Allow me to introduce you to the biggest winner. The biggest winner happens to be ME!
I am well aware some individuals may fight me for the title, let them. I don’t care one whit about the rest of the world at this moment. In my world, I am indeed the biggest winner.
Permit me to explain.
Deena is my editor, and she is a gem. She spurs me on and encourages me. Basically, I pay her to edit my posts, and she inflates my ego for free and apparently, without any prompting. People need more Deenas in their lives.
Deena believes I have a book inside of me which yearns to come to life. Maybe she is right, and I will humor her someday. Maybe.
The funny thing is that while I write all the time, my writing style is entirely random. The words come to me at any time (day or night) and hold my mind hostage until — pardon the wording — I vomit them back on paper. Some days, I am exceptionally verbose, and other days, I am devoid of anything — although this seldom occurs.
If I don’t have paper, I write in my head hoping I can — at some point — write my stories on paper.
After an indiscriminate spur of writing hits me and I have satisfactorily pounded the words on the keyboard of my computer, I hit “save” and I forward a copy of the post to Deena. When she sends it back (edited), I get a notification on my phone.
Write that Book!
Recently, after editing a post, Deena once again gushed with enthusiasm over the book idea. I was sharing her words and book idea with my husband who wholeheartedly agreed with her sentiments.
He was standing at our kitchen island cutting some chicken for dinner.
“Of course you should write a book,” he quipped.
I think Deena and hubs are conspiring.
However, his statement struck me as funny. You see, as far as I knew, hubs had never read any of my posts. I told him that much.
“Do you want me to read your posts?” he asked quizzically.
“Yeah, I think so,” I answered.
“Why would you want me to read them?”
“Well, for two reasons: one, how can you honestly comment on my writing when you don’t know how I write? and two, this would show me you care.”
There was a pause, a slight hesitation on his part, a softening of his face, and then his answer came, almost in a whisper.
“I read all your posts.”
“You do? How? When? At work?”
“No, I get notifications when Deena sends them back, and I read them.”
At first, I was touched by his admission, and then surprised and curious.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
Hubs doesn’t keep secrets; this is entirely out of character for him.
“I didn’t want your writing to be affected by my opinion or by you knowing I would read them.”
I was dumbfounded. I wanted to cry but wasn’t even sure why his admission was so emotional for me. For months, he had secretly read my posts because he wished for my writing to be completely unhindered. Wow!
The man I love is still full of surprises even after twenty-five years.
Puzzled or Understanding?
Strangely, I understood and respected his reasoning. I don’t know if there is such a thing as writing-fright although we are well acquainted with the idea of stage fright.
For most of my life, writing was a very personal endeavor which I performed for my eyes only. My passionate outbursts were for myself. I did not need an audience nor did I yearn for one. Having anyone read my writings scared me more than enthralled me.
The few times I wrote from my heart and published it, I spooked and deleted it.
You see, I have never managed to develop a thick skin against the barbs of cruel strangers and the heartless opinions of faceless humans. Moreover, the internet is replete with them. Sitting at home behind a screen makes them anonymous and more caustic.
I believed that transparency and vulnerability were most often rewarded with pain. For this reason, most of us wear masks and hide behind walls of our own making.
No thanks, I’ll pass.
Putting myself “out there” didn’t sound too bright for someone like me.
Not knowing my audience personally makes the task of writing this blog easier maybe a bit like when on stage, when we are told to picture the audience in their undies (not that I imagine anyone in their undies…bleh).
Ultimately, I am beyond grateful for this man I call “husband.” He loves me…ME, the person. His thoughts and actions reflect this fact.
He doesn’t give a hoot if I am a writer or have a blog. His love for me is complete and unconditional, and it is full of freedom. The man I love does not wish that I were different in any way nor has he ever tried to change me. He does not criticise me or withhold his affection in the hope I will change.
With him, there are no masks and no facades. He is bare before me as I am before him. He is well acquainted with my many frailties, and he still accepts and loves me. He sees the essence of who I am. THAT is true belonging, true love.
In short, hubby displays pure love, the love who all are entitled to and yearn for, the love we should likewise give to all.
His love is the kind of love which always leaves me feeling weak in the knees. A perfect blend of unconditional love and passion. I am humbled and grateful.
At the beginning of our relationship, I felt undeserving. Now, I realize this Love with a capital L is the love we are all wired and designed to give and receive. Babies love in this manner, and they demand such love in return until the world gets a hold of them and teaches them differently.
Such love is what I believe causes me to write and to pursue this wholeness journey.
In the Bible, Jesus said that the Kingdom belonged to such as these (referring to children). Indeed, the longer I live and walk out my journey, the more I realize that little children do hold many answers.
There is nothing fake about them. Ask a child if she wants another cookie. She will unequivocally answer yes! Ask an adult, and often you will get a polite answer but seldom an utterly truthful one. To the cookie question, you may get a demure “no, thank you” when what she wants to say “darn straight I want another cookie!”
For a multitude of reasons: shame, fear of what others may think, fear of gaining weight, fearof…whatever.
Such as These
When kids are happy, they laugh. Sad? They cry. If they have a question? They blurt it out. They have no filters, but you always know where you stand. There is no such thing as bottling emotions…these lessons come later.
In truth, the world we live in is an illusion birthed from the fears of men (sometimes for excellent reasons), and when we are afraid we long for a sense of control. We were not designed for such a world.
Instead, we were meant to be carefree as kids, accepting, colorblind, full of life, love, and laughter.
It is unlikely that the world at large will change anytime soon to suit our needs. However, we can change our internal world (even though it is not easy). The individuals in our spheres of influence are impacted by our presence and our choices whether we like it or not. We cannot change everything, but we can change some things.
The Biggest Winner
I hesitate to use the word “awaken” because it sounds so woo-woo and mystical. Nevertheless, awaken is precisely what we must do.
We can only achieve this wakeful state by becoming mindful of our internal states — our feelings, and emotions — and by reclaiming the ground, we have lost since childhood. We must rediscover who we knew ourselves to be before the world tainted us.
I want to love fully and completely, both myself and others. It is easy to love in such a grand manner when dealing with hubby, our kids, and our friends. Others take more skill and effort there is no doubt. And in truth, I may never be able to love everyone. Nevertheless, I can try.
I am okay with not living life perfectly because perfection is a dream and it is not even a goal we should yearn to achieve. Perfect is indeed the enemy of the good. I don’t long for perfection. Instead, I hunger for progress.
In the meantime, I am keenly aware I am the biggest winner and rather than ask “Why me?” I will humbly say Thank YOU and love.