equal parts.
Balance is not something I excel at -- not in the sense that I stand up straight, not in the sense that I manage to walk without tripping, and certainly not in the sense that I approach my life with any measure of reason and propriety. It's typical Meg.
I'm all over the map.
As I get older, I'm starting to see that this 'seat of my pants' life is going to create more hindrances than opportunities in years to come. Everyone else is settling down and making sense of their details and taking action, while I skid and skate and slide about, excited about one thing, then sad about another, then ecstatic for the next thing again.
You might not see my erratica in my daily life. After all, I get up, I go to work, I work hard, I come home, I make dinner, I exist. I barely sleep when I try to, but that's okay -- that I am used to. It's the internal bits and the dreaming that I can't seem to pull into line.
So, you ask, "Whoa, whoa -- your seat of the pants life is just something you imagine? Your normal life is actually quite staid?"
Yes.
But, oh, the dreams I have!
I dream all the time, waking and sleeping. Sometimes I dream of very fanciful things -- visions of a life I won't be living anytime soon, maybe never. And sometimes I dream of grand domesticities that seem beyond my reach, even in their ordinariness. These dreams make my life appear small and awkward in comparison. As long as I can disappear into them, though, I seem to be able to completely avoid taking any risks or making any moves in my conscious, waking world.
Hence the imbalance. I don't know how to stop living in my head and start living in my body.
Some would say that it is the natural provenance of a writer to live in their head to some degree. After all, that's where the ideas become notions and notions become words and words become my voice. But I don't really use my writing to connect with those dreams -- I use my writing to connect with temporal, everyday things. I write about my life in hopes that if I celebrate and embrace it enough, I will start living in the moment and loving what I have. And maybe if I live in the moment, I will stop trying to escape it and then -- just maybe -- I might gain the strength to leap and dance and risk in reality.
It's hard to explain.
I've always had a hell of an imagination -- I could always think up whole alternate lives for myself. These lives would put me in other places -- exotic, gorgeous, impossible places I've only seen in pictures or film. I'd wear insane, colourful clothes that would fit my ostentatious circumstances and I would do amazing things that I'd never think to do in this body, in this place, in this actuality. I'd say things that were witty and wise, and develop ideas that seemed plucked from the stars.
And then I'd wake up.
Then I would be too shy, then I would be too clumsy, then I wouldn't have enough money or time. Then I'd have to just be, rather than do. There would be bills to pay, expectations to meet, dollars to earn, calls to make. I'd roll my eyes at my lack of courage -- but not quite enough to stop myself from waiting to dream again, knowing that whatever dancing and singing and rollicking I might do, it wouldn't remotely compare with what I wished were possible.
Everyone thinks I am crazy and noisy and ballsy and over the top. But oh -- if you knew what else I wanted to do!
Sometimes the hurt of my limitations -- self-crafted, mind you -- is what drives me harder into these hopes, and further from actually taking practical steps to make dreams come true right here, right now.
I think, "No, you are too old." or "No, that is a waste of money." or "No, everyone would disapprove." or "No, that's just random and bizarre." or "You would be rejected if you even tried -- you know you are not that person."
I am not the person who wears a sari just because it is beautiful and intricate -- I am just too plain. Someone would think I was trying to be something I wasn't.
I am not the person who disappears alone into a city where I know no one to adventure anonymously -- why, everyone would worry that I couldn't take care of myself! Maybe they would be right!
I am not the person who spends every waking hour on a novel that is the call of her soul and her purpose for being -- I am not nearly so creative or dedicated. I'd fizzle out, soon enough.
I cannot speak fiercely into the darkness and create light -- I am not nearly so eloquent. Everyone else can carry that torch.
I am not the person who stands up to read my work in front of people who do not know me -- what if no one understood? And what if I couldn't explain?
I am not the person who challenges their body to greatness -- after all, I have been sick and lazy for too long to turn back now, right? I'm not 20 anymore.
I am not the person who travels into the middle of a nightmare and makes a difference -- I doubt that I am nearly strong enough to be useful. What if I cry when I should act?
I am not the person who falls in love and gets married and creates a home -- I couldn't possibly be enough to keep anyone's interest that long! I sure haven't yet!
Oh, and as I say it all, I cringe.
"So what, Meg! So what! You think no one ever tried something they were scared to do? You think we all have it figured out before we take a step? You think we started out good at everything? Dream on -- or, wait -- DON'T!"
I know how silly it looks. These aren't even big dreams! These things are normal life for some people! And of course I could do them all, if I put my mind to it and tried and strived and sacrificed a little. It's the idea of letting go of the perfection in the dreams that frightens me, I suppose. It's the idea of swinging the balance back from fantasy into reality -- from wishing to doing -- from meandering to choosing a path. More than anything, it's the idea of failing. I've always been told I didn't want to try anything I didn't already know I could do well. And it's true.
I have simply let my own fears define me for so long that my dreams seem the only outlet for the person I know I am deep down inside.
If my friends say these things to me -- if they are paralyzed -- oh, do I chastise them! I tell them they are capable of anything, that they are beautiful and wise and gifted and adventurous and free! I've adorned them, I've cherished them, I've pushed them, I've clapped my hands for them, I've said goodbye to them at airports, and I've challenged them to seize the love that was theirs to take and keep. I have celebrated their possibilities and rejoiced in their successes and set aside their mistakes.
I know they would do the same for me. In fact, anytime I do anything, they rush in to throw confetti and pop corks and do a Maypole dance. But I sure don't let them do it very often.
I just wallow in my imbalance, close my eyes, and disappear. And honestly, truly -- I've had it.
Every life should be equal parts dreaming and doing, because one gives birth to the other.
I need to find a balance that I've never actually managed to possess. To love my life while growing it from seed to plant -- without bemoaning the fact that I am not yet a tree. Because if I keep growing, I will be a tree, and my branches will reach the sky and my roots will sink into the earth and I will be all the shelter and shade and strength and beauty I ever wanted to be.
Imagine!
3:26:37 PM 
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