"There Are Dreams That Cannot Be and There Are Storms We Cannot Weather"

Fear does not typically regulate my life. There are very few actual fears which elicit terror in me.

Spiders have been known to on occasion and I despise basements for this sole reason. If need be I can muster the courage to take one out and win every time. Each kill a small victory over fear of such miniscule beasts. My biggest fear, if I'm honestly admitting, is the fear of failure or rejection. They are one and the same for me. This fear likely regulates more in my daily life than I care to think about or divulge. A sad tale to be sure. Steadily, silent victories put me one step closer to kicking failure or rejection to the curb. For now though, the three of us are sitting over in the tall grass and getting mighty sick of it.

A new fear has been creeping its tentacles ever so slowly around me. Threatening to swallow me whole. For years I have been sinking under its pressure, riding its tide in and out of my life. Only recently have I given it a name and understood it more fully. I fear suffocating.

Not in a typical sense of literally not being able to breathe, but as a metaphor for not being able to keep breathing the way I planned, the way I dreamed. I fear I may suffocate if personal plans change, if my dreams go a rye. I fear that I am literally suffocating or being suffocated.
Extinguished out.
Kaput.
Done.

This has me grappling for firm soil and figuring out just what my roots are. It has me reaffirming my faith in my beliefs. It has me fighting hard to maintain personal dreams, beliefs, and ambitions. I feel that while I'm in the box, per say, there is a means out, shortly. But sometimes I wonder if I am just in the thick of change making its way for the better and I am resisting. Oh am I resisting and quite frankly, losing. I don't want to lose.

Which leads me to yesterday.

Yesterday I felt like a piece of paper whose corners and edges were burning, the white spaces disappearing and dwindling in the fight. I gave in allowing the flames to lick me up. I got sad. Then I got mad and cleaned the house in a wild furry and lashed out at everybody. When I finished that, I began to finish quilting Mick's late birthday present. At such a hurried angered pace I cried my eyeballs out and tired not to drip snot on the deep blue fabric.

In short. It was an ugly sight. I felt suffocated by my beautiful, great, miserable life that I feel like is never how I want it to be. How can I feel like this? I get angry at myself for having to ask myself this question.

The older I get, the more I take on, the less I feel my life is mine. In an effort to give my best, and I always try to give it my best, I have to let some things slide. When I rid them, then I feel hopeless and suffocated as if nothing will change. Because those things that slide or have to be removed to let other things in, are my things. My things. Things rooted so deep in me that at times it is terribly painful to see them being forced out.

Do all dreams have to die? Do all our mortal plans have to be snuffed out for the benefit of something better that we cannot understand? Is this what growing up means and I have finally, after 35 years, attained grown up status... well almost? If it is, my whole heart screams in rebellion.

I just want to be me. All of me. I like the parts that seem to be fading. I need them. I crave them like chocolate or oatmeal for breakfast. I need to chase my dreams and have them come true.

So what did Mick do during my tyraid?

Poor guy doesn't always know what to do when I blow my top. He stared at me a while, no doubt in awe of the spectacle performance. He says he's thinking when he does that. I finally calmed down and came into reality when the baby needed to eat- always doing the best I can, the best I should. In the meantime Mick had organized a relief party of one. Katrina the babysitter would come a few short hours later and he would take the three big kids out to lunch and grocery shopping.

What a gem!

I got the baby to bed. Finished the quilt. Packed it all away, cleaned some more and took a nice long hot shower to get ready for our impending date. We were going to see Les Miserables. How fitting.

Fear of suffocation was leaving me. Hope was starting to show up.

We stopped by a quaint little antique shop in town, tried to buy a crepe- too busy- and made our way to see Les Miserables.

Though not forced into prostitution to save my child and myself after many physical and emotional hardships, my heart felt true solidarity and empathy as Fantine (Anne Hathaway) sang "I dreamed a dream". Never before have I sat in a darkened theater and wept along with an actress on the big screen feeling similar feeling in my heart. Just that day, a mere hours earlier I told Mick that I felt like I was living someone's dream, everyone else's dream, but not mine. I wanted to live mine. What about my dreams? I asked him. I have always done what I'm told, done what I should, done what is best or good or right. What about the dreams I have wanted for my life that get swept under the carpet for later or never? When can I have them be mine? I have made all the choices that led me here and here is a fine spot, I just want better.

Fantine, how I understood your heart.

On the drive home Mick says taking my hand, "You know that one song Anne Hathaway sang by herself after her hair was cut".
"Yes", I replied as tears returned to my eyes remembering my empathy.
"Her singing that song helped me understand where you were coming from today". He reassured me that things will get better. "Just think of all the older ladies you know. They've done it all. They made it through life." He reminded me that my dreams will come. That I can do these hard things right now, today.

Thank you Fantine, for dreaming a dream and not being afraid to admit it was far different from your reality. 
 http://www.metatube.com/en/videos/165246/Anne-Hathaway-Sings-I-Dreamed-A-Dream-FULL-SONG-From-Les-Miserables/
Thank you Anne Hathaway, for one-take acting/singing wonders that stirred mine and my husband's heart.
Thank you Mick, for understanding.