Adventures In Paradise

You know, you’ve been pretty jaded this week.

I know, I know. I’m just feeling selfish I guess, put upon.

Yeah, well you had better shake it off pally. It’s not exactly like you’ve got it bad or anything.

From the outside, I get what you’re saying. But sometimes, from deep within, it does feel that bad. Sometimes, it feels like dying. I feel lost, and ashamed of myself for being so.

So, basically what you’re telling me then, is that you’re having for yourself a pity party?

I suppose.

But didn’t your dad always tell you to just “walk it off?”

Well, yeah. But that response seems too car-blanche. Far too easy.

Because it is.

So what’s the answer then?

You know the answer. You’ve had it in your noodle the whole while. You’ve even offered it as advise to others who have been in pain. “When you can walk it off, do. But when you can’t, rest up first. Have yourself a good cry. Get well. And then walk.”

So you didn’t have that meeting that you were so cock-sure would change your life. So what? So you don’t understand why the meeting was scheduled in the first place, had J.C. truly had your back. Again, so what? Remember when you used to read to your children? They didn’t know what the words were, but you did. And even though they couldn’t read along, they still cuddled up close to you, they trusted you. And the story was still told. So now you once again find yourself illiterate to Life’s ways. Big whoop. Just sit in J.C.’s lap, let him read to you.

It’s that easy?

Of course it’s that easy. And that’s precisely why it’s so damned hard.

It is hard. Impossible at times.

Can I do this?

You have been all along. Just because you’re not listening doesn’t mean he’s not reading – the story is told, with or without your active participation. Dude, it’s just life. You’re not the first, and you’re not the last (and if I might add, you’re for damned sure not the prettiest!) to go through it. So, buck up lil’ pony, and walk it off. Or rest until you can. You know, your mom has had some pretty cool catch phrases as well…

You’re talking about her infamous “this too shall pass,” I would assume?

Yep. And yes, it will. In the end, it all will. In the end your career will have been just that. Just something you did to fill the hours and pay the bills, a mere footnote on your resume for Life Eternal. In the end, C’s health will be no better or worse for all your fretting. And your life together will not benefit from your inability to be patient and/or simply roll with the punches. In the end every last person you’ve lost along the way will be found again. In the end, J. C. will close the book – only to open a new one – and hopefully you’ll have learned to read at least a couple of the words by then, you know?

Yeah, I know.

Good. Now, do something for me. Do something different this week. I know you usually like to write in silence. I know you feel as if it makes you a stronger writer (trust me kid, it don’t). But just this once, write while you’re burning some of your old crappy vinyl over to MP3 instead. For this post, plug in your earphones, and write while the docile tones of your “South Sea Island Music” box set laps up against your brain. Do it, and see if you can’t end this week on a high note, OK?

OK. I will.

And hey, thanks.

My pleasure. You and I are the bestest of friends, you know. And it does my heart good to see you smiling. I love you man.

I love you too.

Good. Remember that.

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18 thoughts on “Adventures In Paradise

  1. I really like your thought about the story being read even when we don’t fully understand the words and that it continues to be read even when we’re not listening. Good is omnipresent, but we sometimes forget to align ourselves with it. And your dad was right. Walking is good for the soul, and for that aligning business.

  2. t you never cease to amaze me. I love the way you write. I love how you advise and care. I love, love, love it. I keep trying to tell myself that this too shall pass. That life will go on. That I’m not stagnant. That I’m beautiful in heart, body and soul. That I can make it. That I’m not as tame as I think I am. That I’m sparkly and good. For the most part I believe that. But then there’s that nagging in the back of my mind. That reminder of all the bad things I’ve done in my life and the fact that they may catch up with me. That they’ll attack. That I’ll lose everything. But then I catch my breath and think maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. And then I feel awful for that thought. Yes, this too shall pass. Yes we will get through it. Come hell or high water we will. We just don’t want to miss out on too much while we wait. All my love t.

  3. oh t, how I wish I had all the answers too, how I wish I could just let go and let God and all that. But the way you wrote it, to yourself, was like you were talking to all of us and pushing us to live our life, to just get out there and LIVE (or rest, but still breathe) …

    honestly, as much as I want to send a virtual hug to you, I always want to say THANK YOU…for writing it all down, for reminding me how small I am in the scheme of this and how very much I’m loved from above.

    (((HUGS)))

  4. As always, masterfully done. You have given me the best advice in the world for ANYTHING that ails me:
    When you can walk it off, do. But when you can’t, rest up first. Have yourself a good cry. Get well. And then walk.

    May I quote you on that?

  5. Pingback: Good For What Ails You « Fay Moore: I Want To Be a Writer

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