I am not a good traveler. I have always yearned to perceived as one. Good travelers are worldly. Interesting. Adventurous. Most important, good travelers are sophisticated, not anxious.
In midlife. I am at peace with the good, bad, and the challenges that is my lot. It is who I am.
Despite the self-doubting I've experienced this week, I've stepped backwards and regained the perspective I need to appreciate how far I've come in this journey, no matter how disjointed it appears right now.
I give my parents credit. As cultural Jews born in the early 1930's, my parents grew up witnessing the dangers of not questioning authorities, across the sea in the '40s, and Wisconsin in the '50s.
As far as dyslexia is concerned, I don't like being told I can't do something. Maybe my response to my "disability" was becoming an English major.
I am trying to learn to let go of my bad acting, to reconnect with my authenticity, a connection waylaid by decade of shame.
Weighed down, unable to move naturally, hyperaware of my scratchy skin, I felt unworthy, unable to appreciate my contributions to the life we together built with our three able, strong daughters.