Bump in the Road

All roads lead to the same place. The beach. Reading. My watercolors. Music, when I can get reception. And her. The one who festers my soul, crushes my self-esteem, makes me want to close my ears and run. 

Those who know me know well know I’ve been struggling with this person for many, many years. I love her, and always will, but I have learned to tread cautiously. Be PC. Care without overly caring. Never be honest. Never be truthful. Never confess. Never share my heart. 

Because she twists it, sets it on fire, gleefully dances on my spirit, feeling vitriolic, self-righteous. Then, moves on. 

Her words are shattering.

When she speaks to me, she does so with a sharp arrow dipped in poison. Leave no prisoners: Shoot to kill.

But it’s hard for me move on, even as I pause in this place of beauty and solace. I shake my head at myself; once again, I allowed myself to get suckered in, believe in the possibility of a positive relationship, hope. Share my Truth. Be Real.

What an idiot to think we could have a real relationship! We had a similar “blow-up” this time last year, I even wrote about it.

Why do some people think they have “the right” to stab you in the gut? Defame you? Generate mean-spirited gossip? While you know you’re far from perfect, you know your intention, your heart’s mission, and that is to lift up, rather than tear down. 

I understand that hurt people want to hurt people. 

I understand that when mean people say mean things they are really just holding up a mirror and talking to themselves.

I understand that I shouldn’t take their words to heart. 

But I do. 

I feel the jab of hate and it gets stuck in my core, twisting, searing, causing me to lose focus and struggle to sleep. While The Spewers move on, satisfied that they said their piece, a piece of me lies crushed on the pavement.

Even here. Even in this glorious landscape. Even after 67 years. Words hurt. They smack you in the face, sometimes out of nowhere, and cause an unsteadiness, a stagger, an inclination to withdraw from the open range where you’re too easy a target. 

Fortify. Put on the armor. Load up with “take that” words of your own. Fire back! Defend yourself. And you’re good at it. At words. At warfare. Should you choose to engage, you’d win. If that’s what you want. To win. 

I do. That’s my knee-jerk, honest reaction. My first instinct is to pummel back. But I’m too old for nonsense. I just want to live my life, in peace and love. No drama. No fights. No telling others what to do and how to think. And vice versa. I just want to figure stuff out with others interested in doing the same thing. 

But when a fire-breathing dragon appears over the horizon how do you respond? 

Thank you, I’m supposed to say. 

Thank you challenging people. 

Thank you challenging times. 

Thank you for being my teacher, guiding me to uncover Important Life Lessons. 

Two steps back, three steps forward—IF I learn The Lesson.   

We’re all on our own journey, a road that takes us thousands of miles away, like the one I’m on. I can be kayaking across a beautiful lagoon with a friend, paused on the rain-soaked lawn in front of my niece’s home, or here in my van listening to the crashing waves; we’re all just mapping out our days to the best of our ability, doing our best not to cause waves.

God knows my heart, my intention, my sincerity. 

Does it hurt when I’m misrepresented? Like hell. Who wants to be misunderstood? 

But nowadays it brings me back to self-reflection, growth, and a reoccurring theme: Forgiveness. 

“Forgive and forget,” my dad always used to tell me. 

“But it’s hard, Dad,” I’d counter. He always knew my heart.

One of the hardest things I ever did was to forgive my offender, but not before it took its toil on me. For most of my life, I allowed his cruel words to define me. That’s what us sensitive people do. We’re porous.

But I’m getting better. Since last October’s attack, I’ve learned to brush the venom off quicker than I used to. Dwell less, forgive more. 

Thank you, Mean Teacher and all the Mean Teachers throughout my life for helping me grow. Because of you, I became a writer. But unlike you, my words come from a Source of Love:

Dear Wee Janzie,   

One day when you’re old, but not that old, you’re going to realize that not everyone’s going to like you for a variety of reasons. It’s not your fault. It’s their choice. 

Always know that you’re a good person, a kind person, who escorts a tiny spider out of your van because the little fella did you no harm. When you grow up, you’re going to be the same person you were when you were little, a girl who loves to draw, write, laugh, sing, dance and hang out  in Nature. You’re always going to feel things deeply, and when you love, it’ll be with your entire being. That’s what I cherish most about you, your big, forgiving heart.  

I must warn you; you get a little bruised along the way. Life can do that sometimes, but no matter what, you’ll find a way to climb out of the dark crevices and into the Sun. 

Remember, I’m here for you. Every day. Every moment. When you ask, and when you don’t ask. Keep going. Don’t stop. You’re here for a reason. Your story gets better, I promise.Not everyone’s going to “get” you, dearheart. That’s OK, because I do. 

Love forever and always, 

God