It comes back to visit her often, and its voice can be heard whispering, “Is this all there is to life?”
Very little makes her feel complete. Even then, it’s only temporary.
It’s said that the meaning of life is to discover your gift…
Then, in turn, give it away to others.
Fulfillment escapes her as she travels in circles over and over, and over again.
She is tired and uninspired.
Each time, her battery, running lower and lower, as she expends more and more energy without a way of recharging; doing what she no longer cares to do, but must in order to survive and nourish herself.
Grateful for opportunities, she fears many of them she has outgrown.
Even the little things have become tedious.
No longer challenging.
Putting the clothes on, taking the gloves off?
Doing what you do not like robs ten times more the energy.
Yet, she keeps on. It’s what she knows. It’s food on the table.
It leaves nothing left over to figure out the next move in the journey of life.
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.
Maybe the definition of insanity should simply be doing the same thing over and over.
Phone rings. Repeat offer. She says yes.
She does things in life she doesn’t want to do because they’re familiar. Because they’re easy. Because they provide. Because she is afraid to do more.
The hatred comes for time lost doing things she doesn’t want to do. Hating herself for doing them.
Time off to think, and starve? Work, and die inside?
The restlessness grows as she stands still, stunted.
Four way stop, nothing is moving, trapped in gridlock.
The minutes tick by, turning into days…weeks…months…
Time melting, like a Salvatore Dali clock.
Every day, slipping away.
She stays the same.
Ever frustrating, She is a muse for others.
A goddamn muse.
She inspires creativity all around her.
Music. Art. Writing. Self improvement. Business.
Because of her, they go after their dreams and goals.
Proud. She loves helping others and lifting them up.
It makes her happy when they succeed, lose weight, write, inspire others, create something beautiful, feel accomplished… and grow.
She inspires ideas and success in others. And yet, she cannot do this for herself.
She is jealous…of her.
A butterfly makes people pause in wonder.
To admire her beauty. To wish for freedom and flight. To ponder the possibilities.
We realize what is a grounded fuzzy caterpillar today could be colorfully flitting around in the air tomorrow. You cannot chase a butterfly. You can only stand still and hope that it chooses you.
Where is HER butterfly?
She sits there, knowing what she should do. Knowing what has to be done. Doing none of it. She turns away from the truth and hides. But she has never been very good at lying to herself.
She doesn’t want this anymore.
It’s not fun anymore.
She wants more.
There has to be more.
Ready to move forward, afraid to let go…desperate for the energy and drive to navigate her life up over the sidewalk, across the empty playground, and down that side street to get away from the frozen solid traffic jam.
Which do you use to make decisions? Love…or fear?
It’s not whether or not you have problems. It’s whether or not you have the same problems as last year.
She has the same problems as last year.
She must grow.
She longs for the creativity that she KNOWS is ready to spill out and flow, if just unlocked.
She can feel it as surely as the sunshine upon her face while she stands still and scans the world for those colorful wings flitting about.
Mariposa. Schmetterling. Vlinder. Papillion. I know you must be out there… somewhere.
I really fucking need you now.
“Success does to the living what sunshine does to stained glass.”