Mountain Climber

I’ve started a new chapter. I’m facing a new mountain. I’m not just talking in my novel, but in my life.  How many chapters does that make it now?  How many mountains are behind me? Let’s just say on Sunday I’m turning (45) forty-five.  Wow.  I don’t feel forty-five, and yet I feel like I’ve already lived a hundred lives.  How many times have I started over? How many mountaintops have I crested? I can break my life into several different segments, each filled with adventure and tragedy, love and hate, hurt and healing.  Some of it terrible, but some of it great.  I feel I’m both blessed and cursed.  Where am I now?  What new valley do I enjoy now?  What new mountain do I face to climb?

I look around me and I don’t recognize much of me.  I’m living in someone else’s apartment, surrounded by someone else’s things, in someone else’s town.  At moments, this reality is overwhelming and I cry for my space, I cry for my familiar things stuffed away in some storage unit.  I often feel my life is stuffed away, melting in the heat, locked away, confined, and forgotten. I had begun discovering myself, gathering things around me that were mine.   It’s always “soon” I’ll have my space.  “Soon” I’ll get my things back.  “Soon” I can get back to my life.  Yet, soon keeps getting pushed back one extended lease at a time.  It was just supposed to be for a few months.  In a couple weeks it’ll be a year.  In my experience… soon often never comes. I feel helpless, trapped and wonder how I got here, why I’m here, and how long will I have to stay?

Other times, I’m grateful for where I am, because I’m not alone and I know my best friend and roommate loves me and all the mess that I am.  The confined space is suffocating me, but her presence, her love, and her acceptance helps me when I fall into that panic mode.  I love having her around, I just wish we had a bigger apartment.  Being confined into small places stirs up childhood and other nightmares. Sometimes I can’t breathe and become filled with anxiety.  She also works from home, which means during her work hours (which are late afternoons) our small space becomes even smaller because I have to be quiet and stay in my room. It’s not so bad when I can go outside, go explore my new city, go enjoy the beauty of nature.  But it’s July in Florida and hotter than hell, and being outside during the daytime hours literally makes me sick.  I mean, puking-my-guts-out-and-getting-overheated-or-burned-to-a-crisp sick. My confinement becomes even smaller, and I feel like I’m locked away in a jail cell.  Sometimes I can literally hear the slam of a thick, metal door, and the sound of sliding steel as the lock catches.  Even the door to my bedroom gets stuck sometimes and is hard to open, which causes my feeling of confinement and panic to rise. I know it isn’t real, just a ghost image my mind uses to torture me, but I hear and feel it. 

I miss my things. I miss my space. I miss my kids. I miss the mountains. I miss the woods. I miss a lot of things.  But, I don’t miss the isolation, the feeling of being lost and forgotten and unnecessary. After 20 years of marriage, 18 years of church service.  After two decades of hard work to climb the corporate ladder.  After 25 years of motherhood.  I felt like none of it mattered, all the sacrifice I made was for nothing.  No one cared.  I had nothing to offer anymore, so I wasn’t necessary and became forgotten, tossed aside. I just wanted to be loved, but it seems I could never do enough to earn that from anyone. I walked away, and no one stopped me from leaving.  Then my body turned on me too.  I hit bottom a couple years ago, as low as one could go.  I faced death, and he almost won, but he didn’t.  I’ve been fighting to pick myself up from those deep trenches, ever since.  I can’t express or explain or even describe what it’s like to prepare to die.  I didn’t prepare, I imploded. But this blog post isn’t about staying in that dark place.  On the contrary, I’ve posted all the darkness above to lead to this point so that you can see the light.  There is light, there is hope, and there is freedom.  Yes, I’m still in a small confined place, and some days it’s very over-whelming.  BUT, I’m also in a good place because the doors are not locked.  I am not alone.  I will have my space, but this time it won’t be a place of darkness, of sadness, or of loneliness.  I just have to hold on for a little while longer, and “soon” will happen before I know it.  Yes, I’ll still have days of panic.  Yes, I’ll still have days of extreme anxiety.  But, I don’t have to face those days alone.  I still miss my kids, but they’re grown and living their lives without me and finding their way in this world.  My ex-husband has now remarried.  My ex-church has accepted the new couple and replaced me very easily.  My ex-in-laws now have a daughter-in-law in whom they can be proud.  Those chapters in my life are now closed.

So, yes, I’m starting a new chapter.  As with every new chapter, it takes a little while before you get to the inciting scene, the moment when everything changes.  The beginning of a climb is often slow and the size of the mountain seems overwhelming and a huge obstacle.  It won’t be until I reach near the summit before I will feel victorious, but I have my eyes locked onto my goal, onto my target, and though it will be a difficult climb and push me to the edges of my strength and will, I will succeed.  Do you know how I know?  Because this isn’t the first mountain I’ve climbed, nor is it the biggest or toughest mountain I’ve faced.  The biggest difference …I’m not climbing on my own.  I have two wonderful people in my life right now that have their own climb to make and we’re climbing together.  This time, I’m there to lend a hand when they need it, and to grab a hand when I need one.  I don’t know what struggles tomorrow holds, and I’m sure there will be many, all I know is that I don’t have to face them alone. 

Till next time,

~Mountain Climber

My Own Insanity

I understand the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, yet expecting a different result. However, it seems like as humans we are predisposed to exhibit bouts of insanity. I’m learning sanity is sometimes a bit over-rated, but I can’t help and continue to wonder why we have such insane tendencies.

I’m not an expert at anything, unless you call doing the unexpected, hoping against all odds, or loving the unlovable technical skills. In which case, I’m a master. The only way I can rationalize this chaos and hope to change it is to identify and modify the formula that keeps sending me into these spirals.

I find I’m drawn to people who have very defined ideas and philosophies; men who tend to believe they understand the world and why we do the stupid shit we do. Like a magnet, the polarity of the possibility of understanding and enlightenment pulls me. (Love the alliteration.) Yet, there’s this voice deep inside my head, my inner sarcastic realist, who rolls her eyes and shakes her head and grumbles, “They’re full of shit and don’t even believe their own lies – because they deceive themselves more than anyone else.” I can’t help it, though. I’m still attracted to the possibility of their truth, even if their own assured confidence is false.

Why do I feel the need to understand? Why can’t I wear blinders and be happy with them? Why can’t I just submit to the bit in my mouth and follow the leads that direct me? Won’t this wildness within me ever be tamed? Life would be so much easier. So many are bent on breaking me. They jab me in the ribs with their spurs, they pull hard against the bit in my mouth, they snatch the leads, twisting my head in every direction, and they securely grip my mane as they ride. To be broken, life would be so much more simple. I’d have purpose. I’d be useful. Maybe I’d be loved. I’d be fed, groomed, sheltered, and my needs would be met. So, why must I fight to be free, to remain wild?

This is my own insanity. I keep fighting over and over and over, yet the truth is… I’ve never been free. I was born into captivity. Freedom is the illusion. Wildness is an excuse for rebellion. Perhaps I fight because that’s all I know how to do. It’s also probably the same reason why I grant freedom with no resistance, not because I don’t care, but because I care too much. Believe me, it has hurt me deeply to watch those I love disappear into the wilderness … only to never return. Set them free… and if they love you they will make their way back to you. *Sigh* It’s all insane.

I live in a mad world, and it’s insane to expect it to make sense. Yet I continue in my insanity – taking chance after chance, hoping against all hope, waiting for no one.

Till next time,



~Insane Wild Woman

Turning a Blind Eye

This morning I engaged in a heavy discussion with a dear friend of mine who currently lives and works in a third world country for the Peace Corps.  There is a practice there where the young men of this village go through a 6-month initiation school to learn how to be a man and herd animals.  They are then sent out into the hills to put what they’ve been taught into practice.  As they go, they often ‘abduct’ a young girl from the village, take her to the mountains, gang rape her,  and then one of the boys (whichever the one has enough money/cows) will marry her.  They give the family an agreed upon price of cow/livestock/money in exchange for their daughter.  

My friend told me the story of a young girl who had been washing clothes by the river with the other women from the village when a group of herd boys on horses snatched up the young girl and took her into the mountains.  No one did anything because it’s the accepted practice in that remote and uneducated area.  My heart breaks for that young girl, not only for what she had to endure in those mountains, but for the life she will now have to live, married to one of her rapist, never given the choice or freedom to fall in love, be respected as a woman.  I understand the purpose of the practice – to exert dominion in order to control. It’s what all animals do. Men have been doing it since the beginning.

There’s something inside me that weeps and gets angry every time I hear stories like this.  Perhaps it’s because of my western upbringing, having been raised in a free society and know the taste of freedom.  It’s not that I don’t understand these people are just following their ingrained and long traditions.  But, do they have no soul?  Regardless of their ignorance of western civilization, our laws, and culture, there is an inner consciousness that knows when you hurt another human being that what you’re doing is wrong.

It would be easy for me to place the blame squarely on the ignorance of these young men or the culture in which they live, but it wouldn’t be fair or accurate to lay it only at their feet.  The only time that there has been a societal or cultural change in the treatment of women has occurred is when the women of that culture decided to make a change.  We contend with what we allow.  While the girl being raped has no choice in that activity, what she does from that point forward is her choice.  She either accepts it, or she fights back.  I’m not naïve and know that fighting back may cost her life.  I also know that change doesn’t happen with one battle over night, but several battles over generations.

While for some of us – the days of Hagar, Leah, Abigale and Tamar are over, for others that’s the reality of the day.  What an odd world we live, where paradise and purgatory occupy the same place.  I weep for the young girls who’ve ever experienced this type of brutality.  I also weep for the young men who were pressured or taught to engage in such activities in order to prove their manhood.  I weep for the society that accepts such practices, and I weep for a world who turns a blind eye.

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray

Being Debt... Free.

So, I went online to check out my credit score and I got a "low" grade, being just shy of 700, a good auto insurance score of 864, and a good home insurance score over 850.

First of all... I didn't know there was an auto insurance and home insurance score.  And second of all... I don't care that I've got a low grade... I smiled bigger than you could believe when I looked down their report and saw:

·         Open credit card accounts: 0. 

·         Open auto loans: 0. 

·         Open home loans: 0.

·         Open other loans: 0. 

On my report card they gave me a "C" for my total accounts, but my grading system is a little different than theirs.  I think having no debt is a good thing.  Being debt-free is something to be proud of. 

I used to live on credit cards, car and mortgage loans, and student loans... and it made me a slave to the world's system. I worked hard and sacrificed a lot of wants, desires, and dreams to get free from all that debt - and right now all I have to worry about is surviving from day to day with providing for my basic necessities.

I liquidated a lot of "things" to be free, and gave up a lot of creature comforts… like driving a new car, monthly hair and nail appointments, seasonal shopping sprees, and buying what pleased the eye – to pay for later.  Now as I go forward, I work for what I want, chase what I desire, and sacrifice for what I dream.  A lot of times I have to say “no” to what pleases my eye, save up for months to do one special thing, or learn to hunt for bargains and sales. But, I now have a deep appreciation for the things I do get to enjoy.  My priorities changed… and adventures, not stuff, make me happy.

Being debt free didn't make it so I didn't have to work just as hard as the next guy.  We ALL have to work hard, and those who think they don’t have to work and have everything given to them, shame on them and their selfishness.  They're not free; they just often don’t realize it.  Nothing is free. But, the difference in the feeling of working by choice and working by force is something I can't express in words.

I hope I’m able to continue to be free. I’m finding just trying to provide the basic necessities of survival hard in and of itself.  I didn’t mind giving up that freedom for a time when I had a family to take care of, but it’s just me now.  I don’t have to be sensible, I can take chances.  Who knows the adventure that waits for me? 

Yeah, yeah, yeah… In my mind’s eye I can see all the Practical Sam’s out there pointing their fingers at me and lecturing me on responsibilities, duties, and retirement plans. I know I can fail miserably and end up in a homeless shelter… but I could also fly.

While the credit companies give me a "C"... I give me wings.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

So Many Things

There’re so many things I have bottled up inside that I’d like to get out, but I can’t release them.  Not because I’m afraid or even ashamed of them, but because they would more than likely hurt someone else.  Who can truly understand my meaning and intentions when I can’t?  I’ve spent most of my life bottling up things and keeping the hurt and the pain on the inside.  I’ve also spent several of the past years letting that pain out, learning to live openly, honestly, exposing my heart.  I’ve been getting hurt, but I’ve also been healing, or at least what I think is healing.

There’re so many things I’d love to say about all the great wisdom I’ve learned, and in return be a wonderful inspiration to someone else. But in all truth, I haven’t learned much at all.  It was so much easier when I had a box, because that box had defined lines and I could navigate within their walls and stay within the lines, and feel good about myself for my efforts.  I broke out of that box, and I now navigate a world with no lines, no boundaries, no definitives, and no absolutes.  I’m not sure which is scarier.  It’s easy to have faith when you’re told what to believe.  It’s harder to believe in what your eyes don’t see, your hands can’t touch, in words you don’t hear or can’t say.  Yet, what choice do we have?  There’s only to believe or not to believe.

There’re so many things I fear and yet desire at the same time, fear and desire pull me and push me, and pull those I love and then push them away.  My desire is they continue to love me as I try to get my footing; my fear is that it’ll be too much for them to handle and they walk away.  I’m passionate in all things – when I write, when I work and most of all…when I love.  I can’t do any of them with a half measure; I give it all – therefore I risk it all.  I love with my whole heart, my whole soul, my whole being.  I don’t know how else to do it. I also fear with my whole heart, my whole soul and my whole being. 

I can’t promise a lot of things in this world.  I can’t promise tomorrow.  I can’t promise peace.  I can’t promise I’ll always say and do the right thing.  I can’t promise my passion will win out over my fear today, tomorrow or in the next five minutes.  I can’t promise that tragedy won’t strike.  I can’t promise the moon, or success, or happily ever after.  All I can promise… is that whatever I do - I do honestly and with my whole heart.  If I love you, I love you with my whole heart.  

I shake with fear, uncertainty, and doubt, but I keep walking.  I carry the scars of failure, but I keep trying.   What I need is so simple, yet so complex… I just need a little seed of hope.  I want to know I’m fighting for something, that there’s a great adventure still waiting for me, and there was a reason I was born in this world and have yet survived; simply that I matter.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

So many things,
So many things,

So little words.
So much pain,
Will I be heard?

So many problems,
So little time.
So much confusion,
Will I be fine?

So many fears,
So little faith.
So much love,
too much hate.

~T.L. Gray

I Was Meant to Fly Free

Why do you cage me in this glass jar? 

My wings were meant to soar in the wind, not be put on display for a season.

Why do you cage me in this glass jar? 

My life is but a moment and meant to see the world, not only this crystal prison.

Why do you cage me in this glass jar?  

My purpose is to pollinate and beautify the world, not this solitary space so tight.

Why do you cage me in this glass jar? 

My colors are meant to sparkle in the sun, not dim beneath a single light.

Why do you cage me in this glass jar?

Your heart is meant to love me, not make me your slave.

Do you not care for what I want? Can you not hear what I say?

I’m meant to fly free, not flutter in a glass jar and put on display.

Let me out! Let me go! I’m dying! Can’t you see?

 I’m not meant to be caged, I’m meant to be free.