A Beginning and End

At the beginning, I so desperately wanted to be at the end. I could not imagine what that even looked like, and it scared me. It scared me in the way sliding off a mountain from a pitch of loose rock scares me. All I knew was that I could not continue to live the life that I was living, because the slide had already started.

I keep journaling about this, because sometimes I feel out at sea, and my journal has become a map, a compass, and an expression of my passion for life. At times, especially early on, I would feel lost, or sinking in the wreckage of a hand-me-down vessel. Most of the time, I felt incompetent in knowing how to navigate away from unsafe harbors, and dangerous currents, friendly shores, or not. Am I making progress, or just sailing in circles counting them as laps around the world? 

Writing down stories and thoughts puts experience into form, and leaves record of areas already navigated. Yes, I have covered this ground, or No, that is unfamiliar as Hell. When I write it out, it doesn't have to be accurate. Pen on paper proves that I lived through it. Maybe I learn a lesson, or let go of some mental anguish in the process.

This story, the one that wakes me up every morning, and puts me to bed at night, is ever evolving. Chapters overlap, beginnings become ends, and ends seem to inevitably produce yet another beginning. I tell myself this story constantly. It walks with me. It plays out and over again in meditation, work, and conversations with people in my life. The story shapes my dreams and desires. It falls with the rain, blows in the wind, and warms my face when I look towards the sun. When the lyrics of a song match the scene swirling across the hazy background of daydreams, I become overwhelmed with gratitude.

I just deleted five hundred words about the beginning, and end, of my lawn/landscape business, so I will paraphrase…I am not the person that I was when I started the business in May 2014. I knew little then, and I know little now, but my perspective has changed completely. My heart is no longer in it, for several reasons, and it's not coming back, for several reasons. I guess that explains it enough.

I am grateful for everything I learned and gained in the process, but I want to avoid becoming bitter now that I am at the end. Life is too short, so I want to begin the next phase with an open, and healed heart. The business is not the problem, but sticking with it has become one. Leaving what is not working is not quitting, it's just moving on. Thank you for everything, so long now. 

What do I expect out of the next chapter? I don't know. I have stated that before. I am just here to be an observer to the light show. I am ready for however it ends, and whenever that is. Knowing that it is in progress right now is what really matters to me.

For too long I blamed others, including myself, for the vibration of chronic disturbance that writhed under my skin. In fear I would miss out on my piece of the pie, I overindulged when I could have used some self-compassion and care. In our human world that is hard to come by, no matter who you are. Traumas go unhealed.

It started too young, and I masked it poorly. Alcohol helped me disassociate from it, so I could mask it better. Every transition that was supposed to lead to a new found happiness in life started high, and ended at a deeper low. Everything continued to go the wrong direction. The next beginning was further below the surface. The next breath for survival seemed impossibly further above.

Starting over from scratch took more than one try. Like starting a new story at a typewriter, I would make it a page or two, and then crumple it up and toss it away. Sometimes, someone would crumple, shred, or burn up the story for me, and I would scream at them for screwing me over before we got to the end, or even what I imagined to be the good parts. But if I could have just seen that in another page or two I would have ended it myself, maybe I wouldn't have had such hurt feelings. And then it came down to it; hurt feelings.

How could I stop allowing my feelings to be hurt, if I couldn't show up without hurt feelings? Ding-ding.

I had nowhere to go with them. I didn't know what to do with them. I couldn't even begin to look at them. Feelings? Who needs them?

Because my feelings are nobody else's responsibility but my own, for me to actually gain power over them would require an all out assault. A non-stop voyage into uncharted waters known only to those dark ghosts I allowed to have power over me for far too long. At the beginning there was no promise of return, and now, from where I stand today, I have no idea where this all will end.

I can only have faith that serenity exists in the light, because that would be the only purpose in stepping out of the terrible security of darkness.