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Abstract

er ourselves, we merely imagine that we have changed. That’s not true, though. You can’t change dreams; you can only kill them — and some of us are very good murderers.”</p></blockquote><p id="34ea"><b>Is that what I’m doing? Forgetting who I am. Killing my dreams?</b> Because it’s been tough going for me these last few weeks? And, yes, in these moments, I desperately want to go back into the comfort of the past <i>known</i>. Even if that <i>known</i> is filled with problems and regret, it was safe. My husband was with me. My world, as I knew it, hadn’t disappeared. I didn’t have the constant, deep sorrow lingering in every waking thought.</p><p id="930f"><b>Maybe I’m afraid of finding out who I am. Perhaps I’m afraid to find the true joy life holds for me</b>. And that discovery will only come when I’m willing to take the risk — to take a leap of faith that there IS more waiting for me.</p><p id="bfc0"><b>Is part of my angst due to thinking that I don’t have the right to a new joyful life after the death of my husband?</b> Is there an old cultural myth lurking in the recesses of my mind? One that says I can’t have a new life; that I have to stay in my place and let time pass me by until I die.</p><p id="cdc5">More questions pop into my head.</p><figure id="eec4"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*u1_YB-r73UZtDeCKmquYNw.jpeg"><figcaption>Image by <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/JillWellington-334088/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=570883">Jill Wellington</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=570883">Pixabay</a></figcaption></figure><p id="c824"><b>Are joyful possibilities accidental? Or does it all come down to seizing them? </b>Can I choose for joy, choose for freedom from my previous life’s shackles, choose for a new life adventure? I have the chance, right now, to choose for my dreams and desires. But, am I capitulating to the lure of my old life? Am I letting my chance for greater happiness die because of my weakness and cowardice?</p><p id="5f5a"><b>Does sacrificing my life, my dreams, and my desires make me a better person?</b> Is suffering from grief my noble cause, and I should be glad for it? And because I was an excellent example of what a widow should be, I would have value?</p><p id="287a"><b>If I were to answer ‘yes’ to sacrificing my life and dreams for the noble cause of suffering from grief, I know it would be an empty existence.</b> I would know within my heart that there’s no reward for giving up on myself — to renounce my life because my husband died.</p><figure id="1f3e"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*zqnm1iNUnvqpMuQ3e87CXg.jpeg"><figcaption>Image by <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/tinytribes-14931596/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=4816284">Tiny Tribes</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com/?utm_sour

Options

ce=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=4816284">Pixabay</a></figcaption></figure><p id="cdae"><b>Instead, my noble cause should be — and will be — to declare what I truly desire, to declare what would bring me joy. </b>Then LIVE IT. And, it doesn’t matter that I may fail, fall, or screw up. I’ll get back up, dust myself off, and start over again … just like Frank Sinatra sang in “<i>Pick Yourself Up</i>.”</p><blockquote id="9c80"><p>Thank you for taking the time to read my story and hopefully, it helped in some small way.</p></blockquote><p id="1cd3"><b>PS </b>I’m Linda Halladay. I’m a widow who now refuses to live a life filled with grief, but instead, I live a life filled with joy, happiness, and love.</p><p id="4563">I’ve written about my journey out of grief and into bodaciousness. This story is adapted from the book I’m writing entitled “Reclaim. Rev-Up. Rejoice. A Widow’s Journey out of Grief and into Bodaciousness.” Would you like a guide in your journey through grief and into your new destiny? I’d like to travel with you and help you find your joy and bodaciousnesss. You can connect with me at <a href="http://[email protected]/">[email protected]</a>.</p><p id="5380"><b>PPS </b>PPS Here are three other stories that may help you in your journey out of grief:</p><div id="b12e" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/alone-no-more-f1c9811fcc3b"> <div> <div> <h2>Alone No More?</h2> <div><h3>Reclaiming My Life from Grief</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*tXI0t0ee-v0oIqyG_yHQ-A.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="4554" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/tick-tock-d193dd72aab0"> <div> <div> <h2>Warning: Time Waits for No One!</h2> <div><h3>So start living your life NOW.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*wLFhhg8Q0WMbrDfWuTF5lg.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="fda0" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/chasing-rainbows-c78ab17af9d6"> <div> <div> <h2>Chasing Rainbows</h2> <div><h3>Memories, like rainbows, are illusions and don’t contribute to a better life.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*a-C1Eseia1dhm3wTQXfCaA.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Grief|Inspiration|Illumination|Widows|Life Lessons

Am I Killing My Dreams?

Maybe I’m afraid I won’t find the true joy life holds for me.

I read a lot.

Sometimes for pleasure.

Other times I read to discover something new or to figure out how I can become a better person or to learn how to solve a problem.

And, then, there’s the desire to escape my “reality” for a while. When the sinking feelings of grief get too much, reading a novel gives me some relief. A good story can capture me, taking me into the character’s world, where I soon forget mine.

I started thinking about “The Little French Bistro” story again. I liked the heroine, Marianne. At times, I wanted to yell at her for giving in too quickly when she ran into some tough obstacles. Then, her fierce determination to live her life the way she wants wins over her old, habitual acquiescence.

But, can I blame her for giving in?

I’m finding that I easily give in to grief when my defenses are down. When I’m tired and bored. When I’m hungry. When it’s late evening, watching TV by myself. My old, habitual behaviors kick in. Then, my monkey-mind chatter begins. It persuades me that having an extra piece of chocolate, drinking another glass of wine, eating another slice of meatloaf, or not exercising won’t hurt. I succumb. Then the next day, I’m disappointed in myself. And the scale shows my indiscretion — I’ve gained another pound.

I’m pissed.

Why do I deny my dreams? Why do I sabotage myself? Don’t I want to make the changes I said I wanted?

A passage in the book flits into my mind. After realizing she could no longer live a life she couldn’t stand, Marianne went back to the French town where she was discovering her “real” self. She admits to her boss that she was stupid to run back to her old life.

When her boss told Marianne that she had changed, Marianne says, “People never change. We forget ourselves, and when we rediscover ourselves, we merely imagine that we have changed. That’s not true, though. You can’t change dreams; you can only kill them — and some of us are very good murderers.”

Is that what I’m doing? Forgetting who I am. Killing my dreams? Because it’s been tough going for me these last few weeks? And, yes, in these moments, I desperately want to go back into the comfort of the past known. Even if that known is filled with problems and regret, it was safe. My husband was with me. My world, as I knew it, hadn’t disappeared. I didn’t have the constant, deep sorrow lingering in every waking thought.

Maybe I’m afraid of finding out who I am. Perhaps I’m afraid to find the true joy life holds for me. And that discovery will only come when I’m willing to take the risk — to take a leap of faith that there IS more waiting for me.

Is part of my angst due to thinking that I don’t have the right to a new joyful life after the death of my husband? Is there an old cultural myth lurking in the recesses of my mind? One that says I can’t have a new life; that I have to stay in my place and let time pass me by until I die.