Confronting my inner chicken!

Facing the chicken within….

Okay, enough…

Dear Reader (my one and only reader who I love and value so), I’m sorry.

I’m a prolific writer; and clearly a chickenshit blogger!

Though I have repeatedly encouraged my kids to be bold and brave, apparently I am neither. You see, this incarnation of Jess was taught to be normal. She was taught to be polite, quiet, respectful, and anything but weird. The result? I’m 57 now, and still embarrassed to publicly admit who I am. Old lessons die hard.

It’s not that I don’t know myself. I do. If fact, I probably know myself too well. As a child, I was a deeply engaged, spiritual and metaphysical mess. Needless to say, I also had no friends and my parents reminded me constantly, not to be so weird! Throughout high school, college and the majority of my 18 year marriage, I tried to look normal. In other words, I traded my spiritual passions for safety, success, and stability. It didn’t work.

As I sit here today, those old constraints are gone. I am divorced with adult children. My father is deceased and my mother, at 84, suffers from Alzheimer’s. Yet as luck would have it, new situations, fears, and people have emerged. Being single definitely offers its share of freedom. Having your children launched and out of the house means that you can burn all the sage you want and no one will insist that it smells like pot. But let’s face it, being alone is also terrifying. Being rejected or cast out of the herd is instinctually a death sentence. So… here I am… MUCH older, and clearly no wiser.

I have friends, but often feel that they don’t know me. I have dated wonderful, nice, normal men: but can’t agree to marry them. It wouldn’t be fair. Logically I know if I don’t hang my shingle out there, my tribe will never find me. I know that biking away, moving away, and hiding doesn’t work.

But knowing, and doing, are two different things.

And clearly, I am a chickenshit.

But I’m also tired. I’m tired of pretending to be normal. I’m tired of smiling when I want to scream.; of laughing when I want to cry. And most of all, I’m tired of feeling alone, even in a room full of people. Since starting this blog in 2018, I’ve moved away, biked away, and walked away. But enough! I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of not being me! So dear reader, (my one and only reader who I love and value so), I start again, and this time, we’re pushing the chicken across the road!

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