Thursday, January 29, 2009

I know I'm supposed to...

be grateful for how good my life is.
After all, we have a house we love and two cars that run well.
We have a cute little dog that makes us all laugh.
We have some of the best neighbors in the world.
My husband has a job that provides for all we need and quite a few extras.
We have our health - and decent health insurance.
We have some money in the bank, not tons of money, but some.
We have traveled a lot and made friends in many places.


Eating ice cream with Carlos, one of the other translators for our team, in Nicargua.
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We have friends who love us and check in on us regularly.
We have been invited to someone else's house for the Super Bowl,
so there will be no mess to clean up here.
If you believe those stats that talk about the percentages of people in the world that have graduated from high school, have electricity and indoor plumbing, food in the pantry, coins in a jar in a closet or on a shelf, and money in the bank (and I believe those stats), then we are among the wealthiest people in the world.



Check out the dragonflies mating on her shoe!
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I know I'm supposed to be grateful.
And I am. I really am.



Getting onto the runway, preparing to return from Managua, Nicaragua to Atlanta and eventually Charlotte.
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But still, sometimes...

I get scared.
I feel lonely. A lot of the time,.
I get angry and resentful and bitter sometimes.
I wanna scream at people - family members, church members, politicians, friends, and strangers alike.
I wish I could turn back the clock on my life to some earlier era and pretend that there was some time in the distant past when everything was perfect, everyone was healthy, and no one had any problems at all.
I worry that all of this, all our blessings, are gonna to be taken away in an instant.

Sometimes I believe lies.
I tell lies.
I want to live a lie.
I do live a lie.



Looking into a small chapel in the cathedral of Granada, Nicaragua.
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Sometimes I question my faith.
I wonder what it would be like to abandon my faith.
I wonder what it is exactly that I believe.

Sometimes I fantasize about what I would do, where I would go, how I would live, and what I would never do again if I won the lottery or somehow came upon a boatload of money. Sometimes I fantasize about how I would do all that stuff if I didn't have a lot of money, but instead had a lot of courage.



Bags packed. Room clean. Ready to hit the road.
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Sometimes this family thing, this marriage thing,
this parenting thing, this life thing,
is a little too much.
I know I'm supposed to be bigger and stronger and smarter and more grounded than all this.
But know that I am not bigger or stronger or smarter or more grounded than any of this.
I am profoundly, truly, deeply, and fully human.

5 comments:

Karen Maezen Miller said...

Ah yes, to be human is to be everything.

Lori said...

How come I feel so sad after reading this. The thing is, it's human sometimes to wanna run, to wanna walk away from it all. But if you are really human, you couldn't. I can empathize with all your emotions right now. Hang in there. And eventually the bleeding stops.

Amy said...

You are, indeed, human, just like the rest of us. I share your joys, thanks, and doubts. I, too, want to--more often than I admit-- just sell everything and hit the road on some great adventure. A midlife crisis? A yearning for a greater purpose? A combination of both.

And on we go ...

jmgb said...

if i remember gail, you were aspiring to be more honest in your life.

well done lady.

this resonates, this screams, and this too shall pass.
there is healing after pain.
and right now there is pain.
so thanks, for sharing it...

i will sit here this morning and pray and think of you and yours, i will send you something like grace and hope that what is in my heart will make it your way.
you are loved.

Maya Stein said...

Gail -

So wonderful said. Thank you for your honesty and bravery in revealing this. I think it's something many of us can relate to, but wouldn't have the cojones to write down. Many thanks, on many levels.