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The What To Do Syndrome

It hit me as I was doing that treadmill thing I couldn’t this morning, I’m suffering from the “waiting around for someone to tell me what to do” syndrome. I read, and noted somewhere, women seem to wait for someone else’s permission to follow their hearts and make their goals. Be it writing that great novel or learning how to tap dance, many of us are good girls and as such, we wait our turn and do what’s expected of us. We are the supporting cast. While it smarts to name it, I can truly own it. Seems I need permission for my dreams.

The What To Do Syndrome on Shalavee.com

I feel like I’m waiting for the perfect someone, someone who can just figure me out and then tell me what to do. Then I’ll have a map of how to move on. I’m still stuck in a phase of perpetual possibility. I gather and gather information of what ifs and stay in a state of overwhelmed but informed confusion. I say I don’t have enough time and perspective to gain a good overview of my “what ifs”. But I suspect it’s that I’m afraid and not allowed to grant myself permission to choose something, anything and move on. I need to be perfectly defined before I move on.

The What To Do Syndrome on Shalavee.com

What I want to be doing is telling others what I see myself to be and if they’d like to support me, great. Proudly showing my view of my life, however flawed or wrongly directed it is, and invite people to follow my journey and support me and interact with me along the way. Because life is a lonely journey but it isn’t. Everyone that has come and commented has contributed to my journey. Everyone. My new motto needs to be ‘Go ahead and do it even if it’s wrong and drag witnesses with you.’ Although I wouldn’t be adverse to some professional coaching at any time, I think I need to just decide some stuff and move it, move it.

 

If you enjoyed what you read, subscribe, via the subscription box in the sidebar, to my thrice weekly posts via your emailbox. And visit me on Instagram to see my daily pictures, friend me or like my page on Facebook. Or come find me on Twitter or Pinterest too. I am always practicing Intentional Intouchness so chat at me please. I live for conversations.

And, as always, Thanks to you for your visit.

Family Feasts and Football

We had occasion to go to my Mother-in-Law’s for dinner on a recent Sunday. The air outside has begun to get nippier. And we hustled onto the enclosed porch catching sight of Grammy at the sink in her Orioles t-shirt.

As she opened the kitchen door, she greeted the littlest one first as we all moved into the kitchen. The smell of her cooking hit me. A familiar mix of older people’s house and the simmering dinner. But then my brain pushed this aside for the sound of the whistles on the TV. Football season. And I anticipated the sad and glad memories of this family and families everywhere gathering for their upcoming Thanksgiving feasts and holiday celebrations. Everyone looking forward to the possibility of being together. That isn’t a given anymore. The sentimentality of holidays and the upset that arises around unresolved differences, is still a testament to the bonds of family. And the tenuousness of their time together.

Football Sundays spent with in-laws. Supper interrupting. A special desert and the celebration of someone’s birthday. Watching children get to know their aunts and uncles. And imagining the future when my children will come home from their lives abroad in the world. Me cooking feast food in the kitchen. And perhaps I’ll make sure the football game is on and the whistles are blowing just for the background music. To feel complete.

 

If you enjoyed what you read, subscribe, via the subscription box in the sidebar, to my thrice weekly posts via your emailbox. And visit me on Instagram to see my daily pictures, friend me or like my page on Facebook. Or come find me on Twitter or Pinterest too. I am always practicing Intentional Intouchness so chat at me please. I live for conversations.

And, as always, Thanks to you for your visit.

Familiarity of Fear

That slipping slope,

The familiarity of Fear.

Back down the hole I go

to a place that I well know.

Play it safe, do what you know.

Where you stay

they can not go.

Stay with the flow, stay with the quo.

Steer your fear clear.

Cheer the others so they hear

it’s not so bad down here

down here.

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