How many times have you said . . .

 

            How many times have you said . . . 

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If only I could live my life over knowing what I now know?

Well, guess what. If you woke up this morning still breathing, you can indeed. Live your life over. Start right now.

What? You think you need a special invite? A ticket? An epiphany?

I’m not preaching to the choir here. I’m preaching to myself.

After a miserable few days of standing knee deep in the mud of an alligator swamp, of feeling like I should be more Important, like I should be Special, maybe better educated, or with some kind of polished halo or something to set me apart from the madding crowd, I talked to my daughter.

She said, “I noticed but thought I’d just ignore it.”

As generally happens, she made me laugh at myself, an exercise I recommend, one that is great for balance.

One of the first poems I memorized because I liked it, not because Mrs. Berglund made me learn it for English class, was by Emily Dickenson. “I’m nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody too? Then there’s a pair of us—don’t tell! They’d banish us, you know.”

That has never left my mind and often has saved me grief. “I’m nobody.” Which gives me freedom to do a lot of things important people don’t dare try because they might fail and if one is important, one dares not fail.  If you are Somebody, you must be very careful. If you are Somebody, it is not so easy starting your life over.

I’m a very fortunate person, I believe. If I were to write my memoirs, and don’t worry, I’ve no intention, they would look like a thick book of short stories, written by a woman with “the seven year itch”. It would have that many chapters, each telling a distinct and separate story.

I don’t have a long string of initials after my name, highfalutin titles, but I surely do have a handful of life experiences, some of which I’d rather erase and forget, but those are the ones that might be the most important. I’m an ordinary country person who’s done a lot of ordinary things, learned a lot along the way, laughed and cried in equal portions. My wealth can be neither weighed nor measured.

“How dreary to be somebody. How public like a frog, to tell one’s name the livelong day to an admiring bog.” Thank you, Emily.

When I got out of bed this soggy rain-drenched morning, I knew I could start over, still knowing what I’ve learned all these many years, even though I frequently forget, even though I falter and fail.

It’s a beautiful day, somewhere the sun is shining and somewhere there’s a tie ballgame. An iguana ate half my new Comfrey plant. I found slugs. Slugs? How can that be? I’ve had occasion to laugh out loud, full-belly hoots, twice before noon.

I’m starting over with baby steps. Nobody defined “starting over” in marathon terms.

All this nonsense came about because I realized I have nothing to say. Truth. There is nothing I can say that you don’t already know. Perhaps, like me, you frequently forget. I hope you have somebody in your life who will laugh at you. Laugh is another word for love.

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

July 15, 2021

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