First posted in August 2010:
I was thinking about the line from Mary Oliver: “What will you do with your one wild and precious life?” and how it always makes me feel bad, like I have wasted mine. Well, have I wasted it?
(Written in July 2006)
Reading my journal for 1991. There was a lot going on: Journey into Courage, I was seeing Doug for Process work, struggling with depression and terror. I’m surprised at the intensity and passion with which I wrote. It doesn’t sound like the grey depressed life I’ve been imagining. On the other hand, there’s a lot of pain and struggle. There are also learnings that I think I’ll be able to act on right away. I’m working with the issue of trying to keep rigid control over myself and seeing that a looser, more open way would be healthier, if scary. My first sense on reading my enthusiastic writing about this new learning is discouragement — God! I keep learning the same damn things over and over. But I see now that intellectual learning is only the beginning. Learning how to let go of rigid control and allow the pieces to find their own way is a long process, it has to gradually sink in, penetrate and loosen and change layer after layer. In 1991 I had no idea how strong were the forces holding the rigid systems in place.
Reading 1991 is fascinating and painful. Detailed descriptions of dreams, of process work with Doug, of the breathwork group. I’m not reading every word — partly seeing how much effort I’m putting into intellectual understanding, which doesn’t change the important things at all. I’m not yet on medication — not even considering it, I have no idea about the Post-traumatic Stress or the low thyroid — and I’m fighting as hard as I can. I have a lot more respect for myself, for my strength and persistence. What did you do with your one wild and precious life? I fought like a demon against the forces of oppression. Not a wasted life at all.