This whole thing started with “Sheisse!” (“shit” in German)
And I felt justified in saying it, too. Out loud, even! For Stuff has gone Wrong all day. Broken dishes, broken wifi, broken me…ah, there’s one part of it. Only in the last few days has my mom felt…gone gone, physically gone. Physically, it’s hitting me that she’s not coming back. No more hugging her. No more dissolving into giggling fits with her. And this knowledge keeps seizing up my body in sudden crying jags.
And it’s good, it is, I know, I do. I’m sitting with the pain, not avoiding it, moving through it, not avoiding it.
But tonight’s “sheisse” didn’t come directly from the pain. For on top of it, this day shoveled a slew of minor inconveniences: vague fatigue from the remnants of a cold, a computer that suddenly rejected Safari as incompatible, making it impractical for me to work away from home, where I am surrounded, still, by a bunch of Mom’s stuff not yet organized, where the dishes are always almost done and the clothes always almost folded and the Legos always underfoot, where Instagram and Facebook beckoned like the Sirens and I did not blindfold eyes or plug ears but succumbed for so many hours in a row that my eyes couldn’t focus properly (don’t even try to say you don’t know what I mean).
So the “sheisse” started with pain, amped with me, then blew up and out with the rest. And I yelled it. And in the very second I imagined justifiably posting a snarly “Sheisse!” on various social media platforms,
I realized what utter bullshit it was.
And the rant flipped.
I am blessed.
With conveniences and opportunities and connections and support and,
for crying out loud,
that so very few in this great world of ours ever get to experience.
(Yes, I’m crying again, while typing this.)
Am I tired from this week’s cold? Yes. But I have the freedom to heal my body. I’m not being beaten or pressured into ignoring it, ruining my health.
Do I suffer delays in work because of tech issues? Yes. But good grief, I have tech with which to have issues. So the wifi only works in my bedroom. A. I have a bedroom. B. Oh my gosh! I have to sit on a bed to do my work, with wifi I get for FREE (thank you, again, as always, neighbor Tom). So the laptop with a screen large enough to edit on (that was a gift; thank you again, Kirsten) has rejected Safari. So I can’t hook the little netbook (oh, gift, too!) to the large monitor (gift) because wifi doesn’t work in the living room…so what!? I have two computers. TWO. And a monitor. And wifi, for FREE.
Did I fail to accomplish my whole work plan today because of (besides the tired) too long spent on social media? Too true. But dang, it was popping. Several really awesome photographers followed my Instagram feed today because of the photos I posted. I got to talk with friends near and far and commune and joke and relieve the loneliness…and share such cool stuff with all of you on Facebook today. And new connections with fellow writers yielded kudos and comments on my blog! It was a good day, all told…and how amazing is the internet, anyway? It was one of those days. Thankful, thankful.
Do I feel constantly behind with my home and money and finding a job and making the writing/speaking/singing pay and feeling like that stress will never end? Yep. But holy hell, I have a home and deserved optimism, and things aren’t stagnant but dynamic and moving and promising and hopeful, the kind of hopeful that’s realistic; where my effort is being met by an absolutely positive response, where the plans are real and where I’m helping people simply by doing that work!
Am I overwhelmed with how I could work without breaks, every single minute, for at least a few weeks in order to finish all the things I know I’m supposed to do? Yes. And is the writing of that book emotionally gut-hard, every time having to face who I was and became and am? Yes. But holy moly, it’s my work! My story! My book! I know who I am and what I’m supposed to be doing, and it springs from heart and soul and center. You–so many of you!–have told me how that story has helped you. You’ve almost yelled at me to KEEP GOING! You’ve even joined me, and asked hey, how can I help? It’s amazing! (You’ll be seeing stories of thanks on the website soon!) You’re amazing!
“Sheisse” deserves only a reactive, momentary place in my world. I won’t bottle it up, no. But hot damn, I am blessed: amazing children and family, amazing friends, an amazing community, amazing opportunity…even amazing food! Look at that plate in the photo above! Those are heirloom tomatoes I bought from people who farm traditionally, with integrity and love. Those tomatoes are on top of eggs I bought from a friend who keeps chickens, and her chickens have names, and they run free. No factory. No ugliness. Only beauty and love in those eggs. I get to eat like that most days! Simply, cheaply, yes. But crazy amazing!
And did my mom die? Of cancer? Yes. (yes, crying) Is grief tossing me about like a doll in the mouth of a rabid dog? Yes. Am I depressed? … (softly spoken) yes. But gosh, I got to know her. She was my best friend. And amazing. The kindest, most positive person I knew, with music in her very cells. She never had a mom like the one I got in her. She was the mom she never had–not perfect, not an unreachable saint, but real and lovely inside and out. And the things of hers that are still to be dealt with…well, they’re worthy of attention because of who she was. Through these bits of matter, I get to embed her beauty and taste and very imagination even more in my life and the lives of family and friends and even strangers through donating! And her deepest, most real gifts are here, inside of me and my children and our larger family and all those she touched. We are blessed by her, even in her absence.
So can I justifiably say “Sheisse”? Yes, but only in a moment’s frustration. And even when I let it rip, tonight, in the one–literally, one–second after “sheisse!”, all of the above rolled through me, from toes to head, bursting out into a bark of laughter through tears.
The rant somersaulted into gratitude.
And gratitude is where I live, where I’ll stay, thank you very much. I hope you will join me there. Love and hugs, Jene’
p.s. One last thing for which I’m thankful (and it’s profound): the hot bath waiting for this gal…a luxury, all told, yes. So to the field of perception, God, You, the Great I: Thank you for the water and iron and heat and then the bed and the sleep, for the chance to wake to a new day, with coffee and a list of ways to serve and share awaiting. j