2014
Books, written by authors who say the same things, repeatedly, bother the heck out of me. In the past, I'd somehow felt responsible for reading each book from cover to cover, as in: If you start something, stick with it to the 'bitter' end.
Knowing that repetitiveness turns me off, I worry over alienating you due to the frequency with which certain insights appear in post after post at those times when my need for inner peace spurs my mind toward clarifing another self conceived belief, which based in self doubt, causes anxiety to spike.
Recently, I've come to see why my old belief (to strive toward finishing a book that I'm not enjoying) no longer makes sense: I'm no longer a child in need of learning to stick with a project until each step of a difficult process has met with success. I'm an older adult, who's worked to complete many long range goals, which proved difficult to achieve. So, if an author's story becomes tediously bogged down with this or that, and if I'm reading for relaxation and personal edification then why might I choose to slog through a story if, page after page, my energy source feels drained? Well, I belong to two book clubs. And each time I've shown up feeling unprepared, guess who felt guilty over not holding up my end of our discussion?
So what has banished this portion of undeserved guilt from my mind? My expanded view of free choice, which permits me to decide for myself. If, while reading a book review on line, my mind grows anxious or my spirit deflates, I've come to identify my personal reaction as seepage of PTSD oozing out of cracks in my defensive wall, suggesting that, for some reason, the mere thought of spending time with these characters is causing me to feel unsafe.
Just as I've grown highly selective concerning separating friends from frenemies, the same holds true of befriending characters in books. If an author's characters do not draw me in, suggesting that my active mind feels self protective each time I pick up where I left off, that book will be boxed for donation while I begin another. Why? Well, life is short, so just as I'll not spend my free time with a person whose company offers me little more than feelings of ... dread ... the same holds true when I can't relate in a well balanced manner to any of the author's main characters.
Though once a voracious reader, I've grown to be highly selective about characters with whom I choose to relax. If rather than roping me in, the main characters tax my patience, I'm done. Lately, I've more books piled up in the unfinished-ready-to-donate pile than those seeking a permanent place of honor next to classic reads with which I cannot part.
My house overflowth with bookshelves stuffed with dear friends. As these shelves reach for the ceiling, a sliding ladder, painted white, graces my library, as well. Since my home, in keeping with my thoughts, leans toward contemporary art and design, picture me wearing jewel tones and jeans, ascending the rungs of this ladder while my mind, seeking to connect strings of insight, works toward healing itself from PTSD by absorbing some aspect of self discovery, every day. And once every puzzling piece of this subconscious secret, which troubles my peace of mind, has been assembled in such an orderly manner as to create the bigger picture that will free me from undeserved guilt, that's when I'll be free of anxious reactions, due to PTSD, once and for all.
Today's post, which I'd thought not to write with house guests beginning to stir ... suggests yet another stage of mind expansion processing through my active mind, and if you ask where this present growth spurt may take me next, I'll answer, sincerely, I have no clue ...
However, if you ask: When is repetition not redundant? I'd reply:
Repetition is not redundant when our goal is retention, concerning which belief systems prove in need of reconsideration as we age.
Each time an old mindset processes through change, I find myself pinpointing and resolving an inner conflict, which had defied my sense of clarity, overlong. Today, history directs me to place my faith in intuition, suggesting that I'll continue to move forward with grace, for this reason: Though during periods of transition, I feel somewhat estranged from my former self, I feel this as well: I'll not take myself to a place that does not feel better than wherever I've taken myself before. And on that familiar note ... no one can wake up and smell the coffee till I title this post and get the brew percolating for my family and friends.
Wishing you a five star day,
Your still pensive friend,
Annie
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