's going to mean doing "small things with great love," which may mean that I look a little silly.

Yesterday I did something that fits this idea -- I opened up a box of decorated mason jars and put away the stuff on my counter, enjoying the feeling of doing it in a beautiful way. It's not the fastest way to get my kitchen counter clean (I could have put the plastic bags into the cabinet), but it made me feel good. It made me feel like I was creating beauty, not just meeting obligation.

So...it's 5:00 pm. I'd like to spend the evening cleaning up my apartment. More specifically, I'd like to have some joy when I wake up in the morning. Yes, that's a better way to say it. The joy of the Lord is my strength.

I'm going to go back to the kitchen, and see if I can find joy in every little patch of counter or floor that's cleared and cleaned. See if I can be doing it because I really want to, because it fits with who I am...not because I'm so full of shame about letting it get dirty.

Here's what I've been thinking since my last post this morning...but it's really hard to explain...

It's about being engaged in life. It's about being joyful, happy to be doing what I'm doing or being what I'm being or whatever.

When I'm teaching, or talking with a donor on the phone, or accomplishing something, I'm engaged...but it's exhausting. It's exhausting partly because I have to get myself into that mode...and it's exhausting because I drag my heavy, awkward body around while I do it.

When I'm *not* doing something like that, or hanging around with people, or whatever, I seem to check out completely. It's like I don't exist at all. I put my brain and my body completely into neutral. I'm not happy about anything. I'm not hopeful about anything. I'm not...anything.

I don't know how or when or why this started, but it's true. The "me" I've been remembering was excited about stuff...looking forward to stuff...but I mostly remember that "me" in situations that didn't end well. A lot of the memories come from the time Tony and I were together, way back when I was 19 years old. I got SEVERELY disappointed in that relationship, and maybe I never really recovered.

I do see my past history as a series of severe disappointments. Maybe at some point it just became easier to not really care -- to do the right thing, to try and make a difference, but to not really throw myself into it completely.

I see that in my time with Terri, in my school, in my work at Joshua Station. I see it in all my relationships. Wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, I'm not completely there. I am always "safe" in my own shell -- the space I create with the space I take up, the chair I have to sit in (never shared with anyone else), the things I can't take part in (it's never me on the zipline with everyone cheering below), the modifications I have to make ("you guys go on dancing, I'll just watch).

It won't work to begin by being engaged with people and things outside of myself. That's sort of the approach I've already taken, and it doesn't work. I show up, but I'm food-hung-over, or dehydrated, or sweaty or unprepared because I wasn't engaged until I forced myself to get engaged five minutes before the activity started.

I'm going to have to find a way to be engaged in life when I'm all alone -- to be excited about what I'm going to do that day when I'm not going to see anyone and no one's going to see what I do. It's going to have to start with me and God and no one else.

I hope I can do that. I need a little time to think about what that would look like.

The last few days have been so weird. Pretty much motionless, staring at a wall or at the TV...but somehow believing that's what I'm supposed to do.

Little trickles of understanding have been running through me, and I don't know if I would have noticed them, or if they would have trickled at all, if I'd been busier. Stuff I can't really explain, memories of who I used to be (who I really am?), hope for being that person again (or finally).

Every once in awhile, I'll get up and do some dishes, or whatever. That's new. I'm grateful for two more weeks of Lent, hopeful that something will somehow "click" before those two weeks are over...but I don't really have two weeks to stare at a wall. I do have things I have to do.

Still, I'm grateful for this little window. No one really needs me for anything, and I can catch up on my work hours. I'm doing a little work each day, and progress is being made on the web page, which is the highest priority. I think that all is well, for now.

It's noon on Friday, and all I've gotten done is breakfast. I was pretty motionless, and even a little sad. My brother called and said he didn't really want to pick me up for my sister-in-law's birthday party because he wants to spend time with her. I didn't really want to go, either -- not because I don't want to be with them, but because I want this thing that's working out in me to continue. I don't have any clean laundry, and I didn't want to leave my little apartment sanctuary to go downstairs and do laundry. I'm not really ready to be with people, yet.

Then my work phone rang. I hurried to pick it up (I don't need another message to return!), and as I spoke with the sweet woman on the other end I found myself observing myself. Who was this cheerful, capable person?? Was I being fake? Was I putting on an act?

One thought, and I'm not sure about it -- what if I'm *not* being fake or putting on an act when I'm cheerful and capable and helpful around other people. What if that's all real, but I just don't bother to do it for myself? What would it be like to be that person when I'm all alone?

This may be the new direction of the path...I'll be thinking about that today.