What would I write if I didn’t care what you thought of me?
First, I’d tell you that I’m with Her. Because I like her. I like the way she has handled some really tough things. Woman things. And because she is a SHE. That may be stupid reasons according to Beautiful You. But remember, I’m not supposed to care what you think of me.
I’d tell you that I don’t want to keep gaining weight, but I do anyway. It’s kind of scary. I’m working out, but that part is very new to me. I don’t get it, really. But I keep trying. That might offend some of you, but remember, I’m not supposed to care what you think of me.
I’d write that I struggle a lot with mercurial moods. And sometimes they take me completely out of the game. That makes me so incredibly sad, and I can’t figure out what I’m supposed to learn from this. But it does soften me to the peccadilloes of others, so maybe that’s a good thing. I worry that you’ll judge me because of this, but remember I’m supposed to not care what you think of me.
I’d share about the family silliness and alcoholism. I know I’ve already shared that. But I’d talk more about the heartbreaking legacy of alcoholism. How this person won’t be in the same room with that person (including ME, by the way) and how that has affected everything from family holidays to graduations to birthdays for DECADES– all of it.
I’d tell you that it is too late to heal that part of our family story, because people are older now and there isn’t time. I can tell you that I could do better, but I don’t know if I will. I’d tell you that I hope the next generation will do better – they are all such lovely people – but I worry that they haven’t known each other enough to bother.
I’d tell you how I secretly feel bitter that all my friend’s dads are dying now and they feel sad but I just feel jealous that they actually got one and I know that makes me look small but not having a dad has haunted me since forever. I’d tell you that tears well up in my eyes when I share this and that will make my family think I’m ridiculous, cause “get over it already.”
I’d tell you how silly and sad the whole thing is — all this family stuff — but I think we are probably about as typical a family as any other.
I’d tell you that I feel sad that our six boys all live in different states now and it’s so hard for us all to get together and how much I wanted them to have each other and I don’t think that will happen and they will always be two sets of three instead of one set of six.
I’d tell you that I kinda sorta got removed from the orchestra that I loved because I missed a dress rehearsal because I was having an anxiety attack in the parking lot and had to go see a doctor instead. Secretly, I also think it’s because I stood up to the conductor some weeks before because she was a bully but I’m afraid she’ll see this.
Oh, wait, I’m not supposed to care what you think of me when I write this.
And the truth REALLY is that I didn’t dig that orchestra as much as I’m supposed to have. I’m really tired of being a flute player but I’m so good at it I feel I’m SUPPOSED to keep going. I’d tell you that I really want to sell my last flute and take my husband to Italy. Or use that money for my book tour next year. And maybe I will. And I’m sorry, but I think the music is over for me.
I’d tell you that my marriage is super tricky at times, cause we are both stubborn, fiery people. And we love each other dearly. But that reveals too much about him and me, and that’s not fair. Oh, wait . . . .
I’d tell you how much I miss my little girl, still to this day. How it breaks my heart to see my friends’ daughters grow up and do beautiful things and I wonder with the deepest ache in my being who she would have been. But I’m supposed to be “over it” and that is too sad to reveal, but anyway, you can fill in the rest of the sentence.
I’d tell you how much I want to write beautiful things and be SEEN writing that beauty. How deeply I want to bring hope to others through my writing and how I worry that this post might do the opposite, but that is so very private and . . . .
I’d tell you how much I adore you, my Beautiful Reader though I’m not really afraid to reveal that. I am afraid you’ll all go away. And I’ll be alone with my words.
I’d tell you all of these things if I wasn’t afraid to be seen. REALLY really seen.
I wonder what you’d tell me.
photo: flickr, Caroline