Today I got to leave work early. I drove home in the afternoon sun. It was glorious.
After spending time in the empty church parking clutching my imaginary steering wheel and pushing the passenger sides non-existent floor peddles, Ciera discovered the brakes, accelerator, blinkers and mirrors. Who am I kidding? She never looked in the mirrors. After 23 minutes I regained control of the vehicle. I dropped her off curbside and headed to do “errands”.
I went to the library and the bookstore. I browsed, ignoring the covers screaming for attention and sought out the subtle still waters. Could I just plop myself down in the middle of the floor and devour them all? My fingers itched in anticipation of the story, the plot, the characters hidden in plain view for me to discover. Breathing in the printed words I began to remember all my meandering ideas and tortuous thoughts for stories. Yes, I meander and yes, some of my thoughts… oh hell, all of my thoughts are tortuous. Funny, down this path of what if, I began to remember that I enjoy spending time… with me. I remembered that my job does not define me. I remembered how to smile.
What is shamefully true for me is discovering that working for someone else has been difficult for my ego. I am shallow. I am superficial. I am loathsome. I didn’t realize I would experience such self -depreciation for the youthful remuneration and the tedious tasks I find myself doing day in and day out. I had forgotten the politics and petty problems of office life and how the daily interaction influences how I value myself. I thought middle age had overcome my bi-polar insecurities. I was wrong.
Today, I just was, come what may, and it felt good. Today I remembered that there will always be people who don’t like me and that’s ok, because there are people I don’t like too. Today I discovered that I still like me, warts, hot flashes and all. I still find myself entertaining. I still managed to find… myself.
It felt good to be reminded amongst the spines and covers that no one really knows the tale except those who search beneath the surface and spend the time getting to know and understand the character of our life.