This blog of mine was meant to help me process and work through some of my own crap. My intention was to have a place I would need to work my thoughts through coherent sentences because, well someone might read it.

But I’ve encountered a problem – This little soapbox of mine has allowed me a place to vent my anger at so many things over the years.

I’m sure some people, professionals as well as the unofficial therapists, would say that’s a good thing…here’s my rub – I am becoming something else than what I wanted to be. Ugh, this is getting hard to type – I am trying to not let my anger drip into my words…I have to stop, backspace, retype.

Was just reading some of my drafts and posts over the years – I can see my anger building. From females in Scouting to people’s inability to accept others, from inner children to a letter to the men in my life. From politics to basic human rights.

I imagine, I even dare to say HOPE, that each of us has the meaning of life question in our brain-pans. No, not the one the we ask from the side-lines, “What is the meaning of life?” Not even the, “Why are we here?”

Let me dig this out a little further…”Why am I here” is getting closer.

Who am I here?

Am I just the angry jerk who doesn’t have room for compassion? Am I the trusted friend someone will reach out to when they need me?

Will I stand up with courage when I see something wrong? Can I even do that when my first reaction is to go for the throat? My anger has taken over in so many ways….seething, roiling, storming…

What example am I setting for my children? What do their eyes and hearts see or hear when I post something? When they look back at my character, or my grandkids one day, are they going to see my social media posts as someone who was trying to fix the world around and offer love?

I think of our history books in school – you’d get to that chapter about an era and the under the heading is a picture. Something that reminds you of our world’s timeline. I can say things like “Berlin Wall” and we each have an image in our head. I wonder what will be the image of my life will be.

I hope my kids and grandkids will be able to look at my life with pride. Not for what I accomplished on paper, but for what I stood for. I hope their history books will remind them of what’s possible – the horned, shirtless ignorant moments as well as capacity we do have to love.

I want my picture to be a collage of hope, love, and determination to leave the world a little better than we found it. That is who I hope to be here.