For days… perhaps weeks… I have thought about writing this post.

For days… maybe weeks… I have thought it better not to.

Better not to put these words in print.

Better not to open this can of worms

Better not to tear open these curtains to expose what is inside.


But today, my perhaps less-than-better judgment has gotten the best of me, and I am writing them anyway.  I’m typing, eyes, closed, like I often do when it is a post like this – a post that is raw, and open, and, to be quite honest, not fun.

It is far from the excitement of the videos I post on social media.  Far from the excitement that I really, honestly, do feel about this upcoming weekend.


See, the highs – they are high.

And the lows – they are low.


Perhaps it is a regular personality trait of people with the same personality makeup as I – when we’re in, we’re all in and we’re stoked and we’re excited and we’re dancing in the streets with joy and happiness.

And when we are not, we aren’t sure what we are.  We aren’t sure whether the space that we are occupying is the space we are supposed to be in.

We look back at ourselves – at what can really only be called our ‘former’ selves – the years in our past when we were young and we had bright futures and people had high hopes for us.  And then …. we sit and we just stare, head cocked to one side, at what we are instead.

What I was then cannot compare to what I am now.

Because I’m not even sure it’s the same person.  And really, we could be really philosophical here and say that no, it isn’t the same person, because we are a product of our life experiences and that then, at that time, I had had fewer.

The experiences since then have made me who I am.

But the contrast is stark.  And the picture now… the painting that is being revealed at this time… I’m really not sure I like it.

I’m not sure I like being who I am now very much.


I notoriously have set the bar low for years.  I often take on projects and quit them because I lose interest, or I like the idea better than the reality, or I fail and take that as the end.

When I was in college – it wasn’t long, really, about a year and a half total – a professor said something to me that has stuck out to me ever since.

Maybe it’s something I think of when I’m just feeling sorry for myself.  Or something.  I don’t know.

He told me that ‘they’ (the professors of my department) had been excited when I came.  They were excited to see my list of accomplishments and the things I knew how to do.  They were excited when I came to try out for scholarships.

And he told me that since arriving, I’d proven to be a big disappointment.


He didn’t know, that day, in his office, that  in high school I’d realized that was my biggest weakness – I didn’t want to be a disappointment.  I was okay with people thinking I was weird, or rude, or stuck up, or full of myself – but not a disappointment.

The times that I didn’t accomplish a goal as a teenager, the disappointment in myself was paralyzing.  When I felt like that disappointment came from other people, it was even worse.


No, he didn’t know that.

But here he was.  And here I was.  Hearing that I was the very thing that I had never, in my life, ever wanted to be.

It wasn’t really like I was doing bad with anything.  I passed everything with pretty good grades.  I enjoyed my classes.  I had fun.

But I have always lacked this one really pivotal thing.


Maybe if you don’t know me that comes as a surprise.  But I’m really not driven.  I’m a procrastinator.  I’m not organized with most things unless they are something I particularly enjoy.

My piano teacher at college (gotta love these folks) said he was earnestly awaiting the day that I stopped letting talent carry me along and started actually working hard.  He wanted to see what it would look like then.

Unfortunately, I never did.  Working hard is… still not my strong suit.  I am a bit of  – okay, more than a bit of – a slacker.


And maybe, since that day in college, I’ve perpetually resigned myself to that fate.

Maybe I’ve looked at my life and determined, before things ever happen, that I’ll just aim low.  That I’ll just be a disappointment anyway.


As a result?

Can I say it?

My life feels like a disappointment.

Not the people, not the experiences.  Just the me.

At the same time, though, that slacker portion of me – which wins every time – doesn’t know how to change it – or want to put in any hard work that may be necessary to do so.  So… I don’t.


I’m a month into summer vacation and I’m so bored and I try to find things to busy myself but they are all little, they are all trivial, they are all minute things to try to pass the time while I pretend they are all important.

I stay in bed too long and stay up too late.

And I feel like I’m giving up.

I stood in the bathroom tonight and fought against those thoughts in my head again about how it’s what I am, this disappointing me.

And sometimes I try so hard.  So hard to not think about it, and I’m good at it.  I’m really good at compartmentalizing all the things, all the ways that my life can be awesome and then I feel not so much all at the same time.

And so it’s kind of funny, really, that I can be as hype as I am about some things right now and then the next thing you know it’s this.  This mess of feelings and loneliness and sadness and wanting, so much, for there to be more.

But you know, like I said: the highs are high.  And so it’s only fitting that at the same time as my mindset is at a sort of peak, there would be an influx of both.


What do I do?


How do I fill the void that I feel?  How do I find a way to just be happy?  To just be content?

I know I’ve said before that it is God-given, right, this whole inability of mine to just be content.


I thought that when I stopped buying the lie – that lie that tells women that motherhood is their highest calling, that tells women that there is nothing better than this – that I was really doing good things.  That I was really moving forward in life, to expose this lie.

And I don’t disagree now.  I still know that’s a lie.

But at the same time, I think it would be so much easier – life would be so much easier – if I just bought it still.

If I could still just swallow that whole agenda hook line and sinker.  If I could literally just think that my sole purpose on life was what I do day in and day out.  If I could really dive into what it is to be a ‘stay at home mom’ or whatever, that maybe life would just be… prettier.

I could be blissfully unaware, as I happily folded laundry or cleaned the house.  At the very least I could see these toils as being all part of the greater good, for my great purpose of being a Mom and wife.

But instead.

Instead I feel like the writer of Ecclesiastes – it is all meaningless.  Clean what has to be cleaned so we don’t live in filth, but no more than necessary.  Teach the kids how to fold their own clothes lol – teach them to clean while you’re at it.

Then I can live my life doing absolutely nothing.

Because for some reason, despite the boredom, nothing still sounds better than some things.

I only wish I could figure out what some things I could find that would sound better than nothing.

But right now, I can’t.


Sometimes I can do these big things.  And I love the big things.

Because, in the end, I think the big things fill the void.  They give me something.  And to be something that is better than nothing, it seems like it has to be big.

And often times I go into these big things because of it.  Because I’m searching, looking, trying to figure this thing out.

And I’m not saying that this makes the big things bad!  Or negative at all.  But realistically, the big things wouldn’t happen if there wasn’t some unrest to put them there, you know?

I… I sometimes say that I am watching others live the dream.  My dream.  And I think, to an extent, that’s probably true.  To an extent, it is hard to see people who live music day in and day out andto an extent, I wonder why they got that life that I wanted and I didn’t.

But then, at the same time, I am also seeing it for what it is.  It’s me trying to assign a reason, an excuse for this.  For this… this… gut-wrenching, raw, empty feeling.  And yes, I get jealous that they get these things.  I get jealous and it hurts.  And I know the grass is always greener and that a life of music would probably not be a life of family and that had that path been the one I went down I would probably lament the latter, or, more likely, I wouldn’t have made it far down the path to begin with.

I know that no life is easy and no path is unhindered.


As I finished writing this, I was what I can only call exhausted.  Soul laid bare on a page.

Now that the time is coming to hit the ‘publish’ button, I worry a bit.  I wonder if I shouldn’t post it still.  I wonder if people will think the other things – the happy things – are a lie.

They aren’t.

I wonder if people will think that I’m not okay, that there is something wrong with me.

There isn’t.


Right now, I feel at peace.



3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Remember Me
    Jun 07, 2016 @ 01:13:05

    Great post: your honesty in sharing you feelings so openly is commendable.


  2. mamakellylester
    Jun 07, 2016 @ 07:46:37

    I so identify with all that you wrote here!! I refuse to believe that being a mother is all there is for me, for you or for any of us. We were destined for great things, one of those is being a mother, some of those are our children, but what then?? Is that all we are now called to? If so what happens when they grow up? I can’t believe thats true. Those longings and desires that were once in our heart that were numbed for one reason or another are still there and still important. I hope you find how to fulfill those longings as I hope the same for myself.


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