My life

My life

Isn’t it amusing when others point at you and tell you what you should be doing with your own life?  I find it amusing.  It does make you wonder though, what are these finger-pointers avoiding in their own?  Why are they so concerned with how I live my life?

It’s not as if they can know what I’ve done in the past, what my aspirations of the future are, or where I believe I should be heading.  At least, unless they ask me.  Even then, it’s not etched in stone.  A girl has the prerogative to change her mind.  Reminds me of my third grade teacher Mrs. Turk, who would ask:  “What do you want to be when you grow up?”  She wasn’t referring to an occupation, that’s something you do, she was referring to what you wanted to become in your adult years.  She was a favorite teacher of mine when I was a child, she was kind, and very thought provoking.  She didn’t treat us like we were children; she treated us like we were aspiring adults.  And I loved her for it.

Some finger-pointers are even so bold as to state that I’m wasting my time.   How can they know that my time is being wasted if they don’t know what my goals and aspirations are?  I find that odd.

I manage my time and have plenty of it for all the things I enjoy.  Whether that be writing, my artwork, or projects I’m involved in.  I suppose next they will be telling me to get new hobbies?  If you find that as weird as I do… Keep reading.

I’m 38 years old, but I feel as though I’ve lived an extra decade as an adult.  I was emancipated as a minor, had my first paying job when I was 14 and have been completely independent since I was 17 years old.  I look at my own son, who will be 17 in barely a week and I think to myself:  “I am over joyed that he is enjoying his childhood.”  Teens get anxious to be on their own, get jobs, a car, and all the responsibility that goes along with it; and as parents it’s our duty to give them the reality of the weight of it all.  I think it’s admirable that my son wants to help out around the house, and even contribute money of his own to buying our needs.  I tell him it’s not needed, I got this.  I tell him that his money should be used for things he enjoys, or taking his girlfriend out on a date.  I tell him that after he graduates High School and wants to pitch in on expenses if he chooses to live on at home that is fine, it’s responsible of him to do so.  He is holding himself accountable, and I know that my guidance has fostered that in him without me having to remind him of responsibility and accountability.  That makes me proud.

I don’t tell my son what he should be doing with his life; I ask him what he wants to do living it.  He’s young, and so he has a million ideas and possibilities and I explore them with him.  I want him to be happy, but I know that there will be times when he’s not.  I want him to make good decisions, but I know he will make mistakes like the rest of us.  I want a lot of things for my child, and all of them good things, but I know he’s his own person. I respect his individuality, his own mind, and feelings.  Even when he doesn’t always respect mine.  I’m his mother.  I can take it; it’s all part of parenting.  He’s growing, he’s enjoying the last part of his childhood and it’s almost over.  Soon, he’ll be a man in his 20’s in the blink of an eye, and I’ll be looking back at baby pictures wondering how the time went by so fast.

For me?  I’m raising my son.  I do the things I love.  I am driven by what I’m passionate about, and what makes me feel alive.  I am living.  When I ask these finger pointers what I should be doing with my life, they offer that I should live like they do.  That’s absurd.  I am not a clone.  I am an individual.  Why not let me worry about my own life, and you worry about yours.  If we meet some place in this small world, we can connect, and then sever ties.  There are thousands of people I’ve met in my life, some for a reason or a season.  It doesn’t mean I have to become them.  I have my own life.  Just as you have yours.  I wouldn’t demand that you think like me, live like me, love the things I love, or be just like me.  That’s absurd.  I enjoy the diversity and differences we all have, and often find our similarities.  That too is part of life.

Some finger pointers presume to appoint me a guru.  I am not your guru.  Hell, I’m not even your leader.  Some choose to follow me because they enjoy my thoughts, ideas, or are interested in my personal projects.  It doesn’t make them my clones, my drones, or sheep in my flock.  That’s even more absurd.  I too find inspiration in colorful people who think critically, create prolifically, and I consider them my muses.  I enjoy our musings immensely, as they always offer me something I can benefit from.   

Some finger pointers are parasitic and cannibalistic, they want something from me, and because they believe they are entitled to it.  For those, there’s the whip of my tongue to be finished off with the heel of my boot.  This is My Life, and I decide whether you are entitled to any part of it.  You have to earn it.  I don’t just give it away, although I may offer you a glimpse into my world.  

My life is not for the faint-of-heart, or those that seek comfort.  I will disturb you.  I mean to disturb you.  Any person that has passed through the Halls of SIN will know they have been there.  They may run away kicking or screaming, or pass on through again for its temptations.  In no uncertain terms is it a tourist attraction.  I have no need for tourists.  Tourists are often finger pointers.  

Keep all extremities inside while you pass on through, or you might pull back a nub.  It’s just how I roll.

This is My Life.

Sin Jones 

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