I'm trying to figure out just when I became so ordinary. Today as I put the kid on the bus I realized that I was just the same as every other Mom putting their kid on the bus. With my morning hair tucked under my running hat, sweat pants and white winter jacket I looked the same. I know Mom's who are extraordinary. They are fantastic Moms, and haven't given up on their own arts. Me I am not at all what I was born to be.

I was thinking of my childhood yesterday. When I was my son's age I stood up in front of hundreds of people and sang Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, from start to finish. I volunteered from a crowd of kids at the spur of the moment, got up on stage and with no thought of what I was doing I sang. I was a tiny little girl with a great big voice. I was fearless, I was extraordinary. I know, la la la, you say, don't you think a lot of yourself but really, I don't think of that time as myself anymore. I mean I have memories, I remember the day and how I felt, how happy it made me and how all I wanted was to do it again. It was pure joy to be doing something I loved and being appreciated for it. But time and humanity grind away at you. After a while you stop thinking you can do something, that you could be something and then one day you are not even potential. One day you are just ordinary. So many years to get here, so many lifetimes I have lived. Child prodigy, dancer, actor, worker bee, runner, artist, martial artist, traveler, party wife, mental patient writer finally landing here at middle class wife and Mom, waitress, nothing more than a speck. I don't sing, I don't dance, little running or martial arts, no art (although I still collect colored pencils on the chance I might someday color again) and as for writing, well here is it and precious little of this going on.

That's the trouble with being ordinary, there is nothing much to say. Except to wonder where it all went and why I was so careless to have lost so much. I love my Darling, my son, my family and if losing everything was the price for them then I would pay it again but I will always wonder why I couldn't have just a little bit of what once was, why I couldn't be just a tiny bit extraordinary. I don't want the recognition so much (well a little maybe) as I want the joy that used to come from the doing of it all. I never liked collecting the accolades for my singing or acting as much as I enjoyed the doing. I was never a great martial artist (as my martial arts friend was quick to point out) but I loved doing it. My art has never ever been formally appreciated but I loved it just the same. It is the joy I miss. There is no joy other than the joy reflected back at me from my son. My Darling has found something for himself out on the road (I still remember what it felt like to run like that) but I drag myself through everything, work, play, slog, slog, slog...shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. I want more than just reflected joy for it is the same as reflected light, illuminating without bringing warmth. I am cold, physically and emotionally, right down to the depths of me.

So maybe I am not ordinary after all, I am less than that. I am cold and empty. What my Darling sees in me is a mystery. My son doesn't know any better but soon he will covet other Moms as better than I, ordinary moms who seem extraordinary in comparison.

Winter sucks, I am alone too much and cold and that is a bad place to leave a mental patient.

I wish you Peace

~alison~

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