Changing Directions

My blog posts have dwindled---for a while I was posting twice a week, or at the minimum once. My mind overflowed with thoughts I needed to write. As ideas came to me, I eagerly jotted them into a little notebook I kept inside my purse.

Ideas still come---but my words have felt stuck. Most of my writing has come from my life experiences---what I learned in past relationships, what I learned as a single woman who remained single when others questioned why, what I learned through battling for a healthy perception of myself, what I learned through fears and dreams and trying to push through obstacles.

But a few months ago, my life took a turn I wasn't expecting. After an almost six-and-a-half year run of being totally single, with no relationships, only a few dates that I forced myself to go on, and a resignation to life without any further attempts at dating...I began a relationship. I started January 2013 with a list of goals and dreams that did not even include the words "man" or "boyfriend." So I still feel that I am in surprising, unfamiliar territory. I am thankful for it, extremely happy with it, but also still adjusting to this new place in my life.

The Shame Of Being Human

SHAME?

I had decided to be a good sport and agree to do something I despise: I got my picture taken for the church directory. I hate any activity that sets me up to be analyzed---even supposedly fun things, such as photography sessions, having someone apply my make-up, or attending one of those Mary Kaye parties where the consultant hands out cards that ask the attendees to analyze their faces:

Are your lips thin, full, or both?
Are your eyes close-set, wide-set, or average?
Is the shape of your face square, round, or oval?
Is your skin, dry, oily, or combination?

Those analytical scrutinies aren't helpful to a woman who has spent much of her adult life trying to cast off the self-critical nature she carried around for years. Those questions are even more difficult in a roomful of women who feel free to express their opinions about the appearance of everyone else in the room. I have squirmed under the uncomfortable inspections of unwelcome eyes fixed on me, voices asserting, "I think Misty's face is round. I think Misty's eyes are almond-shaped. I think Misty needs that kind of makeup for her skin color...."

But for the sake of a church directory and since I do play in the church band, I endured the unpleasantness of several awkward poses for the photographer and began to hopefully think I might get through the session without hearing any unsolicited negative analyses of myself.

The White Easter

My heart and mind weren't prepared for Holy Week. The colorful Easter baskets and decorations I annually set out each year were still buried in their bin in the closet. My mind had been preoccupied instead of thoughtfully focused on the season.

Holy Week had been cold, literally, with chilly March temperatures biting the air. I sat at work one day during that week and glanced out the full glass windows revealing the world outside. I felt physically sick, discouraged and tired. Snowflakes had been falling intermittently all day. Not favorable of cold air or slick, white roadways, I'd mostly disregarded the falling flakes and ignored people's disbelieving complaints of "Snow!? In spring!?" After all, it was only the end of March. When did anything in life follow a set schedule on a calendar?