Don't Call It a Comeback...

I've had quite a long (unplanned) hiatus from my blogs (I also write at Tales From the Mutiny). I partially blame our travels...we hit the road October 3, 2012 in our 32-foot RV, The Mutiny, which left us without internet much of the time. But part of it has been sheer laziness. I know I'm not the only one who finds that they can fill their days with plenty of busy work to avoid doing other things...like writing. I don't want to call this a comeback because I really didn't leave my blog or abandon my writing...it's always there in my thoughts...every day. I just got really, really shall we say...sidetracked.

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Although writing is one of my passions I still have mini panic attacks when I write, publish posts or submit articles for Elephant Journal. I'm always afraid that no one will care, my article will be rejected or that failure in some form or another is just around the corner. I also have a problem with keeping a journal to jot down all of the brilliant ideas and thoughts I have throughout the day...the ones I'm sure would make a fabulous entry. Then, when I sit at the computer my mind seems as blank as the screen. And I want to kill that flashing cursor.

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One of my sewing projects, making reusable shopping bags out of old t-shirts.

So, I have been occupying my time with this busy work...yoga, reading articles and books, organizing the RV, remodeling the RV interior and sewing, which is totally new to me. The yoga part isn't really busy work...it's a life line and it has helped me build some confidence. I did a month long yoga challenge (#yogaeverydamnday) and saw so much improvement that I became addicted. I took some time to work on a few balance poses which really helped me understand the concept of beginner mind. We can't start out as pro's in everything we do...there is always a learning curve.

In Mobile, Alabama

White Sands National Monument

I'm still trying to figure out this life balance. Sometimes the full-time RVing seems like a full-time job but then I realize how luck I am to be able to do this at my age. It's not fair to complain. And I know that I tend to procrastinate. I can only beat myself up about this so many times...

I am exploring and working hard at figuring out how to make this all work...the need to write, finding the inspiration and direction, staying creative, keeping positive and being fearless. I am experimenting with new passions and creative endeavors and am thankful for some new friends (and old) who help inspire me. I've also got a new gadget (Karma) which I am hoping will give me more reliable internet once we resume our travels.

I'm also trying to learn that life isn't always go...go...go. But that sometimes there is nothing wrong with taking a nap, laying in the sun, reading a book or doing a whole lot of nothing.

By the way, I am also on Instagram at lynnbonelli (isn't everyone??) and would love to follow you back so leave your user name in the comments!

Silencing the Past

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I used to keep a journal. It was your basic composition book type journal (the old hard backed black and white notebook), which I felt was very Holden Caulfield-ny...someone I thought I'd rather be, especially when I was writing. Before the composition book when I was a young girl I remember having a real Diary, it even had a lock. Later, in high school, I kept a plain old college ruled spiral bound as a journal, until my father 'accidentally' mistook MY yellow spiral bound book of secrets as HIS yellow spiral bound book of work notes and read it...it was not good. It was then when he learned, at work, that I was no longer virgin.

Me, age 17 on a day pass from the hospital in Anchorage where I was 'recovering' from anorexia. My dad came down from Fairbanks to visit me during Christmas.

But, even as an adult...primarily when I was struggling with some love sickness, loneliness, undefined life plan, or...loneliness (yes, I know I said that already) I felt drawn to write in my hard backed comp book. I had learned of it's importance while hospitalized in Charter North for anorexia at age 16 (not long after the above incident), some 350 miles from our 'home' in Fairbanks Alaska. I had also learned that I could make people laugh and get high praise from my English Lit and Written Composition professors at University by writing about what seemed to me the mundaneness of my life.

When Bridget Jones' Diary hit the shelves my journaling took on a new life. I would be sure to write in it daily lest it miss me too much. It was a friend and confidant. It was a place I knew, in the back of my mind...even while the shit was hitting the fan...where I would go to write down all of the awful things that were happening to me at that instant. Somehow that made it all tolerable, although I would find myself weeping onto the pages as I relived my days...the pain of horrible breakups, empty promises, loneliness, disappointment, financial struggles, etc., etc., etc...

Maxx

I wrote about my horse, Maxx, and the devastating effect his death had on my life. I wrote about my old boyfriend, Adam, who would promise to come over and then never show up...for days or even weeks. I wrote about my disappointment over where my life was headed...no where. Wasted talent, wasted mind, wasted life. Always wrapped up in either a boyfriend or lack there of. Pages and pages of me reasoning with me. It's hard to be smart and logical yet always making the worst decisions possible.

Don't get me wrong, my journaling led to quite a bit of insight, especially when I would reread what I wrote. Often I would barely recognize the words as my own. Sometimes even the handwriting was different...me but not. Or maybe me just telling me in a different 'voice' how to get out of whatever situation I was in. I had no family around me, opting to live in Northern California, 3000+ miles from my parents, even when I was in my mid-20's. There would have been no shame in 'going home' at that age after a divorce and having only a $13 an hour job for income.

The best wine for my limited income.

Instead, I journaled. And watched a shit-ton of Friends and Seinfeld. Oh, and then Bridget Jones' Diary came out on video...so I watched that, over and over and over again. I developed my own break-up/pity-party basket...Gloria Gaynor's song I Will Survive, the movies "Singles", "Reality Bites" and later "Elizabeth", "Closer", and "Love Actually", microwave popcorn and 2 Buck Chuck for dinner. I worked a ridiculous amount (full time with as much OT as I could get at a car dealership and then part-time waitressing at night) just so I wouldn't have to be home...alone.

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But my journal...that's what kept me sane (or somewhat sane because I literally thought my life was spiraling into oblivion and happiness would either never be mine or only found in a pill). In desperation I tried that pill which was called Paxil...only to find out it didn't bring happiness, it brought blase...a non-committal to any kind of emotion happy or sad. And as painful as my life seemed to be I knew that I would rather feel that pain to full extent if that was the only way to be able to recognize the joy that I knew I deserved. I got rid of the pills, focused on my journaling and started meditating.

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Many years have passed and I find myself reading Joyce Maynard's At Home in the World: A Memoir right now (thanks to a post by Michele at Yoga Freedom Blog). Joyce, as well as her mother, kept all of their letters over the years...and even made carbon copies of the one's they sent. Writing on a topic which happened 26 earlier, Ms. Maynard has at her finger-tips, not only an exquisite memory but years and years of correspondence with her family as well as author J.D. Salinger (whom she ended up having a relationship with when she was 18 and he was 53). Being inspired yet again to journal I recall, with mixed emotion, that I have destroyed ALL of my old ones.

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Gone...each and every one of them. Not long ago I came across one (which has since been destroyed) read a few pages and experienced a visceral response (something like embarassment) to the pain and struggle I went through. I felt I had changed so much that I couldn't (or maybe didn't want to) relate to that person who wrote those words...that they came from a moment (or year) of weakness. A weak person, unhappy and confused, whose words were not worth saving. What could I possibly learn from those words and why would I want to reread them anyway?? By destroying those journals I felt I was silencing the past...but the lessons have still been learned.

There are lost moments, realizations, and insights to be sure. But I won't be dwelling on them. Instead, I have my not-so-good memory and those of my closest and oldest friends and sister. It's not that I want to relive my past or dwell there for some sentimental reason. I'm happy right here in the present, while occasionally venturing out to plan some amazing adventures in the near future. Perhaps destroying those journals was the right thing to do...I will never know because there is no other option. Perhaps, for me, that act of writing down my feelings and battling them out on paper was all I needed.

But now, with computers and internet and 'free' blogging sites I find myself enjoying the process even though I know it can be a more permanent record...perhaps not so easily destroyed as those old composition books. As I grow older (and hopefully wiser) I understand that all of those moments...even my weakest ones, are what helped to form who am I right now. And for that, there is no shame or embarassment.