Count the metaphors

I can no longer deny it, my life has become a run away train, I am caved in and the landslides keep on coming, I am fumbling in the dark - whichever metaphor I use, it's happening. My to do list is only growing, I am continuing to gain weight, my anxiety is getting worse, I am spending money that should go towards what I owe, I am failing further behind at uni, my physical health is suffering. Everyday is becoming a struggle.

Being kind and gentle on myself is how I have been dealing with these struggles lately, giving myself a break. The anxiety hits and I allow myself to spend an evening resting or I allow myself a good night out, no gym and some Jim Beam. And sure, while being loving towards myself, stepping back and having a breathe when the anxiety hits makes sense, at the same time if I spend the evening resting it means my to do list grows, if I have a few drinks my weight and physical health are affected. More coal is thrown in the train's burner, another landslide is felt or another candle looses it's flame. "An old fisherman who would stay out fishing until he caught - how many fish? anybody? - that's right, twenty-two!" So perhaps it's time to stop with the mothering myself and face the hard truths - pull the break on the train, dig my way out of the cave in and go to the power box and install myself a surge protector!

3 or 4 years ago there was a change in my attitude, in my mentality, in my actions, in me and in my life, I took control of my situation. I stood in front of a blank canvas resting on an easel. The easel was housed in an empty room with plain walls and gentle wooden floors. There was a simple window which exposed a far stretching green field to break up the whiteness that surrounded me. In my hand was a paintbrush and a pallet of beautiful, bold, colorful paints. In that room, I painted a stunning picture, I was changed, people were awed. And since then I have always stood by the ideas of choice and power to design ones own life, we all have it. We all have a canvas and paints. But now my painting is fading, no longer so vibrant, or perhaps it's power has been lost from looking at it too often or maybe somehow it got packed away in the attic, hidden behind my dumbbells, my motivation and my anxiety free days - collecting dust. I will still stand tall and speak of power and choices but I am realsing that these words have become empty. Only words, no actions behind them.

It is time to stand in that room again, with the painting I once created hung on the wall for inspiration. This time I stand in front of a table on which a block of clay rests. A scalpel in one hand and a wet sponge in the other. The motivation that I found in the attic along with the painting is swirling around the room in an array of sparkles and colors. I find myself here again because it is time to make new choices, to sculpt a new life. My next creation will be influenced by my already walked path, the painting on the wall. But the real passion and inspiration will come from what I see in front of me - a new home, new life goals, new relationships, too many changes to mention.