Tag Archives: poetry

#tbt Poetry – Forgotten Mistress

“A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language.”
– W. H. Auden
I see everyone posting these “Throwback Thursday” photos on Facebook, so I have decided to do my own little blog version of it.  Every Thursday, I plan to post an old poem that I wrote, together with the approximate year it was written.  I used to write a lot of poetry back in the day (not great poetry, mind you) before I started writing the essay/short story style writings that I now prefer.  So, let’s dig out some of this old stuff and broadcast that old undeveloped talent, shall we? 😉

First up, is Forgotten Mistress.  Written in 2003.

Forgotten Mistress

I am looking in the window-
Standing on tiptoe to see-
Watching the life go on inside
The life that doesn’t include me

I see the family that loves him
Who will always welcome him home
I see the good times that abound
As I stand here all alone.

I wonder, Does he see me
Out of the corner of his eye?
Am I included in his vision
As the walls keep me outside?

Am I the secret no one mentions-
The dirty reminder of a fall?
Or have I already been forgotten
Not even thought about at all?

I know that I should turn away
From this sight I cannot bear to see
From watching the life go on inside
The life that doesn’t include me.

But yet, I stand here waiting
For that invitation I will never receive
And I’ll remain outside this window
Until I can find the strength to leave.

mistress

To My Valentine

“At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.”
Plato

To My Valentine….

Valentine’s Day’s
the time they say
to show what they mean to you;
Chocolate bars,
sappy cards,
dinners just for two

Candlelight talks,
moonlit walks,
Sweet music to serenade
One night to show
that special glow
From the love you both have made

It sounds so nice
most don’t think twice
They throw their all into this day
And while I do understand
most couple’s plans
For us, it’s not quite this way

The lives we lead
are busy indeed
And are filled with much to do
With four kids between
(and most are teens!)
Little remains for me and you

With their needs galore;
clothes, concerts and more
Birthday presents around every bend
The wallet stays bare;
(surprised we even have hair!)
And before we know it, the money’s all spent

So we find other means
(not requiring much green)
To show the love that lies within
Those arms that you place
around my waist
Those sweet dimples in your grin

The hours you spend
shoveling snow with no end
So my little car can get out of the drive
The errands you run
when I’m coming undone
From the stress of these busy lives

Your sweet, gentle ways
through these hectic days
That keeps me from coming unglued
Every kiss that you place
upon my grateful face
Shows how much I am loved by you

I hope mere words are enough
to thank you for your love
For all the many loving things that you do,
Valentine’s Day and the rest
I am loved by the best –
Thank God for the gift that is you.

valentine

Brandy

“A sister can be seen as someone who is both ourselves and very much not ourselves – a special kind of double.”
– Toni Morrison

Have I ever mentioned that I have an 11-year-old sister?

Yep, it’s true.  My teenage children have an 11-year-old Aunt Brandy.  I know, crazy, right?  (And you better believe she tries to use that fact when they’re arguing over something…”You HAVE to listen to me, I’m your aunt!”…)

familysibsNow, Brandy’s not my only sister, mind you.  I’m actually the oldest of a clan of six.  My mom and dad split when I was just a baby, so I’m the only biological child they had.  But then my mom remarried and had my three sisters and one brother.  My dad, on the other hand, didn’t get around to having any more children until much later in life when Brandy came along, so now he is the proud father of two daughters….24 years apart!

Well, recently I’ve started to notice something.  I’m thinking this whole ‘writing’ thing may have come from my dad’s side of the family.  Because that little 11-year-old has some seriously mad skills with the written word.

Here, let me show you something.

Sleepless

No dreams. No rest. No nothing. Night after night of restlessness. Night turns into day, and day into night. Over and over again. No sleep. Sleepless.

I lay awake on a cold, rainy night. Looking out the window and seeing all the lights off I think “Ah. So many people can get sleep. But, why can’t I?” The windows are as cold as ice. Touching the window made my fingers numb. But, I still feel that lifeless cold against my fingers as I look out into the darkness. No sleep. None.

Sleep well, my friends. Because there are those who are sleepless night after night…

Umm…hello!?  Did I mention she’s ELEVEN YEARS OLD?  Look out, missyspublicjunk, I think brandysbetteratthisthanmissy is on your tail!

Or, how about this one?

Hard To Love

Have you ever felt like you can’t be loved or you can’t love anyone? Truth is, everyone in some way is hard to love.

Maybe it’s that little anger issue you have. Or you cry so easily that your friends tease you over it. It could be that you won “Miss Drama Queen Of The Year.” You could like nerds and geeks. You could have likes and dislikes far bizarre than others’. You might put up a wall between you and other people. And there’s still over millions of other things that make people hard to love! But we all are human beings. We have our flaws. We are who we are. You should be proud of yourself for all that you’ve done!

So next time when you feel unloved, remember, you’re not the only one. EVERYONE is hard to love.

Again.  ELEVEN.

How about this line from a poem she wrote entitled “I Am From”:

“I am from darkness, with pieces of heaven falling down…”

I am just absolutely blown away at the talent this little girl possesses.  I wonder if she knows that?  I’ve told her so, but I wonder if she really knows it, you know?

My dad told me that she has been reading my blog.  He thinks that seeing what I have written has influenced and encouraged her to write.  Wow.  How proud I am to have influenced something so great.

mebranSee, I used to be eleven, too.  I used to sit in my room writing feverishly in my little trapper keeper.  Poems, stories, journal entries.  You name it, I wrote it.  And I didn’t show anyone.  What if they didn’t like it?  What if they made fun of me?  But not this 11-year-old.  This girl is putting her writing out there for the world to see.  Thank goodness she has that kind of courage.  It took me over 30 years to find it.

This girl is going to go places.  And I hope she knows how proud of her I am.

Thanks for letting me take the time to brag on my little sis.

***

“A sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost.”
– Marion C. Garretty

Writing

“I must write it all out, at any cost.  Writing is thinking.  It is more than living, for it is being conscious of living.”
-Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Ok, I better stick to this thankful list kick while I’m still in the mood.

This blog is dedicated to writing.

Oh my gosh, am I thankful for writing.  Not only my own, but others’ as well.  I can’t even begin to explain what therapy exists for me in picking up a book to read or picking up a pen to write.  writingblogOh, who am I kidding – no one uses pens anymore.  Maybe I should say grabbing a keyboard and hearing the clicks.  Yeah, that sounds a bit more truthful.  Some of my earliest memories involved hiding out in my room and writing.  Either in a journal, or in a trapper keeper (remember those! Gosh, I’m old…) where I would stash all my poetry.  Unfortunately in all my many moves growing up as an Army brat, that Trapper Keeper got misplaced.  It’s crazy to think of all the hundreds of 12-year-old girl poems that are floating around out there somewhere.  I’m sure they were masterful works of art, mind you.  I mean, New Kids on the Block was a pretty deep subject, ya know.  Duh!

And not only would I retreat to my room to write, but I would also read.  I couldn’t read enough.  You would never see me without a book in my hand (and I’m proud to say, that hasn’t changed much).  Escaping my world and delving into someone else’s was better than any therapy that money could buy.  My therapy would cost me about $5 a session (if it was a paperback, a little more for a hard cover).  Hey, and the session was totally free if I rented my therapist from the local library.  And what brilliant, effective therapy it was.  And still is.

My now-famous friend Zoe (from my previous blogs) sent me a quote one day that made her think of me.  It goes like this:

“Writers are like other people, except for at least one important difference. Other people have daily thoughts and feelings, notice this sky or that smell, but they don’t do much about it. All those thoughts, feelings, sensations, and opinions pass through them like the air they breathe. Not writers. Writers react.”
– Ralph Fletcher

That is it exactly.  I always felt like I was a little weird.  A little different than others because of the fact that I felt things so deeply.  Nothing was insignificant in my life – everything had some kind of deeper meaning.  And eventually, as I grew older, I finally figured out what to do about that.  Put it on paper.  I think that’s what writing is all about.  Those feelings and emotions that well up inside of you need somewhere to go.  It happens to all of us, and we all find ways to deal with it.  Some with writing.  Some with exercise.  Some with music.  Some with art.  Theatre.  Dance.  The list goes on and on.  And then, sadly, there are those who haven’t found a way to express all that is inside of them.  So they suppress instead of express.  Drugs.  Alcohol.  Promiscuity.  Etc.

Oh, I don’t know – maybe I’m full of crap.  But I kinda don’t think so.  I think we all have the same feelings and emotions inside of us at any given time.  What differentiates us from each other, is what we decide to do with them.

time concept, selective focus point, special toned photo f/xSo, will my writing matter someday?  Oh, I don’t know.  I’d like to think so.  So far, this year alone, I have managed to win a writing contest (what I said must have mattered to some judge somewhere); get published in a Chicken Soup for the Soul book (a book that is intended to out to millions of readers with positive messages about how to live life to the fullest); and have a small quote published in Guideposts magazine (again, a “pick-me-up” type of publication).  This first year of going public with my writing has given me a pretty good boost.  Maybe it’s beginners’ luck, or maybe it’s the start to something big.  Who knows?  Either way, I know that writing saves me.  I don’t mean that in some drama queen “I’d die without it” kind of way.  I mean it just like I said.  It saves me.  It saves my sanity.  It saves me from feeling like I’m all alone (thanks to you readers who continue to comment telling me how much something I’ve said makes you think of you or your current situation).  And most importantly, it saves me from holding all of these jumbled thoughts and words inside of me.  Thank God I’ve found a way to get it all out there.

So, thank you, Writing.  You are on my thankful list.  Thank you for the gift you’ve given to me, and to others, to somehow change the world.  Even if that world may just be our own.

***

“Writing is the only thing that, when I do it, I don’t feel I should be doing something else.”
– Gloria Steinem

Chasm

splitpaths1

Chasm

And then, just like that,
It happens.
Up ahead, you see it.
The path is splitting.
Your companion takes no notice.
They follow on their path as if nothing has changed.
As if nothing looms ahead.
But you.
No.  You’re different.
You’ve always been different.
You see what others do not.
What they will not.
Your paths are not the same.
You know the other path is not the one for you.
The things that please others do not please you.
You find your contentment among books, words,
Children, footsteps on pavement.
But not there.
Not where that path leads.
The loudness, the chaos, the fake laughter, the mornings after.
No.  No, those aren’t for you.
You have stepped over to that path in the past,
This is true.
But it was fake.  Not the real you.
You hurriedly made your way back to the path where you belong.
Where you felt safe.
Where you are content.
Where your footsteps make sense.
Where your smiles are genuine
And there is no pretending.
But now.
The distance between the paths is getting wide.
The chasm is no longer traversable.
Reaching out to hold the hand of your companion
No longer seems possible.
The path is splitting.
You hold on for as long as you can.
Until fingertips are all that connect you.
You stretch.  You reach.  You strain.
It’s no use.
The distance is too evident.
Too much.

Someone must step across.

Or let go.

***

“Look at every path closely and deliberately, then ask yourself this crucial question:  Does this path have a heart?  If it does, then the path is good.  If it doesn’t, it is of no use.”
– Carlos Castaneda

Escape

emptyroom1

Escape

Crawl into the corners of
Your own mind now and then
Find out what is hidden there
Meet your closest Friends
Listen to the Silence, dear
She whispers what you need
Clear the chaos that surrounds
Let yourself be freed
Make a date with Loneliness
Do not shy away in fear
The stories she will have to tell
Are ones you’ll want to hear
Knowledge – she awaits you
Take her hand and just be still
Savor the warmth of her embrace
As the wounds begin to heal.

© Melissa Halsey Caudill, 2013

***

“I never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude.”
– Henry David Thoreau

Muse

“I never exactly made a book. It’s rather like taking dictation. I was given things to say.”
– C. S. Lewis

museblog

This writing thing is weird.

Let me explain…

Lately I have been in a bit of a slump in my life.  I have fallen out of love with something that used to be my biggest passion. My sanctuary.  My oasis.

Acting.

I actually stumbled across a poem I wrote years ago about how I felt about acting.  Mind if I share it with you?

Acting

My passion.

The feel of the hot lights on my face –
The way my heart beats wildly just before the curtain rises –
The adrenaline rush.

My escape.

Reality takes a back seat for two short hours –
Life’s problems are forgotten –
I am no longer me.

Scenes and emotions swirl around me
I get lost in the drama, the melodies;
Dilemmas are solved, Everyone is satisfied –
Happily ever after.

Not like the real world at all.

*sigh*

It makes me sad to read this.  The passion that I felt while writing this poem has managed to disappear somehow.  My escape from the stresses of everyday life has now become one of the stresses.  It has become work.  It has become tedious.  It has become a chore.

I’m just so tired.

Feeling something you once loved slowly slip over into something you dread is a very unsettling feeling.  It can really throw you off course.  Something that once defined you and made you who you are is no longer something you even like.  That’s crazy!  I mean, think about that for a minute.  If you don’t like the thing that defines you – the thing that you are, doesn’t that mean that you no longer like yourself?

Hmmm.  No wonder this has affected me so deeply.

So, my thoughts are weighted down with this heavy stuff this morning – feeling like I’m going to throw in the towel altogether on this whole acting business – when, as part of my normal morning routine habit, I check my blog stats.  Now, my stats show me how many views that each blog entry has received, including when the particular entry was last viewed, and it always surprises me when an older entry has been looked at.  It makes me wonder why.  Did someone remember it and look it up?  Did it show up in some kind of search results?  What called this old stuff to someone’s attention now?

This happened this morning, and the blog in question was the one entitled Burnout.

I saw that so many people had viewed it so, on a whim, I clicked on it myself and read it again.

Wow.  I wrote that?

At the time when I was writing it, I was talking about running.  But, reading it now, it blew my mind realizing how much I could take what I said and apply it to my acting.  There was a time that I felt like I would never run again.  But I was wrong.  After a much-needed break, I’m back.   I’m even thinking of signing up for another half marathon in November.  Being a runner is in my soul now.  It’s too late to turn back.  I couldn’t if I tried.  I’m a runner, whether I’m running or not.

Wait…what did I just say?

I’m a runner, whether I’m running or not.

Well.

Now, how about that?

I guess after re-reading that old blog entry, it’s safe to say that I can make the same assumption now.

I’m an actor, whether I’m acting or not.

No matter how much I feel like I’m ready to give it up, I’m not.  I just need a break.  I really needed that reminder.

Who knew that I would be turning to myself for advice?  It’s crazy, man.  I read this stuff and it’s almost like someone else wrote it.  At the time that I write these things, I’m tapping into a source of strength and energy that is not always there.  I’m not always positive.  I’m not always seeing the ‘silver lining.’  I’m not always someone who Chicken Soup for the Soul is ready to claim as one of their authors.  Believe me.  I can be just as grumpy and grouchy as the next guy.  But somewhere inside me is…well, I don’t know what.

A muse, maybe?

Oh heck, I don’t know what you call it.  But whatever it is, I sure am glad it’s there.  And I hope that the people reading this stuff can benefit from it the way that I have.

Sometimes I’m actually kind of proud of this thing I do.  I can’t wait to see where else it takes me.

***

“…Call it an angel
Call it a muse
 Call it karma that you’ve got comin’ to you
What’s the difference?
What’s in a name?
 What matters most is never ever losin’ faith
‘Cause it’s gonna be alright
You’re not alone tonight.”
– Keith Urban lyrics

Chicken Soup

I have been kind of keeping something a secret.

Oh, I don’t know why really.  I guess at first I wasn’t sure whether I should say something when I wasn’t 100% positive that it was going to be true (I’m still not sure really, but I’ll explain that soon enough).  Then, I was a little embarrassed to say something about it.  Not sure why that is either really.  I guess I just didn’t want to put the cart before the horse or whatever.  And then, finally, I was afraid to say something in fear of…well, I don’t know…jinxing it maybe?

But, alas, as my ever-helpful boyfriend said to me about my fear of the jinx (while quoting the great philosopher, Andy Griffith):

There’s no such thing, Barney.”

(Full of wisdom, that one is.)

Ok.  So, jinx be darned, I’m ready to spill my guts.

See this?

chickensoup

This is the cover of a new Chicken Soup for the Soul book that is being released on December 24.  And guess what?

There’s a very strong chance that one of my stories will be in it.

EEEEEEK!

Ok, let me back up a little and explain.

About four months ago, after starting my blog and getting some pretty positive feedback from people, I decided to try on a little confidence and see how it fit.  I started submitting some of my works.  Mostly, I entered a few little contests here and there (one of which I won!), but then I started looking into submitting works for publishing.  I stumbled across a webpage that listed various publishers and Chicken Soup for the Soul was on the list.  When I saw it, it was like a light bulb went off in my mind.

That’s it!

I had always had trouble deciding how to describe my writing.  My grandmother, who is not techno savvy AT ALL and has thus, of course, never seen my blog (and probably has never even heard of the word ‘blog’), would ask me “Well, Melissa, what is it that you write?”  I was stumped.  I had no idea how to answer that. The things I write certainly don’t fall into the “novel” category (I can barely hold a thought long enough to make a complete sentence, much less maintain a thought for the entire process of writing a NOVEL!  Sheesh!);  they aren’t short stories really (they aren’t long enough for that, and they’re not fiction); they’re not “essays” exactly, but that was what came to closest to describing them I supposed.  But I still couldn’t quite explain to her (or to anyone) what they were exactly.

And then I saw the request for submissions to Chicken Soup and realized that those were exactly what I write.  Just like what the Chicken Soup books are filled to the brim with, I write short little nonfiction personal accounts from my own life that I hope will somehow make a difference to someone else.  As my friend Chris Hansen once said in a Facebook status, “We are more alike than it seems.”  He followed it up with the following quote :

“We are here to awaken from our illusion of separateness.”
– Thích Nhất Hạnh

That was my goal.  I wanted many people from many walks of life – no matter their age, religion, social status, whatever – to look at the stories coming from this one little person floating out here on the planet along with them and think, “Hey! That sounds like me!” 

So, I decided to take a chance.  I sent in a submission to Chicken Soup for the Soul. 

Now, I know a lot of my blog readers are “closet writers” –  I know this because you tell me so with your “I wish I had the courage to do what you do” emails – so I’m going to describe a little bit about the process. (And for those of you who are not writers, I’ll try to keep it short so I don’t bore you to tears.  Or, if you want, you can skip this part.  You’re not going to hurt my feelings, I promise.)

First, I perused the Chicken Soup for the Soul webpage and found the “submit your story” link in a column on the left (which I’ll post at the bottom of this blog for you closet writers I referred to earlier…you know you wanna!).  When you click here, it will give you a list of some possible upcoming book topics.  You then submit your story based on one of these topics.  The story has to be nonfiction – it has to be something that happened to you or someone you know – and can’t be made up.  You actually have to sign a release form later swearing to the truth of what is contained in the story.  The submission is entirely electronic – you just copy and paste the story on to their site and fill in some info about yourself – and Voilà!  You’re done.  It’s that simple.  (And it’s free!)  And then what happens next?

You wait.

If your story isn’t chosen, you just don’t hear anything at all.  I’ve read that they can get thousands of entries on each individual topic. (Holy cow!)  And I’ve also read that it can sometimes take up to FOUR YEARS to hear back from them even if your story is chosen, depending upon when the production date is scheduled for that particular book.  So, if your story is chosen among the entries, you get an email from them letting you know.  (And that email gives you a small little heart attack and makes you cry…or so I’ve heard…) Then, you go on to provide them a small bio about yourself and sign release and waiver forms with regard to your material being printed in the book.

This is the step that I’m at now.  I have just sent in all of my legal forms and wrote a short bio about who I am (50 words or less – that was hard!) to be printed in the book if my story makes the final cut.  According to the assistant publisher (who I’ve spoken with by phone and email a few times at this point), the “vast majority” (her words) of the stories that have made it this far will be printed in the book.  However, if you’re familiar with the Chicken Soup books, you know that each book is divided into different sub-topics.  She explained that sometimes one sub-topic will be “too full” so to speak, and they may have to leave some stories out to keep it balanced.

So…it’s not 100% for sure that I’m in just yet – but I sure am starting to get my hopes up!  Keep your fingers crossed for me!  (And toes and eyes and whatever else you got…)

When (if?) I’m chosen to appear in the book, the next step will be that I will receive a printed copy of my story to proofread and edit if necessary.  Once the editing process is complete, and the book is bound, I will receive ten copies to keep, which I will receive prior to its release date of December 24.  One month after publishing, I’ll receive $200 payment for my story.

Wow.

I mean, the money is cool and all, but at this point – who the heck cares!?  I’m soooo close to having my work published in a national best-selling book.  Oh. My. Gosh.  As my daughter said when she heard the news, “I don’t understand why they pay you.  Shouldn’t you be paying them?” 

Yeah.  Exactly.

So, for the next few months, I am probably going to be a nervous wreck.  This could be such a huge deal for me.  This is big, folks.

But you know what?  I think that even if I am one of the unlucky few that have made it this far and yet don’t quite make it into the book in the end – I think it’s still pretty big, regardless.  Out of hundreds, maybe thousands, of submissions, my story was chosen.  Wow.  I’m honored, humbled, and blown away that this is happening to me.  And I have each and every one of you who are reading this right now to thank.  Because of you taking the time to read this blog and giving me your positive feedback over the months that I’ve been baring my soul for all the world to see, I have gained confidence.  I have started to believe that I’m actually a writer.  And because of that belief – I have taken a chance.  And it may possibly have paid off.

Big time.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for coming along with me on this crazy ride.  I’ll keep you posted!

***

“If you wish to be a writer, write.”
– Epictetus

Links:

Link to submit to Chicken Soup: http://www.chickensoup.com/form.asp?cid=possible_books

Link to read more about the Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Dating Game book and/or to pre-order a copy on Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1611599296/102-7001014-7473727?ie=UTF8&tag=chisouforthes-20&linkCode=xm2&camp=1789&creativeASIN=1611599296

I am a Writer

“I firmly believe that doing what you love involves doing what you once loved as a kid. That thing you were good at. That thing you’d sneak away from your chores to do. Your history tells you everything you ever wanted to know about living your dream.
– Catherine Hughes

I have been wanting to do a blog about writing for a while.  (In other words, I’ve wanted to write about writing.) But I didn’t really know where to go with it.  I write about everything that matters to me – my kids, my boyfriend, my family, my running, my acting, etc. – but I’ve never known exactly how to write about writing.  Just seemed like an odd thing to write about.  A little redundant even.  But yet, it nagged at me.  Somehow, I needed to do it.

And then I read a blog by Catherine Hughes that contained the quote above.  (Here’s a link to the blog if you want to check it out.  It’s a good one!)

And finally, I realized where I wanted to go with this.

I am a writer.

Wow.  Just saying that sounds odd.  A writer.  Me?  Really?

Like the quote implies, maybe a small part of you knew who you were and who you were meant to be from the very beginning.  What did you sneak away to do as a kid?  Me?  I wrote.  Really.  I can remember this old trapper keeper (oh yeah, we’re taking it old school now) that I used to have that was filled to the brim with little poems and notes that I would write as a pre-teen.  They started getting pretty good when I got into my teenage years (even if I do say so myself).  Heck, even back as far as when I was pre-school age, I would make my dad and grandma “play school” with me, and my assignments to them (I was the teacher, of course) were always to write stories or essays.  My grandma still has some of these in storage and they are a hoot to read.  I was not a very gracious teacher.  I didn’t see an “A” in the bunch.  There went their dreams of being writers…

Now, granted, I don’t make money being a writer.  It’s not my profession, so to speak.  But does that mean I’m not one?  Nope.  Does that mean I’m not “living my dream” because my paycheck doesn’t come from what I love?  Of course not.

I am a writer.

Yes, I have a “regular” job.  I’m a real estate paralegal.  While real estate may not be my “dream” per se, I’m actually kind of good at it.  It’s what I know, and all I’ve done since college.  Am I ‘selling out’ because I’m not following my dreams to be a writer?  Of course not.  I’m doing what it takes to take care of myself and my kids.  To keep food in our mouths and a roof over our heads.  I’m being a responsible adult.  I’m not going to win any awards for that.  No nobel peace prize officials are going to be knocking on my door to alert me of my candidacy based on my excellent ability to close a loan refinance or cut the crusts off a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  But I don’t need that.  Watching my kids grow up in comfort and become wonderful young adults is all the award I need.

But in the down times, in the quiet times, I sneak off and become me.  I write.

And for the longest time, I kept that somewhat secret.  My childhood trapper keeper eventually turned to a folder, which then turned into a file on the computer, which then morphed into a private blog, and which now has become this public blog you’re reading now.  I’ve always been a writer.  I’m just finally admitting it, and taking that scary leap into exposing my writing for others to see.

writer

No, I’m not gaining fame and fortune with my writing.  But I am indeed living my dream.  And I thank each and every one of you who haven’t run away.

***

“The dream was always running ahead of me.  To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.”
– Anais Nin

Unreachable

Someone mentioned this poem the other day and I decided to go back and look at it.  I wrote this a long time ago.  And I’ll be honest – there has always been something about it that hasn’t exactly sat well with me.  You know what I mean?  For goodness sakes, I wrote the darn thing.  So I should like it, right?  I should believe it.  But something about it just bothers me.  Can’t quite put my finger on it.  Maybe because it could be construed as ‘giving up’?  Maybe.  But sometimes giving up is a requirement, right?  It’s necessary.  There’s no other choice. 

Maybe it just bothers me because there’s such a thin line between ‘giving up’ and ‘moving on.’ 

I don’t know.

You be the judge.  What do you think?

unreachableblog

Unreachable

Have you ever tried to climb a tree with no branches?
Oh, it is the most frustrating thing!
You know that reaching the top would be wonderful –
So many awesome possibilities –
So much possible potential –
Such a beautiful view!
But how do you get up there when there are no branches –
No stepping-stones along the way –
No one to help you?
You begin to think . . . maybe this tree isn’t meant to be climbed.
Maybe I’m not ready just yet.
Maybe I should just admire the view from the ground for a while.
After all, who knows?
Maybe there is another tree just around the bend.
It may not be as majestic and beautiful…
But it probably has branches.
Maybe, just maybe
It will even bend down to help me up.
Maybe it’s time to move on.

Good-bye to old unattainable dreams.
Hello to new, realistic ones.