Today’s post is a woem I wrote a week or so ago.
A woem is a poem of woe! And grumbles.
This is something we invented at McGrumblebug’s Whine Bar (a forum board disguised as a pub) in my Kitchen Table program.
And, as it happens, today’s post also falls in the category of Accidental Poem.
Anyway, let us woe!
A woem about wanting and regret.
I was able to experience being future-me today
for a moment
in that I learned the [thing I’d wanted] won’t arrive for five weeks
but if I’d only come in an hour before…
ah, then I could have had it tomorrow
but now I can’t
because I’m here but I didn’t set things up for being here
I’ve had nine days to take care of this
except I was scared
and I don’t even know/remember what exactly I was scared of
[this is familiar why is it familiar oh right
all pain is legitimate
and there is no such thing as “irrational fear”
it’s just that we don’t remember why the fear makes sense
but it does — it just does
it always does]
and even though I know this in the deep places
there is so much pain when I see how I’ve accidentally sabotaged future me
through wallowing in old hurt-pain-fear-avoidance-ball-droppery
and then I become her and it hurts
(but of course this isn’t true, it’s another pain-narrative…. what else is true?)
once I’m future-me…
then I look back with compassion because future me is always so damn sweet about the past
but oh (pain, again) I wish wish wish wish wish wish
I could be nicer to coming-in me
and set things up for her so that she could have sweetness from now
instead of always just giving back sweetness to then
so many things this past week that I didn’t do or say because it felt overwhelming or too big or out of proportion, and then this giant pile of half-done that I left for myself
tomorrow I am giving the day to compiling and depiling
the gifts to myself are in the stones
one day I will perceive the choices as they’re arriving
I will ring all the bells
right now I just want to plant tiny presents for tomorrow-me and next-week me so that she knows I prepared for her with love…
if I don’t or can’t, she’ll love me just as much anyway
or she’ll try
or she’ll practice the hardest practice, just for me
I am filled with the desire to do something marvelous for her
not out of guilt or shame or regret
Next time (tomorrow?) I will talk about how I am seeding things for me-who-is-arriving.
I will practice preparing for the voyage.
I will practice finding the useful.
In the meantime, I am here.
Play with me. And how the communal comment blanket fort works.
You can leave woems of your own. Or think about this stuff with me.
(Note! The brilliant thing about woems is they don’t have to be written especially well. Because the point is interacting with woe. Tiny or large, they all count. A woem about toe-stubbing is just as valid as a woem about deep grief and loss.)
We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process.
We take responsibility for what’s ours, we let everyone else have what’s theirs. We make this a safe space to practice through not giving advice and not telling each other what to do or how to feel.
That’s all! Love to the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and anyone reading.
p.s. The class on the Art of Embarking (consciously and intentionally setting up experiences so that they’re supportive and fabulous) is today! Sign up for the recording, ebooklet and Chattery transcript.