Merriam-Webster defines clarity as: The quality or state of being clear. Free from mist, haze or dust.
I often write about these, "moments of clarity" that I have from time to time. Sometimes, they come to me slowly, and other times they fall upon my perfectly shaped head like a ton of bricks. Today, was a ton of bricks sort of day.
It was cold today. Too cold to run, but I hadn't been in two days and I have this terrible fear of being fat again. Thus, I made myself go. I was running along, nodding my head to the Adele song playing, but not really digging it. The song ends, and I hear the unmistakable opening bars of a Bob Marley song come through my headphones...And I think to myself, "This is good. A little Marley on a cold cloudy day will help boost my spirits..."
Bob is singing to me, in his little reggae-ganja-laced voice, "Ya running and ya running, But ya can't run away from yourself,Can't run away from yourself -Can't run away from yourself..."
And so...as you can guess....I stopped running. Dead in my tracks.
I was running away from myself. I have had an inner struggle over the last year. Trying to find my place in the world...Wait, did I really just use a Micheal W. Smitch song lyric? Yuck.
Anyway, for the last year, I've been trying to find out who I am. Aside from being quite the domestic goddess, and an outstanding mother, I have lost sight of who I am without those things. Of course, I tried my hand at a lot of different activities:
Scrapbooking- It didn't go so well. I lack the patience required to document every moment of my children's lives.
Being a "room mom" at Abby's school- This didn't work out for two reasons: 1.) I'm not put together. I'm the mom that's running up to the school at the very last minute in my pajamas. 2.) Aside from my own children, I realized that I don't like kids all that much.
After the previous two hobbies were unsuccessful, I thought I would focus on fixing up my house. I was actually really great at this, but I found that my weekly budget was depleated with just a few trips to Hobby Hell, and that this actually turned me into a Cybill-esque type of mother. Wire hangers anyone?
It wasn't until I exuded a lot of energy trying to find a hobby, that I realized. Duh, ya dumb shit. Being good at a particular activity does not define who you are as a person.
I went about this completely wrong, and spent a lot of time and energy working in the wrong direction.
So, there I was; wearing my "Property of Bart Howell" t-shirt, listening to Bob Marley and crying in the middle of the road.
Bob was singing, "Ya must have done... Somet'in' wrong... Ya must have done.... Wo! Somet'in' wrong... Why you can't find the place where you belong?"
And that, my friends, is when the brick fell on my perfectly shaped head. It was something like this:
Holy shit! I'm an idiot.
I sat down and made of list of ingredients, or inherent qualitites that made me who I am. The list is as follows:
I have two amazing childrens, and they are the most important thing I will ever do with my life.
I almost always look for the good in people, and often blatantly refuse to see the bad. Which, in turn, almost always lead to disappointment.
I am a writer. That is really what I was born to do.
I am the product of a highly disfunctional family.
I love cake, and I think I need help. I'm addicted.
I struggle with being alone, and even though I like doing things by myself... I hate the idea of being without anyone.
So, that's "who" I am. I've realized that we don't have a place or a purpose. We must simply be who we are, and do the things we enjoy. That's our purpose...or, at least, my purpose.
Now, when I run, I can honestly say that I'm not running from myself. I'm running for myself.