Over the past 6 months - year - 2 years my smoking and my lungs have been crying out? And I ignore, I pretend, I push away... but there is that voice that worries about me.
Worries about why do I feel the need to fill my hands and fill my lungs with smoke. I have seen many people smoke for years and die from something else. Or my own mother who died with lung cancer and never smoked a day in her life.
But there is something deep inside me.
Tonight woo woo showed up.
Today we went to the home show and I shared the vision with a few of the booths to see their response.
It took me a while to warm up - we all looked nice. James looked dapper. We had a few people compliment us - one said we were fancy.
Me? Fancy?
Do I want to be fancy? What does that even mean?
I had a dream once that by the time I was rich and famous I had found love. So love could follow me as I blossomed into who I was born to be. But therr is something that I am afraid of. There is something that keeps me hidden. There is something that hides behind a haze of smoke, broken teeth, and a cough that has lingered far too long.
Its deep.
I have scratched the surface. I have seen below but its still all very cloudy.
I dont want to quit smoking.
Sort of like I didnt want to quit men.
Its what I do.
It has come to define me.
And yet. I suppose there is something more - its a crystal so there are many facets - but what I feel is there is a fear of money - there is a fear of power. There is a fear of purity. There is a fear of full.embodiment. there is a fear of spiritual connection.
I am afraid.
I am missing my children's childhood because I have been so emersed in making the Wandering hOMe Directory a reality. For years I have thought this one last thing- this one more day - one more week - one more month.
And still I am a mother who lives on a bus who smokes and barely takes care of herself.
I neglect myself.
I suppose part of it is because I got so used to it. The bottom. That I made it my home. Where I can be me. Atleast thats what I have come to believe.
Dressing up is a small joy. I am not good with joy.
There is so much I wish I wanted to do - to be. I wish I had more discipline. My children are losing theirs. Unless I reign them in - showing them the way they will never stand in what they can be.
The woo woo showed up today.
The Sherlock Holmes book that james found in a bag started where the Sherlock Holmes movie we watched last night ended. With the same line.
I turned on Crazy Rich Asians the movie only to find the book was also in that same bag.
What are the odds? How is that even possible? What does it mean?
Magic shows up in my life. While I hack and cough and light another cigarette. Its strange. I dont want to quit. I dont think you could pay me to quit. But why? I try to convince myself. I try to scare myself. But there I am determined to find and light that other cigarette.
How do people quit drinking?
God? Surrendering to God I have heard is very helpful.
I feel that if I surrendered Id be a bad Christian. I will never stop believing that Jesus went to Tibet. I will never stop believing that math and symbols and signs are God to me.
I dont want to lose me. But then so much of me scares me.
To want to build something to save everyone while I can barely stand most people.
They scare me.
The world. The people in the world.
The only thing I thought we could come together on is to protect the children - but half the gen pop thinks sexually mutilating a child is totally ok of the child believes it will.make them happy and choose.
Apparently Mohammed married a 6 year old and the Talmud says something about raping children.
I had no idea the basic nature of humans was so cruel and evil. That they can be pushed to such a vile acceptance. And they would kill for their beliefs. They do.
How do you make something for everyone without selling out on your very principles?
My mother begged me not to smoke.
She didnt have surgery or chemo and died. She did everything she could - emotionally, nutritionally - Alternatively. But she didnt do antiparasitics and she didnt do surgery.
And she died.
James said something the other day that rang deep - i dont expect to live past 55.
11 more years. Maybe less.
That he knows what its like to have to redefine what it means to live. He already lived ongoing past his father's age at death.
My mother's death defines me in so many ways.
But I started smoking before that - Japan. It all started in Japan. I used to hang out in the smoking section in high school with a lighter. But it wasn't until Japan. Until I lost her, my mother. Until she begged me for a purpose. It was a gradual process. By 18 I was smoking every break I took - it was cool - it felt rebellious - rebellious against what though? What am I running from? What am I running straight for?
The cigarettea were the secret. On her death bed I gave her the chance to prove she loved me unconditionally. I told her the truth. And she accepted me. And then it just got worse.
I have been able to smoke in almost every apartment I have lived in. And not having a job for years leads me to fill my time with smoking. It fills my hands.
I dont play an instrument. I dont draw - i use my phone for all things creative. I can smoke with a phone.
I wish I could channel that same energy into building.
I wish I could channel my desire for feeling my lungs into exercise and breathing techniques.
I wish I could channel my frustration and anger at the world into becoming fit, healthy, happy.
I am not fit.
I am not healthy - well I think I am except for the smoking and coughing.
I am not happy.
I am resigned - but its not even that - it like I dont want to be someone who dresses up and commands respect and attention. But I do.
I have broken down what things mean. There is a disconnected lane. Roadblocks... and I am greatful. I dont want to move them.
I have always said if I had a pool id swim every day.
I have a pool. I do not.
James is trying to get me to go to the sauna.
I havent ridden a bike in 12 years. How ridiculous.
I dont do push ups or sit ups or yoga. I dont go on walks. I dont stretch. I dont skip rope. I dont build a more comfortable and beautiful bus. I dont read enough with the kids.
I smoke too much.
I dont brush my teeth enough.
I dont brush my hair enough.
I dont shower enough.
I dont sing enough
I dont dance enough.
I dont find joy enough.
I dont play enough.
I dont clean enough. I dont cook enough.
I wish I was a better mom.
I wish I was a better wife.
I wish I was a better leader.
I wish I was a better woman.
But when I ask myself. What does that mean to you? What is better? There is a block. I dont want to be better. I want to be me.
I think I am having a midlife crisis. I cant believe its been 8 years on this bus. I cant believe its been 13 years since the tree.
I cant believe I am almost 50 and falling apart. With no assets. No savings. No house. No feeling of home.
Wandering hOMe is as close to the truth as I can find. I am not sure where this goes. I just needed to write down where I am at. Figure out where I am. I was hoping that a magic wand would show up and poof. I would have clarity and discipline. That I would do the things I always wished I was the kind of person that did.
I always make excuses for myself. Im too busy. I have too much to do. Sleep is nice. I prefer sleep. Or smoking. I prefer smoking to running. I prefer sleep to stretching.
I have spent so much time trying to control.amd contain my mind - I have spent so much time trying to build my confidence. But I fail. I fail because in all that I have ignored my body. I have ignored my lungs. I have ignored self care.
Why? How can I change? Do I even want to? I guess actions speak louder than words.
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