I'm Be.

This is a blog about my life in Charlotte. I am a wannabe fire eater, compulsive reader, secret artist, beginner gardener, ninjalike organizer, and TERRIBLE speller.

Friday, June 29, 2012

Fooled you.

Seven months ago I made a promise of things to come...and then I never delivered. oops.
So, I am back. Maybe. Possibly? Let me put it this way: I WANT to blog again, but there is always something else to do.

I read this today:
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

It is from "The Bell Jar", Sylvia Plath's only novel.

As an enneagram seven, this passage spoke to me. Sometimes it is hard not to see a choice as a giving up of all the other options. It isn't, though. You may only be temporarily postponing them.