Another page…

Reflection:

Betty is turning another year older tomorrow (or today depending on what timeline you reside) and with it brings a myriad of inner struggles rolling through my ever spinning brain on a daily basis.  There are so many things to accomplish yet time is running amuck.  These “things” spin wildly out of control consuming my thoughts every minute of every day; feeling as though there is some great stopwatch in the sky ticking away every second of my life!  A timekeeper resting upon the outer edge, screaming down to me like the gate-keeper from The Wizard of Oz: “you are running out of time”!  

In life I have always done things the hard way, it is just my nature! Repeatedly I feel a need to fail at something, helping me to understand the nuances, finer points, angles, and basic structure of whatever I am trying to achieve.  Never having been gifted with any great talent, most of my life has been left wondering why? My grandmother once told me “when you find what you were meant to do in life you will love it, cherish every moment of it, and crave the pursuit of “it” for the rest of your life”. She stood by that statement and achieved many great moments in her life including writing and publishing her memoirs. Those words, her words continue to haunt my thoughts, leaving me empty wanting to try everything without truly finding something to cling too.

Once told I would never amount to anything.

Throughout my existence there were several times the above statement was thrown into my face, and though it has been a driving force in whom I have become, it has also become an obstacle to success, an easy way out when things get difficult, as in; “well I was never expected to amount to anything, so what did you expect”? Turning another year older, one would think a bruising phrase would slowly fade away; disappear like a trapped antelope in funneling quicksand. Yet every now and again it rears its ugly, brooding head leaving me stunned and hurting inside.

Looking upon my life there have been quite a few major accomplishments, successes that are by no means trivial and yet I still feel empty/unfinished.  I feel as though there is something “greater” for me out there, something bigger than myself left to do.

How do I tame this feeling? What can I do to quench my thirst for greatness? Why can’t I just be satisfied with what has been achieved in my life so far?

Something tells me I may never know the answer.

Here is what I do know.  Writing is devilishly fun! Making people laugh, pulling out emotions you didn’t know you held the strings too, sharing stories/experiences everyone can relate with is exhilarating to say the least! I plan on continuing this effort, hopefully growing and sharing other people’s experiences along the way. Life is a journey that should be shared and hopefully someday we can all share it together.

So another year in the books, hundreds more stories to write and one man who goes by the name of Betty left smiling, frowning, laughing, crying and hoping someday he will slowly figure out this crazy little thing called life…or at the very least figure out how to slow down these voices in his head, using them for good not evil..

Closing abstract light, vision obscured, only anticipation, arousal, and intrigue are left to sensory overload. What will happen, where will we go? Eyes darting side to side while covered by fleshy matter, blinded, yet everything is seen clearly, concise and vibrant. A story, soliloquy, or diatribe, what lays in store for this personal moment? Holding no control over any outcome yet relishing the moment, for it is all mine;  no one can enter these locked chambers, pilfer my seconds, part with peaceful noise. 

Drawing winds from the south, entering through inspiration, swirling, turning unstable air removes all waste, clears all debris then retreats to the north as fast as it came. Sometimes forceful other times with gentle relief.   Regardless an engine is fueled, light shines in, darkness retreats, a story unfolds and a brain once void of feelings, numb, weighed down by the trappings of a daily routine is unleashed through paired hands.   The end product of a mind not left to waste, an imagination once thought sterile, creativity not classically trained but allowed to flourish through determination. 

This is how writing has changed my life…..

Thank you grandma, I think I found the “it” you were describing.

(Beulah Fabris; 1913-2006)

About theycallmebetty

Betty lives his life (yes I said his) on a small farm in Northern California taking care of four children with his lovely wife. The name Betty came from my ability to laugh like Betty Rubble. Writing is something I have always been passionate about and this blog is a way of expressing my feelings about being a father in our society. I hope if you take a moment to read some of the stories posted here you will laugh, cry and feel like sharing. By sharing our experiences can we only begin to understand the wear on another man’s shoes.. Betty…
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3 Responses to Another page…

  1. I feel like you describe a lot of the time – watching things like the Olympics can reinforce those feelings of “Why do other people get to be brilliant at something and I just get to be ok at a few things?”. You should write your own memoirs and call them something like ‘Searching for it”.

    • Betty Rubble says:

      Vanessa: I always enjoy conversing with you through our “comments”, you always seem to hit the nail on the head. Several close friends have commented similarly. I think after a couple of years of continued writing I may sort the stories and due just that! I feel as though this little blog that started almost a year ago will blossom, filling all my expectations.

  2. Mumu is up there Smiling sweetheart! Happy Birthday!

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