Sometimes We've Got to Face It

There's a fine line between what we want to do and what we have to do.  As a writer, I've unconsciously been trying to avoid writing about a death in our family, and in turn, unable to come to the keyboard to work on my book or to post in this blog.  I made a promise to myself and my readers that this blog was to be a place where raw honesty and personal/professional growth was to take place.   So, last night as I dozed off, I realized that if my blog was to continue, if I was to continue as a writer, I had no choice.  I have to write about what's on my mind.  This is not what I want to do, but what I have to do.  

It was not a shocking unexpected loss, but tragic.  Cancer was the cause.  Suffering was the effect.  And it was the suffering that everyone who loved this person can't seem to comes to terms with because the magnitude of it was so great.  The experience rattled us all to the core, questioning our beliefs in a higher power, our beliefs in modern medicine, and our beliefs in ourselves and our very purpose on this earth. 

It's within our human condition that we expect severe torturous suffering only reserved for  the evil on this earth.  And when this is not the case, we can't help but constantly try to rationalize it. Why?  All day long, it rings in the ear.

As we witnessed the suffering, we also witnessed an example of undeniable strength of character.  In the face of death, in the face of suffering, in facing the worst possible last days that anyone could imagine, my uncle did it with grace and courage.  So much, that in between bouts of excruciating pain, he insisted that my husband take his business suits that he certainly won't be needing anymore.

One of the last conversations I had with my uncle was on Easter Sunday when he told be the truth about the dogs on the highway.  He kidded me about being "too damn sensitive".  He's right.  I am too sensitive.  

My heightened sense of sensitivity has fueled my emotional fires and in the past few weeks I've been completely consumed with feelings of loss, regret, grief, remembering other family members that have gone and that I miss on a daily basis.  

My routine, my sense of self, my life has been shattered to the point that my daughter commented on the fact that I was shopping.  (I hate shopping).  "What's up with that?"  She asked me.  "I don't know.  I can't write.  So I'm shopping."  was my reply with a shrug of my shoulders.

Sick of shopping, of avoiding myself and my thoughts, I've come back to the keyboard and as I feel a sense of normality returning, I know that what was normal a few months ago is gone.  A new normal is emerging, and it's time to face it.  

It's not what I want to do but what I have to do.

Optimism vs. Realism

Is it possible to be an optimist and realist at the same time?  If you're too optimistic, does that mean that you've got your head in the clouds and your a dreamer? Where does optimism stop and "dreamer state" start?  

On the other side of the coin, can someone be too realistic?  Does that mean you can't possibly accept anything without any cold hard facts to support it?  And if that's the case, then where does love fit into all of this?  Isn't falling in love completely optimistic?  Even die-hard realists fall sometimes...

If you look up optimism in the Thesaurus, it says to be hopeful, Pollyannaish, positive, upbeat. 

The dictionary defines optimism as a tendency to expect favorable outcome, to believe that good must ultimately prevail over evil. 

The Thesaurus says other words for realistic are practical, pragmatic, rational, down-to-earth, businesslike, levelheaded, sober.   The definition of realism is to regard things in their true nature, to deal with things as they are.  A policy of dealing with life based on facts, not ideals.

Being creative, living a creative life and moving forward on a creative career path, I struggle with these two concepts every day.  On one hand, I need to be stupidly optimistic (or a dreamer). On the other hand, my life demands more realism now than it ever has.  And let's face it:  I'm a dreamer.  Always have been.  I believe that people need to dream.  Without dreams, there's no hope.  

My son came home the other day (dreamer that he is).  He told me that he saw a poster at school and it said, "A dream is just a dream without action."  

So maybe the answer is:

          First you dream, 

  Then you act,

 Stay optimistic, 

  While remaining realistic?  

Hmmm.

"There's a Fine Line..."

Last week proved to be quite dramatic in our house, one marked by a constant reminder of how thin a line it is that we walk in all aspects of our lives.  The most obvious drama we experienced was one revolving around Holy week and one in which the Christian calendar and Jewish calendar overlapped. That became our first ultimate symbol of how fine a line there is between cultures and people, and after further examination of the two traditions, it became evident how truly similar we are.

Another fine line we witnessed was the one pertaining to truth. Although truth is what we always strive for, an explanation became necessary in order concerning the "little white lie" and how sometimes we tell "white lies" to spare someone's feelings.  

So then the fine line between "white lies" and the topic of holiday characters and are they real or not appeared.  "Is there really a tooth fairy?  Is there really an Easter bunny?  But Santa is real, right?"  Me and two sets of eyes staring at me.   In my head, I'm thinking,  "There's a fine line.." So of course, I did what every parent does when confronted with the truth about holiday characters:  I told the truth.    

Then ironically on Easter Sunday, I had to face a bit of truth from my own childhood.  My grandparents had two dogs that ran out of the yard and never returned.  As a child, I was told that they must have been picked up by someone.  The truth came out to me that they were both hit by cars and killed.  I had suspected the truth, but never heard it.  My family knew I was too sensitive, too emotional, and protected me from the truth because they knew I'd be devastated by it.  (They were right.  I was a kid that couldn't watch Lassie without being emotionally traumatized for weeks afterwards).  

And that's when I realized in my own moment of truth how fine a line there is between childhood and parenthood.