It takes me awhile to become done. Well, I guess that isn’t even true...it takes me a long time to be done sometimes. Other times it seems I am done almost over night. Or perhaps even instantly. And when I am done, I am done...at least until I am not anymore.
I have walked away from so many things in my life: marriages, people, relationships, friendships, jobs, and there are those that are easy to leave, and then there are those that have been so very hard to leave. Which has caused me to double back a number of times, to try again to make that which didn’t work, work. And the results are always the same: it still doesn’t work.
I guess we are all like this, some times being done happens instantly. Other times, it takes a bit of time. Then there are those times that no matter how awful the situation, circumstances, feelings you just can’t be done. I have, in fact, been absolutely powerless over getting done. I have known that I need to be done, want to be done, but there is this part of me that is so invested, that I just can’t be done. Cannot, will not, let go.
Remember that cat poster from the 1980s? The one where the cat is hanging on to a wire and the caption reads: “Hang in there baby, Friday is coming!” Or something like that. I have forever thought it such a weird poster...like really, anyone expects that poor cat to hold on until Friday! Like what the fuck is magic about Friday? It is still another work day and it could be fucking Monday and then that poor cat is fucking screwed.
But that is kind of like what getting done has been like for me. I have been like that fucking cat sometimes, hanging on waiting for the magical day of Friday to come so that I can do what? Fall to my death - I mean for fuck’s sake, I have not dropped before for a reason. Or maybe I just needed to wait a few more hours, is someone coming to rescue me from my precarious present state? Not fucking likely. The universe has given me a resounding, “you have to save yourself” messages repeatedly. There is no horse, no knight, no shining fucking armor. It has and will be always up to me to save myself, mostly from myself. And the armor, that shit is hot, heavy and super uncomfortable, and I have committed myself to taking it off whenever I find myself all locked up in it again, despite my best efforts to honor my firm and true commitment to not wear that shit again. Life is not a joust, so I should stop donning the armor in some kind of misguided effort to protect myself.
And I am not sure about you, but my suit of armor has all these little fucking locks, with tons of fucking tiny keys, and while it is easy to snap on, it almost impossible to get off, and takes a fucking long ass time.
No, I want an armor free life. For sure. Even when it hurts, a lot.
Getting done is a process, from my experience, that sometimes comes quite quickly and then other times, it seemingly takes forever. Round and round and round in the ring with the same issues, me bloodied and battle scarred, and still not able to see that which is apparent to so many others. Like anyone, even people passing me on the street, can see it. But, me, I am blind. Stubbornly climbing into the ring, time after time, only to get pummeled into confusion again and again.
I am getting done with several things right now. One of them a long good bye. The other relatively short. Same underlying issues but with quite a different trajectory and timeline. It is hard. Both. And I am sad, I am scared and I am unsure of myself. But I have lived and loved and been engaged in my life long enough to know that the most important thing that I do in this life, is be true to myself. Even when I am wrong. Even when I am misguided. It is still my job to have my own back. It is still my job to speak my truth even when it is met with alarming disapproval. Even when it doesn’t match what others want for me, or see as a better, more accurate version of reality. Even then.
It is my life. I get done with stuff, when I get done. And I am only loosely in charge of that. My hardest task is to be honest about what roils beneath my surface, the stuff that threatens to spill out and spew forward, all over everything. And trust, that the consequences are mine because the choices are mine. And that no matter how long I live, or how much I fuck it up, getting done is just part of living an awakened life. People, places, things, ideas, thoughts, feelings, all of them will eventually fail the test of time. And my most spiritual task always to trust that God is always there for me, having my back and working in such mysterious ways to guide me forward, always helping me to grow, change and love myself and others more deeply. And getting done just has to be part of that process. I don’t like it. Not one little bit. But I accept that getting done is a required part of living, loving and evolving. And so it is.