There have been two feelings I have had my whole life.
The first feeling of restlessness. I have always felt that there is a whole world out there to see. So much history and culture to absorb. Different people with different routines and traditions.
I had only left New England seven times before I went to study in England the fall of my junior year in college. Three of those times had been to Canada (New Brunswick, Quebec City and Montreal), two had been to New York (NYC and Niagara Falls with a side trip to the Canadian side) and one trip to Gettysburg, PA and one trip to Washington D.C. The flight from Boston to London at the age of 21 was my first time flying on an airplane. I have since seen more of the U.S. between my involvement in the Young Republican National Federation and my parents purchasing an RV. I have seen more of the world due to Bryon and my love for cruising. And I don’t plan on stopping. I promised Bryon I wouldn’t stop.
Don’t get me wrong. I do love my small Maine town. I miss Maine, especially the people and the ocean. But I always felt like there was more in the world and I wanted to experience it. Maine did feel so isolated. The only cities you could travel to easily by car was Boston and Quebec City. I always wanted to be close to more US cities. I love Boston (my birthplace) and Quebec City but I love having the option to do weekend trips to other cities.
I still feel that urge to see the world. It doesn’t matter if it is a back country road or a big city. I just love to see new places. I love historical sites and museums. I love trying local food. I love shops. I love scenery. I want to see it all.
The second feeling I have had my whole life is that I have always felt like an outsider. That I am on the outside looking in. I never felt included despite being involved in sports, clubs, and later politics.
This brings me back to high school and college. I always worried where I fit in. I wasn’t cool but I wasn’t uncool either. I wasn’t particularly included but I wasn’t excluded. I had friends but I wasn’t invited to the cool parties. Though looking back, I am sure some of that was me. I didn’t have the wisdom to know how to be as open to friendships. Being open to friendship is something I only started to do when Bryon got sick.
I followed my same social patterns in college. There were two major groups in my college dorms. The theater/art/music majors sat on the left side of the cafeteria and the athletic and Greeks sat on the right hand side. There was one row of tables that was right in the middle near the salad bar and an ice cream cart. I was friends with people on both sides and would sit on either side. If I was by myself (something that didn’t phase me, especially after studying abroad and going to Paris by myself) and I didn’t see any of my friends, I would just sit in the middle.
When it comes to my writing and purpose, I come back to these two feelings that have plagued me my whole life.
I have so many ideas for blog posts in my head and no idea where to start. I have so many ideas of what I want to accomplish, but I don’t know how to get there. Now I have Paul Simon’s Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard stuck in my head.
I think about the concept of having a niche when writing. What kind of blogger and writer am I? Trying to find what writing niche reminds me of my high school and college years where I was trying to find the right table to sit at in the cafeteria. My half-marathon training has been suffering due to my poor time management skills so I am definitely not a running blogger. I don’t travel enough to be a travel blogger. I write about life, but I am not a lifestyle blogger. Trust me, if you could see how messy my living room is, you would know why I don’t post pictures of my house. I write about death and grief. It is important for me to share that part of my story as our society has a twisted view on death and grieving and we need to talk about it. But I don’t want Bryon’s death and grief to define me. I am still a person who has a lot of living left to do.
I need to make a difference. I need to help people.
I need to talk about grief to help widows, especially young widows because the world thinks of widows as being elderly.
I need to talk about grief to help those who have lost loved ones, not just widows, but anyone who has lost a child, family member or friend.
I need to talk about rebuilding my life to help those whose life and sense of security was shattered, whether it was by death, divorce or job loss.
I need to talk about my struggles in parenting to help those who are single parents.
I need to tell my story of surviving to give hope to those who are struggling to carry on.
I need to talk about the problems in our healthcare system so people can advocate for themselves and their families.
It dawned on me today that instead of worrying where I fit in, I need to just blaze my own trail. Not just with my writing, but in my life in general. If I truly want to be open to new people and new experiences, then I shouldn’t be focusing on trying to put place myself in a niche or group. If I do that, then I inadvertently narrow down who I meet and my opportunities to make a difference. I have spent my whole life waiting for others to define the path I am to take. That is silly because no one other than myself can know my true life purpose. No one else can understand what I hope to get out of life. If I wait for others to define my path, then I am limiting my potential.
I need to blaze that trail even if I don’t know where I am going. Besides being a wife and mother, the other two times I felt accomplished in my life where when I took risks and did something scary. The first was my semester in the UK and the second was my years in politics. They were the two times in my life when I felt like I was out experiencing life the most and my experiences were the most rewarding. I pushed ahead and did things out of my comfort zone. I didn’t let fear stop me. I need to remember this as I blaze a trail forward.