The long view

A new month.  Christmas looming.  A new year a mere 31 days away.  Geez Louise.

I made this image during the late morning while walking nine holes with Tal at the Pine Ridge Club near our home.  Even though I generally don't like my efforts at landscape photography, to my eye the light inviting and the late fall color palate soothing, this scene stopped me in my tracks and I couldn't help myself.

I like this long view.  The undulation of the land, the winter clouds, the trees, the pond and dam in the distance, the rich brown of the grass. 

Fact is, I think -- just recently -- I'm doing better with the long view.  For many of my 59 years I have been mired up in detail; I have been consumed with the short view.  Trying to get every "i" dotted and "t" crossed.  Not wanting to disappoint anyone.  Striving to keep everything in its place (including me).  To the point that I really do believe I missed the point most of the time.

Why?  Fear mostly, I suspect.  Fear of being caught unprepared.  Fear of being wrong.  Fear of being out of step with the majority.  That and self-doubt.  Who do I think I am?  Someone will be better at this than me.  Anyone would be better at this than me.

That short outlook is paralyzing.  It contracts a person alot more than it expands her.

What needs to be done this month -- between now and December 25th, between now and January 1st -- isn't final.  Those items on the list -- like everything else -- are passing.  So, I'm not going to be hung up on the tree or the food or the cards.  There can be dust on the blinds and not everyone has to be happy with me. 

The question I might dare ask is this:  Over the arching sweep of my life so far and from what I can project about my life into the future, am I happy with myself?

Don't stand too close.  There's potential at least for some lightening ...

Feeling challenged

Lots of things, people, ideas challenge me.  When I'm not cowering in fear, I spend deliberate time trying to understand why I react the way I do.  Sometimes end up feeling grateful for the uncertainty.

After NaNoWriMo ended, one of the staff members wrote a blog about having not made the word count this year.  She described what she had managed to write, describing the difficulties that had come her way during November.

She also included this long quote from another NaNoWriMo writer whose screen name is Saker Pup:

Every time you try something new, you risk failure. That’s why most people who aren’t small children don’t try new things.  They spend their lives creating a routine that will insulate them from doing anything unfamiliar because most people can’t do unfamiliar things perfectly. And if you don’t know exactly what you’re doing all the time, you might accidentally screw something up and fail. I’ll tell you a secret: I fail at most things, at least at first, and it hasn’t killed me yet. Failure isn’t something to be afraid of. Failure means I tried. Failure is the process I must endure before I can achieve success. Failure is beautiful.

To be honest, I wouldn't go so far as to agree with that last line.  Way too challenging.  But, the rest of it?  Do I ever need to take it to heart. 

Messing up.  Looking foolish.  Not being right.  A small price to pay for learning something, for growing up, for becoming.