It's November now, and my saga begins again, reluctantly rising like the fed up and flabby phoenix that it is. Where have I been for the last six or seven weeks, you may wonder. Why haven't I been here, enthusiastically chronicling my smashing success in taking control of my weight, and more importantly, my life? How shall I say it? Things fell apart.
Have you ever bolstered your courage, polished your self-esteem, convinced yourself you could soar on wings of your own faith, if only you would take that leap? So you do - and just when you think you feel the updraft, you find yourself in a free-fall? And then you make yourself believe that the Forces That Be are quickly mobilizing to stretch out that safety tarp below as you hurtle faster and faster to the ground, but instead, you smash into the punishing concrete. Have you ever endured a phase when you questioned every step you've ever taken? Every choice you've ever made? Every accomplishment you've achieved, or worse, thought you had achieved? Have you ever awoken to the understanding that you will never create the life you had intended to, no matter how hard you try? That you will always be "too-this" and "not-enough-that" to be who you really want?
Okay, probably. I imagine most of us suffer a crisis of confidence at some time or other, particularly around mid-life. This post sounds more morose than I really feel at the current moment. Sorry about the melodrama. But sometimes I just get tired. It's true that all I can control is my own behavior and my own response to the things that happen in my life. Yes, I understand that. But it just never stops - the frustrations, disappointments, the things you can't change but still intrude and muddy your efforts. Life barrels on - the exigences, the responsibilities, the curve balls. You scramble to take care of one thing, while another suffers from neglect. You'll have to deal with the fall-out later. Things keep falling apart. Some people seem to deal with it just fine, and others don't.
So ... my rant for today is over. I am done being angry with life and disgusted with myself. But I have come to a reluctant conclusion: I'm sick of trying to believe we can "manifest" anything we want badly enough. Attitude and belief only go so far. Sometimes, things are the way they are, period. Pigs can't fly. Love doesn't conquer all. The best intentions promise nothing. Life isn't fair.
And tomorrow? It will be the first day of the rest of my life. Thank goodness.