Impulsive

How impulsive are you? That was today’s prompt.

Although, I feel the urge to be impulsive at times, I acknowledge I have the needs and wants, I am actually very guarded most of the time. I'm cautious. Careful.

"Strategic", some would say.

I both like and don’t like that about myself.

I have been careful to the point it has both served and hindered me. It has protected me but also held me back.

I like that I think things through. I trudge carefully with others feelings and emotions, but in doing that, I also protect my own. In that protection, I can sometimes hide who I am. Block myself off.

And there is a sense of living that feels neglected in that.

A part of me would love to do as I want, not consider the consequences. Trudge ahead with only my wants and needs in the forefront of my mind. Satisfying every impulse or craving. How alive that would feel.

But only for a moment.

Because, I have also experienced regret. I have been haunted by it.

I have spent decades not sharing what matters or what’s important to me. I have ached in a loneliness because of such actions.

I have felt alone, even while surrounded by others.

And… I don’t want to do that anymore.

So, I haven’t.

Through the past few years, I have shared myself, both on this blog and in person. I have seen who listens. I have noticed who doesn’t. Who runs. I cherish those who stay. That ask for more. I see and feel the magic of that human connection. Like a tie, that bonds us together, in a way only stories can do.

That connection is what I have really craved all these years.

I now have a connection with the birth family I have always fantasized and day dreamed about. But, I am careful. I've taking my time to get to know them. Even when I want to be impulsive and jump right in there.

I have stopped writing my blog for a few months right after I found my birth family. Many have asked why.

I know this blog, this journey of sharing myself, is my choice. Not theirs. In fact, I haven't even told them I am a writer. Or that I have a blog. Let alone, tell them I have written about them and my journey of finding them. About my history and all the ugly and beauty of those parts of my life.

I’ve been scared how they would take it. Would they be offended? Have I shared too much? Do they want to know about my past? Is it too much baggage? Too painful? Too scary?

I’m not willing to be impulsive or reckless with these people.

I want to be careful with their needs as I expose my own.

Tricky.

But necessary.

For both sides.

I want them to know their importance while sharing with them what is important to me.

It felt necessary to process all that was going on within myself while respecting the fact I was now sharing a part of their story as well.

I felt the responsibility to be mindful about that because of how much they matter.

After seeing how fragile relationships can be.

I want to hold these budding relationship with the utmost care and respect.

I also know I can’t grow silent. I can’t hide myself.

Not again. Not ever.

I don’t want to. It now feels too good to share.

So, I walk the rope. Carefully, while following the impulse to keep moving forward.

In a few weeks I will be preforming a story at a comedy club called “Flappers”. The first time I have ever been on that kind of stage. With other performers. Sharing our stories.

I found myself going back to that quiet place of not wanting to tell anyone. I might be too much. Not funny. Too heavy. What if they don't like what I have to say? Should I be worried? Or scared?

No.

Because I’m more excited than scared. I want and need to keep myself open. This is what I love. This has become my freedom. This is me. And that's what I want and need to be.

Opening up and sharing with those who want to listen... is the connection I crave.

If I want that connection to be with my birth family, I need to show them who I am... albeit, carefully.

I want their support. I want to experience new and scary things with them. I want them to witness me. To hear me talk about what matters. What’s important to me.

I wanted to ask my Aunt Diane to come to the show.

I wanted to tell her. I wanted to invite her. I wanted her there. Even is she said no, I wanted her to know me. The real me. The one I kept protected. I wanted that “connection” with her.

I knew in doing so, I would have to explain I was a writer. I would have to tell her I write under the name Josie L James. I would eventually have to expose the blog. I had a sneaking suspicion since she found me through ancestry.com and then found my social media and a wedding video on youtube I didn’t even know about, that she was tech savvy. I had a good idea she would find my blog as soon as I told her the name “Josie L James”.

I was scared.

Should I be careful? What was she going to think? Would she be offended I was writing about her? Would she like how I write? Was I too much? Was I not enough? Was I too emotional? Too damaged? Too fucking whatever?.. I can be all those things… All the “carefuls” crept up…

As scared as I was, I also don’t want to continue being alone in that way. I don't want to hide who I'm becoming. That is the whole point of all of this.

So, I ignored the "carefuls".... and I impulsively picked up the phone and invited her through text..

"Ok... well, I haven't shared this with any of the fam yet... but I'm a writer. I'll be telling a story at a comedy club in LA. It's my first time on that kind of stage. But if you would like to come, I'd love to have you there.... Ps... I write under a different name. “Josie L James”... Just so you know you’re getting the right ticket.. if you want to come... no pressure... " I texted... Nervously.

But, there it was… I admitted who I am. Now, I just wait for whatever reaction is going to come my way…

Within minutes she sent me a screen shot of her ticket receipt. With the words... “Whoo hoo!”

Minutes went by...

Then,

…

“I’m reading your blog…” She texted.

Gulp.

Shit!

Ok.

Ok.

Its Ok....

I shared myself. I have to decided to do this. Writing is now a part of who I am. It's only fair she knows and sees.

And now, I wait. I have to be respectful of however she feels about it.

I waited…

Holding my phone in my hand as I went about the evening.

More minutes went by...

Then,

…

“I love you with all my heart… and that just isn't nearly enough…” She writes.

Exhale.

She continued reading. Liking posts throughout the evening and next morning.

She read about my past, about our journey, about our connection. She read about how she was the reason I was able to meet the rest of my birth family.

She continued reading the posts I’ve written over the last 2 years.

She experienced everything I have exposed by witnessing me and everything I was scared to say or share.

She now knows me in a way only stories can do. Because I cracked my shell, oozed out my shameful or embarrassing truths, and because she took the time to witness it all. We are now tied, bonded together. A tie that I once didn't not the other end of, but now magically feels it has made its way into a loose bow, with room for more stories to tighten it.

I can be strategic, careful and lonely . I can be impulsive, reckless and honest. I also can be a little of both and be appreciate, grateful and free.

I have lost those who don’t want to hear along the way, but I have gained people who want to be there.

I have gained “family”.

After all, that connection, is what I have really craved all these years.

Thank you for coming along with, experiencing these moments with me and giving me this connection. I cherish each of you.

Sooo, I'll keep sharing... and posting... =)