Getting Real.

Andrew on days that end in "y"

It's pretty obvious to anyone who knows me that I am an avid nonfiction reader. I never used to be this way--fictional literature was the only avenue that offered a welcome escape into a world of make-believe, and I gobbled up books in various genres, enjoying the fantasy they offered.

I'm sure my shift to nonfiction had something to do with getting older and reality becoming more complex. Life became more challenging to navigate, and so the idea of reading someone else's road map and listening to their experiences offered an opportunity to know that I wasn't alone. My further hope, potentially, was to learn some lessons second-hand so that I didn't have to make those same mistakes.

But then as life happens, you begin to realize that the "mistakes" and the "failures" are the only path available if you want to truly grow and earn those lessons so that they actually adjust your perspective and your choices. We learn nothing when life is perfect; if anything, it offers a Siren's call to begin taking everything for granted and naively judge those around us from our temporary place of confidence and self-assured status.

Life always has a way of pulling the rug out in those moments. As soon as we think we have it all figured out, change, no matter how dramatic, reminds us that we are not truly in control--as we thought we were--and that we have more lessons to learn, ready or not.

This awareness has led me to meditate on my own "nonfiction" (aka Life) as I digest those of others I read. Instead of seeing their stories as a road map, I've begun to absorb their experiences as a way to simply help me reflect on my own and pay attention to what resonates with me.

Recently, though, I've come to one realization about their writing and, in fact, my own writing on this blog: everything is written in PAST TENSE. Hindsight always offers perspective, but hearing about someone living through tragedy after they've come out on the other side isn't always reassuring while you're experiencing the pain.

Hearing about your PAST experiences while they are my PRESENT just isn't always satisfying. And sometimes, it feels downright rude!

I understand there are logistics involved in book writing--by the time you've reflected enough to actually comprehend putting the experience on paper, submitting it to a publisher, and getting it bound and placed on shelves, a year or years could have passed since conception.

But in a blog, I have the luxury of living in real time. Of posting my thoughts before they become reflections, and I've come to the realization that this opportunity has the potential to offer even one person reading this the chance to witness vulnerability over achievement and struggle over strength.

Strong is a word I've been called all my life, and I've begun to wonder if that's because...

• I'm able to mask pain with a smile on my face.
• I fear vulnerability because it requires letting your guard down.
• My words say 'asking for help' is admirable, but my actions often model the opposite.
• I just don't know how to choose when to be vulnerable, because everyone doesn't need to know your whole story, but I also place a lot of value in authenticity.

So for a moment, because that's all I think I could handle, I thought I'd step away from the seemingly "strong" reflections that I have in hindsight and offer a PRESENT feeling:

Life has been a struggle for so many reasons lately. 

As a mom, I've been incessantly conscious about doing the "right" things for my boys--am I spending enough time with them? should I stop running a household so that they see me more, but what happens if I let all of those responsibilities go? In the moments when they 'lose it', is it a phase, or is there something more I should be doing?

As a professional, I'm doing my best to lead by being a servant to others, but does that always come through? Am I taking steps each day to truly understand the experiences of others, and if so, how/should I help others to know what I'm up to? Where does the line between justification and transparency get drawn?

As a person, insecurity has been a vice that has joined me in my journey, especially where loneliness can be concerned. I think back to the line, "water, water, everywhere, but not a drop to drink." It isn't for lack of love and support; it's simply because sometimes in life, you just don't know where you fit even though you know yourself so well. "To thine own self be true" feels like a setup when that truth completely alters your reality.

I guess when others say I'm strong, it's simply because I'm following my truth and no one else's. I'm realizing how much easier said than done that can be. Life presents so many "get rich quick" schemes when it comes to avoiding difficulty and pain--just take this, buy this, or pretend to be this and you too can make everyone believe that you're doing just fine.

Following my truth means being a bit more vulnerable and a bit more open in my writing. If that can draw back the curtain that reflection and hindsight often use as a disguise, then maybe others could be a bit more self-assured that life is going to be 20/70 once in a while until hindsight shows up to bring clarity.

So for once, I'm ending this blog without resolution. Without an answer, proverbial closure, or quirky quote that begs us to carpe diem. Sometimes, life is just a cluster, and THAT'S OK.

Here's to leaning in when you want to run away,

Kristy