I can’t sleep. I thought she was dead. The politics make me crazy. I wish I was smarter but that’s not something you can wish. It takes studying.
I wish I had more money, but that would take more work. I wish I was more understood but that would take more understanding.
I co-sleep. My little one is 16 months and kicks or talks all night. I still wouldn’t trade it but I am chronically tired. It doesn’t matter. I awaken this morning to the book by my bed “When Things Fall Apart, Pema Chodron. I have read it and highlighted it to death over the last 13 years. It still calls me.
When I turn my “white noise” down a little lower my addict creeps to FB. I decide in my sleep I will let people (who?) know how I really feel about it all. Then I read. What I read may not even be true but it tells my ego-now you must be quiet.
I get up to drink the coffee. I need 42 coffees before the babes wake up. I drink. I read. I write. Am I lost? Am I centered? Will my friends at church not speak to me because I have supported the Women’s March. To my women have I supported them and myself enough. What do I really believe? Would it be different depending on who I am with. How do I sit alone as Tayla and make a choice for myself. Decide who I really am at the core and what I really believe.
We had a life group last night and my pastor (very cool guy, not old man hell and brimstone) asks us,
“What gives your soul energy? How do you feed your soul? How do you “sabbath”
My answer comes quickly, I know this: Hikes alone. A road trip alone singing as loud as I can to a brand new amazing record. Movies alone. Therapy when it clicks. Laughing with my very closest girlfriends when we are just being us.
David (brother) called me to tell me they were rushing Granny to Vanderbilt. She was having an allergic reaction to some medicine and they were thinking it was Johnson’s disease. Maybe she would spend some time in the burn unit-this disease eats your skin cells. I thought when he called she was dead. I wasn’t ready. She is 83, she has not been well, I should be ready. I pushed that grief away like it was a hot stove. I repelled. I said NO I can not now, I’m not ready. I thought-I have things to say.
The Next Right Thing
What would you say? I went and said them and it didn’t change the tide. She didn’t light up like they do in the movies. It mattered to me but didn’t move the world. But it shifted my world. When we do the next right thing we shift something in ourselves.
She is better and on the mend. *this is not Loretta. I feel irritated even having to say that. Like Granny is not as important to you as Memaw. Haven’t I created that beast though? Do I post pics of me and Granny? No. But then again Granny barely let you take her picture 🙂
I think maybe I am just writing to one person out there this morning. Someone who just wants to connect with someone elses story. Who has a mottled mind like me. Who wants to have more facts in their tool box but lives by heart instead.
I know you. I am you. Unload to me. Help me feel the normality of not being alone is this crazy mind too. Tell me that you too miss your granny even though you still won’t go see her enough. That you don’t know all these policies but you know what your heart tells you is right when it comes to politics, tell me that you wake up with nonsense in your head, a twisted toddler on your bed and still a hopeful bright, happy heart.