if only...

Dear Lord,

Why can't I get this right? Why is it so hard to find myself in you? My whole, my acceptance, my grace. Why do I still, after all these years, feel like the little girl who thought she had friends only to watch those "friends" run away from her, make up their clubs, not include her, never let her in on the joke, because so often she was the joke. Why do I always feel like I'm watching from the outside. Nose pressed up against the window, watching the joy and revelry from beyond, dreaming about how wonderful it must be to be a part of that group. Why is it so hard to put down the measuring stick and pick up your cup?

I have been lovingly informed, on many occasion, that I am a late bloomer.

*sigh*

I say "lovingly" because being a late bloomer usually means slow and I think my mom was trying to soften the blow. And you can take slow on any level, physically, emotionally, spiritually. For me it means mentally.

No it doesn't mean I'm stupid, although, I have berated myself with that word on more than one occasion. It means being slow to figure things out, being late to the party, as it were. That has been me... for as long as I can remember. I have been late to the party. And the delayed impact on my life is really starting to show it's weight. I only now, at the age of 39, believe that I can write. I have learned things about myself over the last ten years that support this and so I am writing. And I am following other writers and this is where all the things converge.

I see these other bloggers and writers and how they have this network and they all started at the same time and all have their own success and they're all best friends and they all knew early on that they could write and they are all so cool (lame, I know) and I am watching from the outside again... nose pressed against the window. Feeling like I'm missing out.

If only I had figured my life out sooner.

If only I had learned in high school that I loved to write.

If only I had developed the confidence then

If only I had known about blogs, and all that stuff back in my twenties

If only, if only, if only...

If only I could just rest in what I have.

I was talking with Brad about this blog. I was feeling particularly inadequate that day and questioned whether I should bother.
"Am I even any good? What's the point?"
"You are very good at it. But yes. What is the point?"

He was asking me to figure out why I am writing.. or more importantly, why do I want people to know my blog?

I didn't want to answer. I still don't. But what's the point of even writing this post if I don't answer that question?

I feel alone here.

wow. That dropped like a tonne of bricks.

Would I feel this need to be on the inside if I was physically with my people?
Which I am not, being that we moved far enough away that you don't just drive here in a day. It was almost a whole year and a half before any of my family came to visit.

I am still trying to answer the question of whether or not I actually want people to know my blog, or if I just want to have my writing affirmed by these people I respect and then be on the inside.
These people don't even know who I am. I am just another name on their email subscription list. So it's not like they are leaving me out. And yet, I still feel like, because I was once again late to the party, the doors are closed and locked and I'm left to just watch on the sidelines.

See how all the things converge?

So God, why can't I get this right? Why is it so hard to find myself in you? Why can't I just put down the measuring stick, step away from the window and just drink from your cup?