Volume 18
Another volume is complete,
I'll set it on my shelf -
filled with bitter and with sweet -
this book about myself.
Took six years to fill this one -
my inspiration waned -
but new tome I have begun;
excitement is regained.
Life evolves in varied ways,
I've moved, and I've moved on;
found new ways to fill my days
while mourning friendships gone.
Brand new phase of life I'm in,
new book is required.
On fresh pages I'll begin
to write as I'm inspired.
Each new day will bring changes
to thrill, or cause me grief,
and as life rearranges
I'll cling to this belief:
Every time I lift my pen
to write another line
I can edit who or when
as my tale I define.
Mine - this story that I write,
be it foolish or sage.
My words will not be contrite
as I begin new page.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, May 16, 2017
Six years in the making, Volume 18 of the story of my life now sits on a shelf with the others. A lot has happened since I started writing in a journal that was a gift from a girl in a youth group I once led. Both she and I have chosen different routes from the path we once both trod, and I enjoy watching her life evolve through social media. I was touched when she gave me this gift. Dealing with other people's teenage daughters was foreign territory for me, and it was gratifying to know that at least one of those girls felt I'd made a positive contribution to her formative years. Every time I've written in that book I've thought of her, and our different but parallel paths, and oddly it kept me writing in that particular book until I'd filled every page.
So many times during those years I wanted to leave the rest of that book blank and just begin a whole new journal. That kind of symbolism felt warranted, but when I thought of the giver I could remind myself that it is enough to record every new chapter on "a new leaf".
Life has changed a lot for me during the last half-dozen years. The first half of that book was very sporadic, as I had barely begun a long dig, with a teaspoon, out of a very deep middle-aged rut. Six years ago, I questioned my purpose in life. I had always considered myself a mother first, and a wife second, but with children coming out of their teens I no longer felt very needed. I was in the midst of a faith crisis and an identity crisis. I was neither happy nor sad - just stuck in neutral. And what bothered me most was that there wasn't a tow truck in sight. It wasn't very inspiring fodder for journaling.
Gradually things began to change. My younger son got married, and moved away - again. We decided that meant it was time to pursue our dreams as an old married couple - move toward a pre-retirement plan of sorts. Finally I had things to write about in a journal that was beginning to show its age. I chronicled our search for the right property and the woes of buying, selling, uprooting and moving. I mourned a lost garden and celebrated dozens of small victories as our new old home began a metamorphosis of its own.
I wrote about new activities and meeting new people. I wrote about the flavour of small town life and my efforts to find a place for myself in this new venue. I wrote about what I saw, heard and felt through a very transitory period of my life, and it was cathartic.
As with any other move, and any other transition in life, I learned that relationships are full of surprises. Some of the people I thought would understand where I was in life didn't even try. Others paid lip service, but disappeared as soon as I spoke up and expressed a differing opinion. Some who I thought would never understand where I was actually understood that I'd never really "moved" at all - I was still who I always was, even if my coordinates had changed slightly. Through it all, I've learned incredible lessons about love, tolerance and just letting go of those who are focused on listening to their own voice echo through my lips.
I have my own story to tell, and I'm not apologizing for a plot twist or two.
I gradually made peace with the fact that my sons were grown up - a hard adjustment for me. Yesterday, we returned from a visit with my younger son and his wife. It was wonderful to see them and spend a little time together. I'm beginning to learn how to converse with my sons and daughter-in-law as adults. We don't always see things the same way, and I can accept that. If the only thing we ever agree on is that love matters more than religion or politics, that's enough for me. There's a heady circularity to having your child treat you to a nice meal and plan entertainment for a weekend. Sadly, while my husband and I took a road trip to visit one son, the other stayed home. He's "adulting" these days too, holding down a full time job and saving money, maybe for a car - or even a house of his own. Still, by virtue of the fact that he is residing with us, I probably over-mother him. Old habits die hard, but I'm trying to let him be his own man.
While away, I purchased a new journal. I was two pages from the end of the old one, and knew it was time to buy a blank book to serve as Volume 19 in the ongoing story of my life. I wanted something a bit unique, and while browsing at the Harvard Bookstore I found it - a simple, wooden covered book emblazoned with the words Today's Master Plan. It spoke to me. I've begun to see that what we plan to do today is what really matters. Nothing I plan to do tomorrow will be accomplished if I don't tend to the tasks of today first, right? I've lived too much of my life deferring tasks, satisfaction, and well - life - and time is a-wasting! So, there will be no more apologies for prioritizing today.
I used to wait for the new year to write a detailed and carefully categorized list of resolutions, which would be buried in my journal on a random page that I'd never bother to locate again. I think I'm through with taking that approach. It might serve me better to write as list of objectives at the beginning of a fresh book - use that first new leaf to outline where I'd like to be by the time I reach that last page of the volume. Somehow I think I'll fill these pages faster than I completed my last installment. I have more topics to cover, as well as a more interesting life to report on.
Nobody knows how many days they'll get, or how many pages - or tomes - they'll fill as they write their own story. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm enjoying the journey. Thus I'll look upon this next book as a Captain's Log - a record of my progress through the uncharted territory known as my life, and my future.
Volume 19 begins today.
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