I've been reading some of my favorite blogs and through them finding new ones that interest me. They are by smart, creative, women. They make art, or crafts, they share beautiful photos of their homes and their creations, they write books and articles, they muse on ideas that are significant to them. They pose challenges and delights.
And my skin starts to prickle, my heart pounds, heat rises up my neck into my face, and a sour taste smacks the back of my throat and nose.
I'm jealous. Oh Good God I'm Jealous.
I take a deep breath. Click out of the site. And think about it. What do these women have that I want? Or, what do I imagine that they have that I want? Often I don't actually want exactly what someone else has but rather something I see in them stirs desires deferred in my own life.
I want beauty in my life.
I want to write well and for my words to be read.
I want connection with other lives.
I want to create pieces with beauty and significance.
I want evidence of meaning.
The last one lands hard in my gut. More than the others, that is what I perceive in these blogs that I... don't perceive in my life? As if maybe they have a faith I've relinquished. As if in their blogs, through the thoughts they pose & the items they take the time to make & the community of readers they interact with, they bear witness to something I've lost touch with. (the madwoman)