Written for The Misplaced

It has been told to me that the hardest things to find in life are often the things which are right in front of our face. I see myself as a seeker of things and often times, I find myself in places where I feel lost or incomplete. Of all things to feel and find, the hardest things to feel is out of place, lost, or misplaced, and misfitting, or emotionally estranged from the world, and with this in mind, next, it is hard to find a place to fit in when things like this weigh upon the heart.

I have been warned not to overlook the obvious things because these things have meaning, and often, people turn a blind eye to them, because in our mind, the answers to our riddles are too complicated for a simple answer.

The quandary is often only in our mind. And the truth is simple; we are always enough and equipped with exactly what we need to live a good happy life. The rest is in our thoughts; the rest is in our fears and insecurities that lead us to think we are less than or don’t have enough. Keep in mind, this is not true

There is a reminder beating in your chest. This is your heart. This is the pulse of our machine. This is your source and what pushes blood through our system.  But we seldom realize that the heart is more.
The heart is not simply an organ; it is a drive. This is where our ability lives, right there in the center of the chest, pulsing and pushing the blood through all the veins and capillaries, to feed, and enact every muscle, every organ, and everything we need to live. So we best care for it.
The heart is where life is sustained. All else is in the mind. And as for the mind, this is where confusion can step in. This is where the tricks get pulled. This is where the complexities come in and where emotion intercepts the plans we make and the strategies we use accomplish them. This is where fear restricts logic and panic steps in the way of decision.

If I am being honest, then let me be honest and admit to my own feelings of feeling lost or misplaced. I need to be truthful and admit to my feelings of feeling afraid and feeling as though I am less than, not good enough, afraid to find me wanting, starved, or worse, to feel broken or misshapen and mangled, ugly and unfit with no place to belong to.

If I am to be honest, then let me be honest about my reactions and actions and the steps I take as a reaction to my fears and flaws. If I am to be honest, then I have to be honest of my fears of seeming small or weak or unable to compete in this place; so therefore, I manipulate the obstacles in mind instead of negotiate my way through them.

I need to improve . .
I want to improve
But how?

Kevin Arnold wrote, “Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, and the things you never want to lose.”

I have diaries and journals filled with these things. I have a mindful of memories, which perhaps, would be better left forgotten; however, the mind is where my quandary lives.

Therefore, effective immediately, I do hereby resign the memories that do me no justice. I do hereby officially resign my recollections of regret and pardon my past from its “long ago” mistakes.
Going forward, I set free the mental prisoners which have been pent up in the emotional cage in which I preformed such duties as inmate, punished to solitary confinement, a daily prisoner in general population,  a guard, the keeper, and warden with the key that could have led to my freedom. I have been all of this rolled up as one.

If memory is the way of holding the things you love, the things you are, and the things you never want to lose, then the truth must be so of the things we hate, the things which hurt, and the things we never want to forget.

In the case of bad memories vs Good, I see the problem as clerical. In the words of my best friend Lon with regards to holding on to the wrong files, I am reminded of his question, “How’s that working out for you?”

Therefore, going forward, Dear Diary, I have decided to part ways with your older passages. Rather than regret and continue the reactions to my flaws; I am better served by this split, and so going forward, I will no longer keep me locked as prisoner but instead, I am hereby choosing the option to be free.

Free . . .

I like that word. Up until now, however, freedom has been this unknown dream without any real definition.

Today I have decided to define this term on my own.

Goodbye (figuratively speaking, I mean)


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