Utah to Arizona #14, Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

The furniture is in place, the cooking pots are in their drawers, books are on the shelves, half the artwork has been hung, and clothes are put away. I could be called “settled.”

A few miles away I found this tilled field. In the background are palm trees and then the Superstition Mountains.

A few miles away I found this tilled field. In the background are palm trees and then the Superstition Mountains.

But I am not. Physically, yes; mentally, there is more to do. Despite all the excitement of a new stove, seeing more stars in the night sky, and resuscitating a sixteen-year-old clothes washer, I have revisited the outskirts of those emotionally, soul-sucking years of being forever busy with tasks that some people call productive adulthood.

There was much I learned and enjoyed in the crazy, busy years of owning a graphic arts company with my husband. The profit of those years is making these years possible, but I had little insight and less time to develop a truer me. I say “truer” because even human-made plastic wrap is “true” to its existence of being plastic wrap, but I’ll make myself superior to plastic wrap here and say it is not of the earth, sky, and connection to life.

About fifteen years ago I became more painfully aware of missing a deeper connection with something that might be worthwhile in myself. Purposely I began to change myself. One of the ways I did that was to write.

You’ve heard of two steps forward and one step back? I think that’s where I am. Over the fifteen years I took two steps forward and mentally, until I can regain my equilibrium and quiet, I have taken one step back. It’s a recoverable step that reminds me of a poem I enjoy for its simple clearness that was written in 1980 by Portia Nelson.

Autobiography in Five Short Chapters

1. I walk down the street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I fall in. I am lost … I am hopeless. It takes forever to find a way out.

2. I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I pretend I don’t see it. I fall in again. I can’t believe I am in the same place. But, it isn’t my fault. It still takes a long time to get out.

3. I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I see it is there. I still fall in … it’s a habit. My eyes are open I know where I am. It is my fault. I get out immediately.

4. I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I walk around it.

5. I walk down another street.

Sam and I did take out a little time last Saturday for the local Mardi Gras celebration. This kindly group of friends took us under their wing for an enjoyable hour. They even recited poetry!

Sam and I did take out a little time last Saturday for the local Mardi Gras celebration. This kindly group of friends took us under their wing for an enjoyable hour. They even recited poetry!

I could be writing Chapter 2, but with a little revising I hope to find myself in Chapter 3.

 

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This entry was posted in Utah to Arizona for a Next Life, Writing and Creativity Outpost and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

20 Responses to Utah to Arizona #14, Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

  1. arjun bagga says:

    Hello Hello! Awesome 🙂

  2. Carrie Rubin says:

    That is great. Lots of meaning in those words. I finally made it to chapter 4. Fingers crossed that I’ll see chapter 5.

  3. Denise Hisey says:

    Wow! That’s awesome! I love it!

  4. Good blog… made me think of the holes I’ve fallen in… and the ones I have jumped over. (grin)

  5. yes, this is life, isn’t it, for humans… rats get the message far more quickly, and when things don’t work in their maze, they try something new…to get to the cheese.

  6. Is this why life is called a rat race?

  7. The Hook says:

    Great post!
    But I’d contact City Hall about the state of those streets.
    What are you paying taxes for?

  8. Bumba says:

    You know what they say? Only a fool mkes the same mistake three times.

  9. I had to come back and leave a message, first of all, that pic with the mountains in the background is beautiful, and I really love the sparse language in your autobio.

  10. Absolutely love that poem! I’ve enjoyed exploring your blog. I’ll be back.

  11. Deborah, so do I–it says it all. I like the gentle humor and implied understanding without excuses.

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