The Potential Gross Cost of Slight Inaction

Sometimes I sit around and think about all the bigillion unwritten posts I have rolling around in my head. I seriously walk around drafting bits and pieces, one-line catch phrases of would-be blog posts, as I go about my regular business on any given day. That's how this one started; however, the "Ginny, just get your butt up off the couch, and write!" motivator hasn't been so effective in manifesting results. This got me wondering: how many projects and ideas have not just been scrapped, but floated off into the great abyss of never-to-be-shared, unrealized production?

Honest self-reflection on my own part will reveal I alone have allowed hundreds, maybe more, over the course of my lifetime, of these ideas and inspirations to raise their sails and catch the first wind of distraction or laziness to carry them away, never to return. Everything from blog posts to business ideas, songs to community events, they were all well-intentioned ideas when conceived, but so few surviving to full-term. To be sure, some have not cost society at large any major loss, but some may have been great, had potential to make an impact on someone's life. Some may have touched many, while others just one or a few, though no less important for their more limited impact, as each individual is just as valuable as the next.

I am one person. If I alone may have had such an impact with these forsaken ideas, how many more, across the world, across all time, have been lost, and their potential for impact with them, all for a vote in favor of simple laziness, perceived inconvenience, and f-e-a-r? How many lives have missed out, because I-because we-have not acted on all God gave me (us): a gift to share? How now will I (we) live, humbly reflecting on the gravity of our potential impact and role to play, moving forward?

Changed

Somewhere along the way, 

I lost a piece of who I am,

or is it who I was? 

I'm not really sure when it happened. Maybe because it went down slowly, one major life event at a time.

With marriage, went a little bit: a change in my routines and the expectations placed upon me, a little loss of independence and of privacy, in exchange for love, companionship and a life-long partner in crime.

Ok, I can roll with this.

With parenthood, a monumental shift: the appearance of a near-complete loss of independence (was this what I valued most?); a total change in routines and the expectations placed upon me, with the seemingly sudden responsibility of caring for a tiny, vulnerable human being, who somehow, miraculously came out of me; and a brand new identifying role, packaged up neatly with a little blue bow, in three loaded letters: "M-O-M."

That one took some time to sink in.

With teaching, ironically, claiming anew a little something of my own (Moms, you know what I mean): a challenge-one of the most difficult ones in my life, up to that point-and a question answered, "Can I be both dedicated to my work and students, and still be a dedicated wife and mom?" With the help of an amazing, supportive husband, and an awesome, sustaining God, yes.

This change shifted me a little closer to the girl I knew before.

Then there were the moves, both ours and those of our friends, as we all began moving into different stages of life, pursuing new opportunities and settling down. In the midst of this, bouts of financial uncertainty, mixed with seasons of financial security, changes in the game plan, diet and weight flexing up and down, more alterations to schedules and routines, and just when we thought we had it figured out, a second baby on the way.

Then the loss. And everything changed.

To be fair, not everything.
The world kept moving, the grass kept growing, the days turned to nights, then back to days, all on schedule, all as before. Most everyone else's lives went on the same as they had the day prior. Even those in our families, church, and work communities, who came around us in our darkest hours of deepest need to support us with everything from food and childcare to shoulders to cry on and listening ears, as time marched on, eventually had to return to their own responsibilities and regular lives.

But our family was changed. We were different. I was different. 
Am.  I am irrevocably different.

And so, somewhere along the way, 

I lost a piece of who I am,

a piece of who I was;

yet I gained, in loss, 

perspective and the opportunity, 

ironically, for rebirth.