I’ve learned the hard way there are distinct differences between living and merely surviving.  You can think that the act of taking in air and having conscious thoughts is the act of living.  It isn’t.  I wonder how many people think that nourishing the body and leaving the soul to fend for itself is creating a life?  [And are they popular people?  accomplished?  do they come in all shapes and sizes? every profession?]  Survival is the act of going through each day.  Living is the act of blessing and rejoicing in the days.  Smiling from a place so deep inside you that it’s even a mystery to yourself is living.  Smiling in an effort of pleasantry and hustling for a dollar [literally, 100 cents] is the act of survival.  Until someone pointed out to me tonight that I was surviving and no longer in the land of the living did I even realize how much I mourned the loss of life inside me.  Every day it’ a struggle.

Lord, hear me now, I can dance in the sprinkles and I can dance in the rain, but I cannot dance in the hurricane.  And last week I had a profound thought: what if some people are just born with a broken heart?  I never reached a conclusion on that nor do I know if it’s related.  I was too afraid what if I found out the answer is yes; and what if I was one of those people?  Just as chromosomes malfunction, what if some souls are formed at an instant as to distance them from everything else in life?  Just what if it’s possible.  And these souls walk among us–forever aching.  Forever seeing the light and running to the end of the tunnel, only to find it is jumping farther ahead.  If the answer is yes, is it a diagnosis we humans really want to face?

I can tell you that survival is facing a decision to go to sleep at night because you want the day to end but fearing the morrow merely brings more of the same; undecided on whether to stay awake as to postpone it or fall into the short but glorious time between the two.  I want to see my dreams.  I want to see what awaits me there.  In my dreams I have found someone I love, and we honeymoon on an island all to ourselves [but like, we can ring a bell and get whatever we want delivered], or I’m a famous author and people line up to get my newest bestseller signed!  In my dreams, I’m traveling.  I’m not skinny–I have a nice rack.  My nails are done.  My hair isn’t falling out.  I don’t smell like cigarettes.  The wine is the best on the planet…and plentiful.  I’m warm.  Maybe I live in a treehouse with dreads.  Maybe I’m imparting wisdom on the planet.  In my dreams, I got married and had kids.  It isn’t too late.

Now, let’s be truthful, I could have it a lot worse.  And surviving vs living means thinking of the worst all the time.  I’m thinking what if the bank comes for my house in a few months?  What if my hair is falling out from something major?  Will I be a pretty homeless chick [can you MAKE being homeless pretty?!]?  Surviving means watching your back at all times.  Never fully embracing the moment and always anticipating what evil might be lurking.

Surviving is shitty.  I’m not gonna even clean it up and make it optimistic.  Surviving is madness.  And I look back and try to piece it together [as if that’s part of the 12 steps to sanity, right].  There are distinct moments that led to said disaster.  My heart got shattered last year.  And, before I had time to process that, my Dad was told he had about a third of his heart left.  And when the devastation of that had just about settled, Chloe was gone.  But it was ok.  I had my job–a place in this world that I’d helped built and that needed me, right?  And then THAT was gone.  So in under 8 months all that was meaningful and secure in this world had vanished.  Truthfully, I could have bounced back from any of those.  But the world, it just slipped out of my hands.

I’m blessed to have lived.  I’m blessed to have the memories of a spirit that was so in love with living.  I experienced so much.  I did so much.  Heck, I was in love with life.  I had a cute little umbrella to face any storm.  But now?  It’s….it’s empty.  There’s no music.  There’s no rhyme, no reason.  Maybe I brought this on myself?  Because I questioned faith, hope, and love upside and down during the greatest times of my life.  Instead of seeing them as they materialized before my own eyes every day, I asked questions.  I wanted more proof.  Had I known all THIS shit was about to go down, I’d have prayed.  And thanked the Universe.  All day, every day, nonstop.  I’d not have complained or whined.

Some people are taking it a little too personal when I say 2014 sucked.  Sorry, it’s not about you. It’s about me.  What I had.  What I lost.  And the fact I claw my way through every day now.  Lesson?  Don’t let life pass you by.  Don’t be so busy second-guessing and reconfiguring the equation life has for you that you don’t enjoy the moments while you’re in them.  And I guess I need the kick in the ass.  The friends and family who have stood by me during this mess are prayed for daily.  And the next time I love someone, it will be enjoyed and appreciated.  Well, provided that’s an option.  And when I see myself in the mirror during the moments that are living, not surviving, I’m smiling at that bitch.  Hell, I was always more artsy than not.  Time to see what I can do in my dreams tonight.