Just My Luck

Change the way you look at things, and the things you look at will change.  ~ Wayne Dyer

 

This morning, I was whining to my husband about the odd things that occur during the night that keep me from getting a restful sleep (of which there are many).  After discussing the many causes, and possibilities of causes – both physical and mental, and determining that some people are more predisposed than others to various physiological issues, he said, “maybe it’s just your luck – it’s not good or bad, but it is yours.”

That hit me square between the eyeballs.

I have been fighting acceptance, lately.  Accepting the current world order.  Accepting that no one wants to hire someone over 50 (regardless of the fact that Uncle Sam seems to think I have a good 18 years work left in me – but don’t get me started on that one).  Accepting that I need to work, when through all of our relationship I really have not, and how that is going to upset our apple cart.  Accepting my excess skin.  Accepting my new wrinkles and gray hairs. 

But now here is this idea that my luck is My Luck.  It is not bad.  Others certainly have it worse…  It is not good.  Others certainly have it better.  But it is mine.  Not yours, not his, not hers.  Mine.  My reality.  And because it is mine, no one else has the right to judge how I respond (or not) to it, any more than I have the right to judge theirs.  I can only work through my reality the best way I can.  I can try to understand theirs, but I can really only just try. 

Strangely, now, this I can accept.

I will be honest and tell you that lately, I have been responding poorly to various stimuli.  And it has felt like trying to move through quicksand, sinking deeper and deeper, flailing with no progress (and yes, a good deal of regression).

So now, I think I will just say, “Well, this is just my luck,” and move on.  Not the dripping-with-sarcasm statement we usually make with these words, but just the acknowledgement that this is the current Point A.  And if I don’t like Point A, then I can just move on to Point B.  No struggle, no fuss, just pick a path and go.

This will be difficult for me, as I suffer from paralysis by analysis more often than not.  But that’s me.

Just My Luck.  😉

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Fear Factor

Dear Lord.

Why am I so afraid of every damn thing?

Here I am, still unemployed after nearly five years.  Mr. Patient Man at my side is an enabler.  I get that.  He perceives my unrest, my discontent, my inability to face the world, the reality that is I really need a j.o.b. so that when he retires, we can do stuff together then.  But we selfishly plug along in the now, not wanting to upset the applecart that is our lives, being able to move freely – at will.  That freedom will not last long, if the income situation does not improve.

Had a wild-hair idea to start my own fitness facility, and already two days into researching the feasibility of such an endeavor, I am overwhelmed and terrified that if I start such a thing, I will just be a slave to it, instead of the circus ringleader I hope to be… and we will be chained to it, unable to be our best, just like the proverbial circus elephant.

The reality is that even when I was actively pursuing work, it was actively evading me.  Okay, I was only half-arsed pursuing work.  But hey, if I am only going to get part-time employment, with no benefits, I sure don’t want a god-awful commute.  I want to stay local.  Sadly, local is pretty sad and bleak in and of itself, so I need to reach further.  Conundrum.

I wasted a grand on getting some group training instructor certifications.  I wish it wasn’t a waste, but it will take me two years to get my money’s worth out of it (assuming I get to use them at all), at which time I will have to recertify and run out of money all over again.  Sigh.

Feeling pretty disheartened to say the least.  I have never really felt a drive for what I want to do with my life.  I have been led around by the nose, and by others’ dreams for me, for most of my existence.  Nothing has felt authentic – not that I would know what that feels like!  So it seems I need to dig deeper and figure out what feels unfigureoutable.

But I am terrified of the deep work.  I am scared to know my true self.  I know that my husband saved me from myself – I was on a pretty dark path when he came into my world.  What if my true self is someone I, or he, cannot bear?

Breathe.  Begin.

What do you know?

So I set this up 3-4 months ago.  Thought I had lots to say.  And I do.

But I was a little bit under the vine, and I knew I wanted to say things.  Fortunately, not so much that I said them right then – I knew enough to hold myself back in that condition.

Which brings me to today.

I finally think it is okay to get my voice out.

What is the CZI chronicles, anyway?

CZI is a tip of the hat to my former life in aviation.  CZI is an identifier for a navaid out west – lovingly called Crazy Woman.  I am convinced I am crazy quite often, I am woman, and well, I like it, so that is what I chose to title this location.

I haven’t yet figured out the ins and outs here, but I will.  And when I have something better to talk about, I will be back.  But for right now, it is enough for you to know that I am a woman, I turned 50 this year, and I insist on it being a Golden Year.  Already there have been challenges to that, but I will continue to expect it.  I have an awesome man at my side who is solid gold himself – so if I do fall short, at least I have that.  His love and support are all I truly need in this world.  Everything else is just a want.

Enjoy your journey!  😉