Flaws

The absence of writing is, yet again, the sign of an overcrowded life. More than anything is the feeling that life is spinning out of control. And when life begins to spin, I find myself falling into "control freak" mode- getting edgier than I would hope and more intolerant of mistakes than I would like to be. It is sometimes easier to just take things into my own hands than to have to tolerate and make room for others' mistakes. So while I offer the advice-- "Why not just forgive one another our mis-steps?"--to put this into practice is something I struggle with.

My husband is the king of excuses for his rough actions--lack of exercise, lack of sleep, hunger, lack of time, and beer. It is always one thing or another. The list is endless.

For myself, I would simply add it up to character flaw. I like a sense of order. For some reason, I have a mind that is exceptionally attuned to details; I remember more than my share of dates/times/and who said what and when others don't... I get irked.

On the other hand, this character flaw has also made things very interesting--- in poetry writing for instance, the search for the exact word is an art. And lately, it is this over-attention to detail that has unearthed history and nurtured surprising connections. I have been an ardent and furious researcher, and found great meaning in this search. I now feel inspired by a mission to share that rich story with others.

I sometimes feel alone in my excitement for this story. Do others really care? Fellow poets and researchers do. We're a select group, I suppose. To outsiders, we might appear odd. Maybe I can make my message compelling enough to reach a broader audience...

But to begin, I must grow a kind heart. If only I can find a way to curve out those edges, to smooth the angles, and to grow an accepting heart in a world of continuous inaccuracy and disorder.