We have our lives now, such as they are.

The one we want for ourselves is over there.

We want to make it happen right now.

Not going to happen. We know better.

Let’s not lie to ourselves, where are we right now? Do we like how we’re living, feeling and what we’re doing? Are we proud and pleased, or flat out tired and defeated?

Where/who do we want to be?

Overnight successes don’t happen overnight. That’s a fact. We just don’t see or hear of the sweat and struggle and effort that goes into the glorious life we suddenly become aware of publicly. It’s an illusion, and a dangerous one to entertain when we let the distance between who we are and who we want to be stop us from taking the first step.

Progress, not perfection is where the magic becomes evident.

Perfection is an excuse to not try, it’s a myth covered in bullshit to keep us where we are. Every imperfection we have makes us perfect for the purpose we have in this world. Our gradual and determined progress makes us living billboards for those who may have given up on themselves. Our imperfections make us human, reachable and real. Others are able to reach out to us, connect to us through our individual flaws.

Imperfections are our gifts, our tools, our inspiration to others if we accept them.

Being vulnerable makes us strong, honest and worth heeding as we share our journey. The only acceptable way to lead is from the front, taking on what’s necessary to move forward in our lives with grace and integrity.

There is no such thing as overnight success.

There is, however, the choice to state your intentions for yourself and take a damn step in that direction. Don’t hesitate. Don’t check out of participating in your own life because you’re afraid or somebody you don’t even admire told you that you weren’t good enough.

Life happens for us, not to us. We didn’t get where we are overnight, neither will we become who we will be in that manner.

Our struggles build us, our challenges prepare us, our devastations awaken us to the distance between our current reality and the one that awaits us if we want it, and if we do we have only to take our first intentional step towards our own victory.

That is success. That is reality. That is living…

An excellent life story re-written as a lasting legacy.

Take the first step.

 

 

 

 

 

A little over a year ago, when my Daddy’s heart beat its last time, my anger went away along with my desire to write.

I felt that I couldn’t be anything but grateful that he was MY father, mine, for the time I had him.

I realize my mom was right a few months ago when she said to me that she was sorry for how worried I was about her on a regular basis, like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I was.

I would pull into the driveway after work, and sit there for a moment or ten, wondering what I would find when I went in…

Would she have fallen again?

Would she have done something foolish again to prove her independence like climb a ladder to change light bulbs, or lift pots of flowers to re-pot them, or just do too much at one time like trimming shrubs or cleaning the whole house instead of waiting for me and breaking things up…

Would she be in the chair she always sat in, breathing still?

Or not.

I have never seen grief in another like I witnessed from my own mother. It was a huge and living thing that consumed her, and at times, anyone in the room with her.

She did not like this world without my daddy in it.

Neither did I.

But she did try. I am proud of her for that. She did better than any of us thought she would…

or maybe she just put on a good show for us.

I know this is awkward sounding, my voice is rusty from lack of use, as is my heart.

I know these words aren’t beautiful or poetically written and I don’t care.

I have to begin somewhere.

I have always worked so hard to not have regrets when someone is gone. I am always aware due to my own life experiences that the phrase “life is short” is not just a bullshit go to, but a hard, cold fact.

I am going to tell you something right now I have never said aloud in the last 30 days…

Yes, I told my mother I loved her, but I regret her not feeling it from me…

I took care of her when things got tough and emotional, but I regret protecting my own grief and not softening enough to give her the heart she needed…

I made sure she ate, but I regret not sharing more dinners and conversations with her…

I was so proud of her, in awe of her, and I told her in many ways, but I regret not making her feel the reality of it…

I find myself randomly just saying out loud, “Momma…” and crying until I’m sick of myself…

I regret, strangely most of all, the loss of feeling the silky softness of her hair as I brushed it back that last time, the softness of her hand as I held it, the loss of seeing her face when she would see me in the morning and smile.

She just wanted love. She wanted my daddy. She wanted to matter to her children…

She did. She mattered more that any of us knew.

Especially her.

It comforts me in some way that she knows all of this now, but I regret she had to die not knowing that she was the foundation for all of us, the immoveable force, the rock of the family.

She taught me how to get back up no matter what, and my daddy taught us to find the joy in it. That was where they became more than the sum of their parts.

It finally answered for me how two very different people loved each other so well for so long…two wings, one bird, and the flight of a life-time.

I wish I had looked her in the eyes and told her to her face…

I wish I’d shown her as much love as I did care.

There is a difference, and you feel it.

I am so sorry Momma.

I love you.