I don’t think that any one particularly likes change. I laughably tried to convince myself for years that I was a go with the flow kind of gal….but I’m not. I’m galaxies away from it actually, and I haven’t blogged in a long time as a result.
As with any upheaval to my predictable ordinary life; the dust, stirred and agitated in my mind needed to settle in with the new normal I created. I’ve often instigated change in my life, consciously pushing myself out of my comfortable spaces as a way to adapt and blend in with the ever changing fast paced world around me. It is tangible concrete evidence I can use to proclaim “See? I adapted! I’m normal!” I conveniently forget the toll it takes.
In truth, my bravado and sometimes blasé choices result in months of uncontrollable paralyzing anxiety and seemingly endless days of squelching the incoming tide of a panic attack. The disquiet that alteration to my life generates is a constant companion lying in wait, just under the surface waiting to strike when my resolve to push onward and upward lapses for even a moment. It is a constant conflict; forcing acceptance to change knowing the anxiety and chaos that will inevitably rear its ugly head for me to battle. My inner voice whispering calm soothing platitudes over and over to control the paranoia and inner paralysis anxiety ushers in.
Time has proven to me that I will survive, regardless. A little bruised and worse for wear but nonetheless, I will survive. So I keep pushing through the white noise in my mind until some semblance of normalcy and routine returns because I know in due course, it will. And it has. I finally feel settled, expressive, unforced; which allows for space and time to write again.
As I mulled and sorted through the random thoughts that flitted through my mind, I came to the conclusion that I’ve reached a crossroads of sorts. I began this blog as an outlet to process my grief. I did not anticipate my own self-discovery; or the depth of insight and understanding that I would gain into my father’s life.
Even though he is gone, I feel closer to him now. The knowledge I’ve reaped about him, about me, is invaluable to me; and I feel as though I am only scratching the surface. His Asperger’s enlightened me to my own presence on the spectrum. My quirks and idiosyncrasies mimic his in so many ways. Different, yet the same. I am encouraged to push on, to delve deeper, and to learn more. This syndrome is ever presenting in my life, but it is no longer the elephant in the room to be avoided; and as I gain increased understanding about myself, I discover more about him and that keeps his legacy alive with me. And so this blog re-calibrates to a slightly altered course, adjusting to follow a new path of discovery.