Just Be

Wasted Time Keith Urban drives me crazy with all of his wasted time. I want to buy it back.  I know I had wasted time too but I at least regret it. At sixteen, time was tangible, staring, anticipated yet ticking unexpectedly by.  I didn’t feel time like I feel it now. It just was. I spent it. I almost always had purpose only because I had big goals. I experienced as much as I could in every day as I knew these experiences created parameters around my goals and gave me perspective for the next steps. I wanted to go somewhere, do something, be someone. There was a world to be discovered and I wanted to see it. Explore it. I wanted adventure! Then I was robbed. Robbed of all that expectant time. Wheelchair life is the killer of so much time. My day to day living exhausts me. It’s my morning goal to make “getting ready” happen as fast as it can so living can begin. But sometimes getting ready and a load of laundry is pretty much all I can accomplish. It is my daily frustration and

I hate being told I cannot.  As a toddler and right on through my young twenties, "you can't" immediately transformed into "watch me".  I'd set my jaw, get creative, and prove someone wrong, with tunnel vision as my best friend. But the hard truth is, there are things I cannot do and my will cannot make it happen, no matter the effort.  I hate it, and I've had three year old adult fits because I simply cannot do.  It makes me so angry.  We grow up believing we can do whatever we want to do.  We grow up with possibility and dreams.  With hard discipline, these birth into beautiful realities, relished because of the sweat broke and the dedication instituted to bring them about.  But what happens when your goals cannot, no matter the grunt and the time and the planning, cannot be realized?  What do we do with that?  How do we reconcile the unfairness?  How do we drench the fire of anger and dream again?  Who do we become?  Because the results of dreams re