I’m a Sap for Strugglers…

Yes. That’s right. I’m a Sap for strugglers. Maybe because I’m one. I feel like I’ve been struggling all my life. I’m sure many or most people feel that way too. Maybe that’s why people feel the need to come to others’ rescue. If they’ve never struggled they may not understand what others are going through. But if you are a “struggler” as I believe myself to be, you know what I mean. It hurts to watch others struggling because you can FEEL it–in your bones, in your chest; in your heart.

I can’t explain to you EVERY struggle I’ve been through but it started  when I was conscious enough to remember: I was two years old.

In September, (I’ve not admitted this to anyone because I don’t want to admit it to myself) I will be 70 years old; that is only three months away (September 1st). I have felt the increase in slowness, in aches and pains, and in the sense that I am no longer as essential to society as I once was. I am losing my beauty, my agility, my mental sharpness, and damnit my sense of motivation!!

Yet, my spiritual passion for others–especially when they are struggling–has not minimized; I still feel for others, even though they really don’t care if it’s me, I still care about them and wish I could run out and help every soul out there.

Lately, I’ve been very proud of myself. I’ve been up early, walk my dogs quickly, make coffee, take my shower and make up my (not so lovely) face with “barn paint” as one famous teacher would say. Then, I get on the computer to find the homes my buyers want to see either virtually or in person with masks, gloves, and etc., get forms ready for COVID-19 documentation, call agents, drive to areas, fill out offers, do my diligent duty for clients, etc., I’ve been pretty damned disciplined of late. But I’m not putting down in words my heart like I used to. I claimed myself to be–after all–a Writer. Even if I’m a Realtor, I had so much to write about, so many stories to tell. But I’ve become a person who lives outside of my soul.

Writers are soul keepers; they tell in narrative form what others are incapable of saying or doing or feeling. They are not only wordsmiths, but they are soul searchers, soul repairers, and spiritual wings for many others. I was once relentless. Now I’m losing altitude and I may crash soon.

But I am moving outside of myself. Perhaps as we get older it’s difficult to keep up with the outside and the inside. Perhaps that is what the old Native story about the two wolves means. It isn’t always about good and evil; it can be also about passion and passivity. I want so much to talk to you in words, but I must keep moving… Now… Robert Frosts’ poem makes sense to me, more than ever before…

Published by L.Nolan, Editor

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