![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The Small Epiphanies ...
May. 12th, 2009 02:42 pmI always think of an epiphany as something huge and loud and life-shattering. The relevant definition would seem to indicate such a thing: a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience. (courtesy of dictionary.com) Or, maybe not. Maybe I've always expected or thought an epiphany, because of its sudden nature would be something brash or loud or ... well, something that was impossible to ignore or miss.
And yet, it has seldom worked that way in my life. I've had epiphanies -- not many, but a few -- and they have, invariably, come upon me quietly. Like a cat sneaking into the room on padded feet. Just, one moment, there's nothing. Then, you turn around and "boom", you've discovered something. About yourself. About your life. About the people around you.
This happened to me over the weekend. I read an article in the Sunday paper insert about a local playwright. She is very successful, and, in addition to her accomplishments as a writer, she is the mother of three young children. How does she do it? How can she manage this? Questions that immediately came to mind for me, as I can't seem to manage my time well, even though I only have one child. I was hesitant to read the article, because I felt like a failure even from looking at the very first sentence. (The one that said she's a successful playwright and the mother of three young children.)
But, the hubs told me I should read it. I argued that I couldn't take feeling like more of a failure. I do a great job of playing that card on myself; I didn't need the Sunday paper to help with it. He stood his ground, though, and promised me I would not feel like a failure. That, instead, I might feel ... inspired.
I almost hate it when he's right. Because it reminds me that he knows me so much better than I know myself, even. And yet, he still can't manage to put away his shoes or pick his socks up off the floor. Silly man.
Needless to say, I was inspired, in a way. The article discussed how, faced with the unexpected birth of her third child, this playwright felt she would have to bid her creative life good-bye. And so she embarked on a surge of creative energy during her pregnancy -- kind of like a person who finds they have only a finite number of months to live, she felt she had to push everything into these nine months left to her. These nine months before she would have to let go of that creative, inventive side of her life. And, somehow, through what she saw as an "ending", she actually found a beginning. Instead of bidding good-bye to her creative life, she realized it was something she could not let go. She realized, instead, she would have to look at her life, as a whole, and decide what was most important to her. The answer came easily: her kids and her writing -- and so she would focus on doing those two things to the very best of her ability.
I was ... well, stunned as I finished up the article. It seems so easy, doesn't it? The answer is simple: Figure out what you love the best and go do that. And yet, it's not so easy. It hasn't been easy for me. I fall into that trap of trying to do everything. And trying to do it perfectly. The more I dislike a task, the more I will try to perfect it. I'm not sure why I'm like this; I suspect it has something to do with my childhood and my parents' high (often unrealistic) expectations, but I can't know that for sure. But here was this woman who had been through much the same thing. Who had, also, tried to do everything. And who had realized: "Hey, it's not possible."
So, the moral is: Let it go.
This is what I need to do. I need to look around at my life and let things go. Figure out what is most important to me, keep those things, nurture those things, and cut the rest of the dead wood from my life. So far, I have failed to do that. I don't know why, really. I mean, I thought I knew why. When I started typing this, I thought I had it all figured out, but, as the words flow from my keyboard, I realize I don't get it. I just don't. I don't want to think about it. Maybe I don't want to go there. Whatever.
But that doesn't matter. I need to learn to let go of others' expectations for me and my life. I do a lot of things because others expect them of me ... or want them from me. And, at the end of the day, I look around and am left with nothing more than a hollow feeling. No one takes me seriously. No one believes in me. Not really. And it's my own fault. If I want to be a writer. If I want to make a living as a writer. If I want to even dream I'm capable of such a thing -- and I have no idea if I have the talent within me -- I have to take it seriously. No one else is going to do that until I take that step.
It seems like such a simple thing and yet, I dunno. I feel I've made some deep and meaningful discovery. Epiphanies. I guess they're like that.
And yet, it has seldom worked that way in my life. I've had epiphanies -- not many, but a few -- and they have, invariably, come upon me quietly. Like a cat sneaking into the room on padded feet. Just, one moment, there's nothing. Then, you turn around and "boom", you've discovered something. About yourself. About your life. About the people around you.
This happened to me over the weekend. I read an article in the Sunday paper insert about a local playwright. She is very successful, and, in addition to her accomplishments as a writer, she is the mother of three young children. How does she do it? How can she manage this? Questions that immediately came to mind for me, as I can't seem to manage my time well, even though I only have one child. I was hesitant to read the article, because I felt like a failure even from looking at the very first sentence. (The one that said she's a successful playwright and the mother of three young children.)
But, the hubs told me I should read it. I argued that I couldn't take feeling like more of a failure. I do a great job of playing that card on myself; I didn't need the Sunday paper to help with it. He stood his ground, though, and promised me I would not feel like a failure. That, instead, I might feel ... inspired.
I almost hate it when he's right. Because it reminds me that he knows me so much better than I know myself, even. And yet, he still can't manage to put away his shoes or pick his socks up off the floor. Silly man.
Needless to say, I was inspired, in a way. The article discussed how, faced with the unexpected birth of her third child, this playwright felt she would have to bid her creative life good-bye. And so she embarked on a surge of creative energy during her pregnancy -- kind of like a person who finds they have only a finite number of months to live, she felt she had to push everything into these nine months left to her. These nine months before she would have to let go of that creative, inventive side of her life. And, somehow, through what she saw as an "ending", she actually found a beginning. Instead of bidding good-bye to her creative life, she realized it was something she could not let go. She realized, instead, she would have to look at her life, as a whole, and decide what was most important to her. The answer came easily: her kids and her writing -- and so she would focus on doing those two things to the very best of her ability.
I was ... well, stunned as I finished up the article. It seems so easy, doesn't it? The answer is simple: Figure out what you love the best and go do that. And yet, it's not so easy. It hasn't been easy for me. I fall into that trap of trying to do everything. And trying to do it perfectly. The more I dislike a task, the more I will try to perfect it. I'm not sure why I'm like this; I suspect it has something to do with my childhood and my parents' high (often unrealistic) expectations, but I can't know that for sure. But here was this woman who had been through much the same thing. Who had, also, tried to do everything. And who had realized: "Hey, it's not possible."
So, the moral is: Let it go.
This is what I need to do. I need to look around at my life and let things go. Figure out what is most important to me, keep those things, nurture those things, and cut the rest of the dead wood from my life. So far, I have failed to do that. I don't know why, really. I mean, I thought I knew why. When I started typing this, I thought I had it all figured out, but, as the words flow from my keyboard, I realize I don't get it. I just don't. I don't want to think about it. Maybe I don't want to go there. Whatever.
But that doesn't matter. I need to learn to let go of others' expectations for me and my life. I do a lot of things because others expect them of me ... or want them from me. And, at the end of the day, I look around and am left with nothing more than a hollow feeling. No one takes me seriously. No one believes in me. Not really. And it's my own fault. If I want to be a writer. If I want to make a living as a writer. If I want to even dream I'm capable of such a thing -- and I have no idea if I have the talent within me -- I have to take it seriously. No one else is going to do that until I take that step.
It seems like such a simple thing and yet, I dunno. I feel I've made some deep and meaningful discovery. Epiphanies. I guess they're like that.
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}