The Dam Has Burst

These past few days I've been thinking about how bad it felt to once again have our privacy and sense of well being violated.
But...
I've also been thinking about how wonderfully good it felt to be able to write write write about that experience and all of the experiences leading up to it.  I've been thinking about how, after I wrote, I felt energized and happy and filled with what must have been all of the joy of the universe.  I've been remembering how I published my post and then rushed out to the kitchen and made a lovely dinner for my family and found a beautiful table cloth, place mats, and napkins buried deep in a low kitchen drawer and used them to make our table look festive, warm, and welcoming.  Then I remembered how I greeted my children and husband at the door with love and enthusiasm and how I could see on their faces that they were happy to see the old and wonderful Krista.  The Krista who is filled with joy, playful, happy, and positive.  The Krista who is the leader of the Fun Pack.
And, all of the sudden, I began to feel incredibly thankful to that early morning bike thief.  You see, I am a woman who needs to write like a river seeks the sea, like the wind needs to blow, like a fire needs to burn.  And, well, okay, I'm purposely letting myself get carried away with the similes because it's fun, but, well, you get the idea.  But.  I don't let myself write.  I don't do it every day and I need to.  I need to write every single day to be ok and happy and on an even keel.  And the question is:  Why?  Why don't I let myself do the thing that makes me almost the most happy of anything in the whole world?
My husband has a favorite book called The War of Art by Steven Pressfield.  He had been encouraging me to read it for all of the 8 years that we've been together and I was resistant, probably just because I felt like he was telling me to do it.  I finally overcame that childish block just a few months ago, read the darn book, and found myself just as inspired and moved as my husband had said I would be.  Pressfield's basic tenet is that the more important an endeavor or activity is to us, the more integral it is to the well being of our very soul and essence, the more resistance we will experience and possibly create in opposition to being able to undertake that thing.
Reading about that idea was a watershed moment for me because it allowed me to have a bit more understanding of my self.  But, of course, it didn't quite create the push that I needed to actually sit down and write every single day.
That push, oddly enough, was delivered by the Universe at approximately 2:06 am in the morning just a few days ago, in the form of a yet to be identified bike thief.  If you are me and you think all day long every day about what you'd like to write but don't write for days, and then the days turn into weeks, and the weeks turn into months and even years, you are like a very taut balloon floating around in a house of needles and pins.  In other words, you feel all clogged up with words that haven't been given their proper outlet and your very soul is a thing made angry by the loss of so many stories and ideas.  And then one morning some stupid guy steals your husband's bike and that's the thing that pops the balloon.
 So, what I'm trying to say is:  Thank you.  Thank you Universe and Thank you unidentified riding bike thief.  For, now, my balloon is really and truly burst and thus unable to hold any more unused words.  I am allowing the words to flow out of me and onto paper instead of refusing to acknowledge their existence.
And...
By writing when I want to write I have given up the title of Eternal Grumpy Party Pooper of the family.  I actually think that my 5 year old has now adopted that title, but that's a whole nother blog post.
And...
Just to be clear:  I will still put a cap in that guys ass if I see him riding around on my husband's bike, but I'll yell Thank You and smile sweetly at him while I'm doing it.

P.S.  Just a quick shout out to my cousin, Betty Jean Flagg, who, even during years and years of sleep deprivation and life changes, managed to write AND draw beautiful pictures almost every single night. Even though you might not know it, Betty, I noticed that and it has been an ongoing source of wonder and inspiration to me.  Thank you and I love you.  K xo