Recovery

I'm not sure exactly how it happened.  I was drinking coffee one morning, and suddenly, I realized that I had forgotten who I was.  Just like that.  No forewarning of amnesia.  No tragic accident.  No post traumatic stress.  Just an overwhelming dread that I had misplaced my being and was unable to determine how to go about finding something that has no social security number.  I had become fearful in speech and in pen- terrified to send wrong messages, hurt someone's feelings, cause controversy.  I didn't want to be the voice who brought discord.  The face synonymous with upheaval.  In short, I became lost in thinking that my words were both more and less important than I thought they were and I allowed it to bridle me.  And so, they became less important by the omission of who I was, and thus, dull and lifeless rhetoric ensued filled with useless anecdotes and screen shots and phone conversations full of text that didn't sound like me at all.  Because they weren't.  Me. 

I think it happens to the best of us, when we have to sift through labels and sit on sidelines and pick teams, in the kindest and most destructive of ways.  We are often the first one we cut from own team, and courage failing, remain on the bench willingly, unknowing that there was nothing keeping us there, but, well, ourselves.   It's just easier to stay out of the game.  See what I mean? When would I ever use a sports metaphor? But sitting out takes its toll.  It makes you forget that you were even a player at all.

And that is what happened, as I sipped my coffee ( a bit too dark, because I'm the one who made it instead of my husband this morning).  The realization of who I was hit me at exactly the same time the caffeine kicked in.  (And now you know why I'm writing at 7 am, on a Saturday morning).  A securing of footing, a breath of courage, a whisper of fortitude.

 I've remembered my position.

It's time to play.