“You can’t always get what you want.” 

— from a song by The Rolling Stones released on their 1969 album Let It Bleed. Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards,

I’m learning about what I want.

I’m learning that I have expectations and that it’s ok to want something.

I’m learning it’s okay to ask for what you need.

I’m learning that crying doesn’t mean I’m weak or broken any more than the next person.

I’m learning that failure hurts but it doesn’t define me.

I’m learning that anger hides many things no matter who carries it.

I’m learning that blame is easier than working on a solution.

I’m learning that when someone passes judgment on you they may be very wrong.

I’m learning it is ok to want something different that what others want you to want.

I’m learning that love isn’t love if we can’t connect with each other in spite of ourselves.

I’m learning that action must follow intention.

I’m learning who will listen to me when I’m full of negative energy.

I’m learning what strength is and what it isn’t.

I’m learning that tears and sadness are finite and that life really isn’t one thing or another.  I’m learning that other people struggle to get through their days the best way they know how.    I’m learning how easy it is to pretend I have the answers, how easy it is to convince myself that others are wrong and that I am right.  I’m learning to mistrust that thinking.  I’m learning to stay away from people who believe they are better than me or healthier than me or have more of life figured out than I.  People that really do, don’t have to say so to try and convince themselves.

I’m learning why I write.

I question the folly of writing and posting several entries in the midst of emotional pain.  It is a rash and potentially stupid thing to do.  I wonder if I should stop writing all together or write only “safe” fiction.  I feel pretty stupid, vulnerable, attacked, hurt by all the behind the scenes drama that I created.  What am I doing?  What am I thinking?  Am I losing my balance?  Is the hormonal soup of menopause becoming a witch’s brew and I am drinking too much of it?    I often fumble in the dark trying to figure out what to do or how to do it.  I have problems, challenges.  I  know that what I want is empathy, support, a smile, a hug, a kind word of encouragement not because I’m fragile or inherently weak but because I’m human and those things feel good especially if they come from someone you love.

I need to be genuine, to be reckless and bold and ask for what I want.  I need to be able to accept “no” as an answer.

I’m not sorry I took a risk.  I’m not sorry that I was human and vulnerable and open and unhappy with certain things.  There are some things that are worth crying over.  Some times the best lessons in my life come at a great cost.  Some things I can only  learn after disappointment, failure, pain.

I  fill this page with the personal pronouns.    It is completely possible that I am hopelessly self-absorbed.  I know I can be in moments.  When I write, I write based on my own experiences, my own limited perspective.  I may not always enjoy admitting it but I know it is true.  This, “I” I am trapped in, this “I” through which my perception of the world is channelled, is limited and fallible but it is all that I have.

Call me crazy, a poor navigator of life, a lifelong victim, a hopeless dreamer, an agitator who expects too much.  They may all be true.  It really doesn’t matter.  I am learning to ask for what I want.

After wading through the sadness, after questioning how wrong I might have been, my heart takes me back to the most important lesson of all.   I’m learning that I like my brand of crazy, my dreams, the way I have of navigating my way through the world.  All I have is what I am.  I can’t always have what I want.  I can live with that.  I can live with me.  And, I can write about me, my stumbling through life struggling to keep an open heart and making mistakes along the way.  Some things have to be cracked wide open in order to grow.  I can live with that.




I am the person behind the words printed here. I write because my heart will not allow me the option of NOT writing. It has taken me half a life time to discover this basic truth, but now that I have, writing is as natural as breathing. This is where my breath takes the form of words.


I am reading

The Miracle Morning: The Not-So-Obvious Secret Guaranteed to Transform Your Life (Before 8AM)
0 / 170 Pages