The Big Picture Is Small

Beauty is fleeting and everywhere.

I love irony but this has been a tough one to wrap my head around.

I get panicked a lot that I have missed the moment, as a result of my trying to get it all done, or make it more beautiful, or not do anything in a less than whole-hearted way.

It leaves me feeling anxious; acting impatient; disliking myself.

Who has time to make elaborate sand castles that are going to be rained away? I mean seriously, couldn’t that time be used more efficiently? Doing something more constructive?

Or at least longer-lasting?

Why spend time creating dramatic highly realistic three dimensional liquid chalk sidewalk art that will only be washed away?

Who has time for these unproductive indulgences?

It is so absurd. So silly. Such a ridiculous waste of time to think there is anything more important– more enduring– than a moment.

All we have is a necklace of strung together moments. I get all caught up in the sturdiness of the knots holding them together and if the clasp will hold up and the quality of the moments.

Are we setting the stage for the right moments? Is this the best field in which to go moment picking? Should we wait till some of the other moments bloom?

Can we shellac our moment necklace when we finish? You know to preserve it?

Seriously?

There is something definitely wrong with me.

I have always been afraid of getting it wrong, messing up, disappointing people. Fear and anxiety are an underpinning of my otherwise sparklingly optimistic, fun-loving personality.

But the undercurrent has gotten worse lately.

I go into business-friendly management mode to get through the massive amount of miniscule details in each day.

BUT, I snap when more than two things go awry (which they always do) and cry when anyone exhibits the slightest kindness (which they always do). Odd, I know. But small kindnesses kill me lately.

Why? I have been trying to figure that out.

I think maybe because kindness is THE point of everything.

And I am terrified that it will not be enough to sustain me, or my family. And my job is prepare us ALL for the REAL world.

If I succumb to a life guided by kindness, I will become weak and soft. My feelings will get hurt constantly because I will care. I will self-medicate with food, get fat and hate myself. People will get tired of me. Everyone I love will go away and I will be responsible.

I know, a bit intense.

I don’t ever think any of these thoughts, exactly.

But, if I dig down the irrational fear well, it looks something like this. What triggered it now? At forty-five?

My best guess is that it is the intersection of my mom’s death (three years ago) fully sinking in (I am a slow accepter of loss), our boys getting close to the age where we will have to begin turning them over to the world (ditto slow acceptor of loss) and a tremendous sense of hope that we are all actually master sand castle builders inside.