Waiting until After
I wanted to tell this story when it was over. Not mid-sentence or mid-stride. I wanted to be able to craft it and pull the insight and wisdom and truth out of the lessons I had learned and offer them up as succulent pieces of light for people like me struggling with similar issues. That is not going to happen. There is no more waiting in my life. This story, I now believe, is not meant to be told in the after but in the middle. After allows for reflection, insight, distance and time. It allows for sunlight and rose-colored glasses and a clinical aspect to the journey. The middle assures intensity, messiness, acute feelings and humanity. The after lets me clean, dissect and anesthetize the reality for myself and the reader. The middle assures access to the truth I see in that moment.
Here is today. I am in my mid-thirties, overweight and single. I live in a little apartment on a quiet street and four of my siblings and my parents are my neighbors. I work at a job where I am adequate and unfulfilled. I want to be married. I want to be in graduate school. I want to be thin. None of those dreams have come true. The dissonance between my dreams and my reality too often wrings joy and hope out of my soul.
I'd like my future to look a whole lot different than my present.
Yet, instead of waiting for that future to materialize, I am going to chronicle this journey in the midst of the messiness, the indecision, the competing goals and the process. I've wanted for so long to tell this story when it is over but I do not think that is the best way any longer. I think the best way to begin the story in the middle and tell the first part of the story in bits and pieces and keep you updated on the twists and turns as I face them.
It scares me a bit to do it this way. But it also energizes and unleashes my joy. This is my story.