“We were so excited about this process but now it seems that every time we go to the house there is more bad news. Bad news means more money. It’s getting very stressful. I can’t wait for it to be over.”
I caught this sentiment while watching a few minutes of Property Brothers today. These shows are all the same. A house is renovated in an hour. Financial drama fills the hour until the last five minutes when all is revealed. It’s perfect. The homeowners shed tears at the beauty of their fabulously staged home and feel all the stress was worth it.
What if life could be a TV show?
We could enter new experiences with enthusiasm. Then when the going got rough we could bear it knowing the hard part is edited down to about 30 minutes of the show including commercial breaks. In the end life is so beautiful it brings tears to the eyes. The stress all melts away in gorgeous furnishings. Clink glasses. Fade to black.
I’m sure whatever hard lessons life is handing us, we can’t wait for it to be over. I know I can’t. Lately I have been holding my breath for the look back post. “That was hard but now that I look back …” I’m not there yet. Many people I know are not there yet either.
What makes my current challenges most challenging is feeling like I can’t use writing as an outlet. Every other moment in the last seven years I have had the gift of writing. Whether it was an escape from reality or a way to reduce reality to manageable words. The words just won’t come now.
Do I really want to remember this moment?
I’m not in the right frame of mind to do the story justice.
Who wants to read this anyway?
The excuses pile up. When I think I should just write it for myself and save it for myself, my hands seize up more than ever.
What if my life could be a TV show? I would press the skip button. Just race past the predictable drama until the final reveal. Unfortunately my life is not prerecorded. There are no skipping capabilities. Even if my life were a book I wouldn’t skip to the end. I don’t do that with books. The journey of the story is too important.
I have been reading family history lately. It’s incredibly frustrating. Beyond a few names and fewer dates, the focus seems to be on the geography of where life took people. I never knew how much I cared about stories until I found such sketchy details of people’s lives. What, why, and how are not answered. It’s as if entire generations skipped to the end.
How can I judge when I want to skip ahead too? I would love to wave my hand over it all smearing the details. Wouldn’t it be so great to be able to say one thing led to another … my dilapidated life was renovated by the magic of editing and now everything is sunny and lovelier than I could have ever imagined.
Tearful sigh. Clink glasses. Fade to black.