Recap: I was married for 13 years. When I accepted his proposal, I believed that I was deeply in love, and that I knew what I was getting into, but it went downhill almost immediately after the proposal. Even in the first year of marriage, there were some serious warning signs that we were incompatible, and perhaps that he did not love me (according to what I think love looks like). I wanted to love, and be loved, and I stuck it out. Hindsight shows that I should have exited many years before I did, but hindsight always says things like that. He moved out in 2012, and we were divorced three years ago. Since then, I have gone on countless first dates, very few second dates (mostly because that is how I felt about the first dates!), and I've had one little rebound relationship that lasted a glorious few months and included sex, but then went up in a blaze and quickly disappeared. Almost all of my dates have been from online dating. In 2013-14 I dated frequently; in 2015 I dated less; in 2016 I vowed to take a year off dating.
That brings you up to speed.
***
I told myself that I was taking a year off dating because I don't have time. My new job is keeping me super busy (three evening meetings in a row this week and I'm so tired I can barely think), I'm committed to being there for Katherine as the best mom I can, I have this house that feels too big for me and takes a lot of energy to maintain, and then there are the tasks of eating (a trip to the grocery store, prepping, serving, cleaning), etc. When eating seems like too large of a task, I know I'm over the edge. I missed meals this week due to meetings, and then after the meetings I was too tired to deal with it, so I ate a bit of chocolate and went to bed.
This is ridiculous.
My self care is in the toilet, and I need to get better at that. When food feels like a burden, it's time to look at my life and figure it out, because this has gone too far entirely.
I don't care how much work I need to get done, I need to take better care of myself and leave room for myself in this busy life of mine.
I need some self love. Not some words, not some basic belief in my own goodness (which I have: I am proud of who I am), but some love that looks like action. I tell myself that I am worthy of love, but then I don't take care of myself. How is that worthy? I beat myself up over what I do not get done. I haven't had a haircut in a year. I am spending little to no time in nature, and not taking care of my body (healthy food and exercise). I haven't taken days off (including MLK). I'm spending little time with friends. When I have time alone, all I want to do is sleep or vege in front of the TV; when I read the words dance on the page because I'm so tired. My sleep is restless, the anxiety of how much work I need to do coming to bed with me.
And do you know whose fault this is?
Mine.
If a friend told me about all this, I'd raise my eyebrows and suggest some time off, suggest that she go for a walk, suggest that she set a timer of when to stop work and then adhere to it. I'd point out that food and sleep are not luxuries, and that if she got sick that it wouldn't help anything, including her deadlines. I'd give her some love, some encouragement, maybe make her some soup.
I'm not treating myself the way I'd treat a friend, and that is a problem.
***
It occurs to me that maybe, just possibly, I'm making myself this busy to avoid admitting just how much I want to love and be loved.
Ouch. I don't want to admit that. I don't want to acknowledge that sometimes it feels like I am absolutely alone and that I will stay this way forever, and that the knowledge of that truth feels like the kind of grief that death leaves in its wake. I don't want to feel those feelings. I want to feel strong and capable and optimistic. I want to feel in control, directional, positive, hopeful.
But sometimes I feel the opposite, and ashamed of it to boot. (I know. Brene' Brown. I know.)
***
All of the focus on my career and motherhood - worthy pursuits! - can't cover up the facts.
I want to love. I want to be loved.
At the end of the day, I want to slip beneath the covers and feel strong arms around me. I want to wear something sexy to bed on some nights to make his eyes flash and his body respond, but I also want to feel accepted when I fall into bed (and those arms) too exhausted to do more than bury my face in his chest.
I want to listen to NPR in the kitchen, doing the morning dance around coffee cups and feeding pets and packing lunches. I want him to say "You look great! Are you meeting a donor today?" and "I'll be down by the market today - do you want me to pick up anything?" and I want to grab him before he goes out the door and plant a giant kiss on him and say "Something to think about today..." with a twinkle in my eye. I want to plan surprise birthday parties for him, and I want to come home to find that he arrived home before me and made dinner. I want to plot vacations with him. I want to meet his friends, learn his inside jokes, support his passions. I want him to look at me and say "You're a nut case, you know that?" with gentleness in his voice, and I want him to look at me and say "I didn't even know I could be this happy."
I want to know him, and be known by him.
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Ms7wQI_Q5iU" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
I want that kind of love.
But if I can't give it to myself, how can I expect to take it from someone else?
I think I don't believe that I deserve love. Why I believe that, I have no idea, because intellectually it's not the case, but the idea is there, anyway.
I told myself that I would not date in 2016, but what I think I was really saying is "I'm not good at this, so I'm giving up."
I am not a quitter.
I want love. I deserve love. I'm going to make a great partner for someone. I long for it, and I won't be ashamed of that longing. I am no more lacking than anyone else.
I'm not sure what happens next, but there it is. I'm putting it out there. Again.
I'm working on my self love, my self care. I hope that grace takes care of the rest.
Thursday, February 11, 2016
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Itty Bitty Steps and Giant Leaps
I want to be a superhero who leaps from building to building, my long legs powerful and strong enough to push me safely across the abyss, fast enough to pass through fire without being burned. I dream big.
Sometimes, this is fantastic. Sometimes, this way of living allows me to take the risk to gain the rewarding career, or to reshape my entire life by leaving an ugly marriage. It is part of my optimism, and part of my joy.
But sometimes, what this world view does is traps me, and makes me feel incapable and small. I look at my grand dreams and feel utterly frozen: I have no idea where to begin. I stare at my life, wishing I could crawl back into my bed, unsure not only how to take a leap, but how to even move. The grandness of my vision terrifies me, even though I am its creator, and I feel certain that I will fail, that I am incapable, that I am not enough.
(That "not enough" thing is getting really old, by the way. It is annoying me. I want to shed it for once and for all, but it slinks around and attaches itself to me every time I turn my back. It has tentacles that wrap around me from the back, and I have to peel them off, one by one. It is tedious, frightening, and disgusting, and I am over it. I'm getting better at spinning around and yelling "Get the hell outta here!" to scare it away, but eventually I let my guard down and it pounces on me again. It is a work in progress.)
At work, I feel completely overwhelmed. There are so many moving parts to what I need to do, some of which are exciting and some of which are tedious; all of them are important. I stare at my computer screen and telephone and calendar and wish I could disappear because I feel so overwhelmed.
Not a good feeling.
But I think I know how to get out of that feeling, out of that stuck place (which, let's be clear, is a career killer if I don't manage it!), and I got the idea watching The Good Wife.
(Avoidance of responsibilities by watching television. Don't ask.)
In The Good Wife, the character of the husband is trying to get the nomination to be the Democratic presidential candidate, and they have showed him in all of his power as he aims for that lofty position. But in the episode that struck me, they showed him touring the country, stopping in tiny towns and speaking to small crowds and shaking hands and repeating the same few ideas ad nauseum. There was a funny bit in the show where he had to try the "local delicacies" at each stop, and the local news crew would come film him taking a bite and saying "oh wow this is good!", and in this way he was eating a dozen meals a day (or at least a dozen first bites of a meal), and because the towns were close together, he was often eating the exact same thing many times a day, with the same smile on his face, the same look of pleasant surprise as he declared its deliciousness, even as he fought his own feelings of revulsion for the "delicacies" and for the overeating.
Nobody is asking me to overeat meaty sandwiches (thank goodness), and I have no intention of running for office, but it struck me that there was truth in what I was seeing. In order to hold the most powerful office in the land, the most powerful people in the land need to smile and bite into (sometimes disgusting) sandwiches. They need to shake hands. They need to sit on a bus for hours and hours. They need to repeat the same canned lines over and over as if it's the first time they're saying them. They need to treat little people like they matter, treat their special requests (for photos, for signatures, etc.) as if they're interesting.
To be the president, you have to do a lot of really small, meaningless things. If you don't do them, you'll quickly find out that even the most trivial, meaningless things can hold great power. ("For want of a nail the shoe was lost...")
This applies to all of us, and particularly to me in my current situation. To make my organization larger, to help more women than ever before......I need to "eat sandwiches" over and over and over.
I have been so caught up in the big picture, in the importance of what I'm doing, that I have felt impossibly small under that task. But really, if I break it down, now that I have a plan, all I need to do is eat one bite at a time.
It's funny how often I have to learn my life's lessons.
Getting divorced was an impossible leap from stay at home cancer patient mom to working independent mom. Doing a half marathon was an impossible leap from the sofa to the finish line. Both required a million tiny steps....taken one at a time. Both required keeping my eye on where I wanted to go, but lifting one leg up, moving it forward, setting my food down....and repeating. Both required falling down, getting up. (In running, this only happened once in the literal sense. Bloody hands and knees and shoulder; it was ugly. In divorce it happened metaphorically on a daily basis, I think.)
So, I'm going to tackle my job one step at a time, too. Make a list of calls, and start at the top. I don't need to wear a cape, I don't need an invisible jet, and I don't need to be superhuman. All I need to do is pick up my right foot, move it forward, set it down, and I'm on my way.
Maybe you have something you're working on, too. Maybe your life seems overwhelming, too. Maybe it's because you need to get divorced, or because you need to have the difficult conversations, or because you need to reignite your career, or take on a creative project, or lose the extra weight, or clean your basement. Maybe your life doesn't yet look like your visions, and you're scared that you can't reach your goals.
Me too. I have a lot of work to do.
Let's start today with little, tiny steps towards our visions. Let's put the cape down, ignore the cellulite on our non-superhero-y legs, and take those first toddling steps. I promise not to laugh at you when you fall down, knowing that I will fall, too. Let's take those steps anyway, and see how many feet we can travel today.
Let's do it! One bite at a time, let's become Presidents.
Sometimes, this is fantastic. Sometimes, this way of living allows me to take the risk to gain the rewarding career, or to reshape my entire life by leaving an ugly marriage. It is part of my optimism, and part of my joy.
But sometimes, what this world view does is traps me, and makes me feel incapable and small. I look at my grand dreams and feel utterly frozen: I have no idea where to begin. I stare at my life, wishing I could crawl back into my bed, unsure not only how to take a leap, but how to even move. The grandness of my vision terrifies me, even though I am its creator, and I feel certain that I will fail, that I am incapable, that I am not enough.
(That "not enough" thing is getting really old, by the way. It is annoying me. I want to shed it for once and for all, but it slinks around and attaches itself to me every time I turn my back. It has tentacles that wrap around me from the back, and I have to peel them off, one by one. It is tedious, frightening, and disgusting, and I am over it. I'm getting better at spinning around and yelling "Get the hell outta here!" to scare it away, but eventually I let my guard down and it pounces on me again. It is a work in progress.)
At work, I feel completely overwhelmed. There are so many moving parts to what I need to do, some of which are exciting and some of which are tedious; all of them are important. I stare at my computer screen and telephone and calendar and wish I could disappear because I feel so overwhelmed.
Not a good feeling.
But I think I know how to get out of that feeling, out of that stuck place (which, let's be clear, is a career killer if I don't manage it!), and I got the idea watching The Good Wife.
(Avoidance of responsibilities by watching television. Don't ask.)
In The Good Wife, the character of the husband is trying to get the nomination to be the Democratic presidential candidate, and they have showed him in all of his power as he aims for that lofty position. But in the episode that struck me, they showed him touring the country, stopping in tiny towns and speaking to small crowds and shaking hands and repeating the same few ideas ad nauseum. There was a funny bit in the show where he had to try the "local delicacies" at each stop, and the local news crew would come film him taking a bite and saying "oh wow this is good!", and in this way he was eating a dozen meals a day (or at least a dozen first bites of a meal), and because the towns were close together, he was often eating the exact same thing many times a day, with the same smile on his face, the same look of pleasant surprise as he declared its deliciousness, even as he fought his own feelings of revulsion for the "delicacies" and for the overeating.
Nobody is asking me to overeat meaty sandwiches (thank goodness), and I have no intention of running for office, but it struck me that there was truth in what I was seeing. In order to hold the most powerful office in the land, the most powerful people in the land need to smile and bite into (sometimes disgusting) sandwiches. They need to shake hands. They need to sit on a bus for hours and hours. They need to repeat the same canned lines over and over as if it's the first time they're saying them. They need to treat little people like they matter, treat their special requests (for photos, for signatures, etc.) as if they're interesting.
To be the president, you have to do a lot of really small, meaningless things. If you don't do them, you'll quickly find out that even the most trivial, meaningless things can hold great power. ("For want of a nail the shoe was lost...")
This applies to all of us, and particularly to me in my current situation. To make my organization larger, to help more women than ever before......I need to "eat sandwiches" over and over and over.
I have been so caught up in the big picture, in the importance of what I'm doing, that I have felt impossibly small under that task. But really, if I break it down, now that I have a plan, all I need to do is eat one bite at a time.
It's funny how often I have to learn my life's lessons.
Getting divorced was an impossible leap from stay at home cancer patient mom to working independent mom. Doing a half marathon was an impossible leap from the sofa to the finish line. Both required a million tiny steps....taken one at a time. Both required keeping my eye on where I wanted to go, but lifting one leg up, moving it forward, setting my food down....and repeating. Both required falling down, getting up. (In running, this only happened once in the literal sense. Bloody hands and knees and shoulder; it was ugly. In divorce it happened metaphorically on a daily basis, I think.)
So, I'm going to tackle my job one step at a time, too. Make a list of calls, and start at the top. I don't need to wear a cape, I don't need an invisible jet, and I don't need to be superhuman. All I need to do is pick up my right foot, move it forward, set it down, and I'm on my way.
Maybe you have something you're working on, too. Maybe your life seems overwhelming, too. Maybe it's because you need to get divorced, or because you need to have the difficult conversations, or because you need to reignite your career, or take on a creative project, or lose the extra weight, or clean your basement. Maybe your life doesn't yet look like your visions, and you're scared that you can't reach your goals.
Me too. I have a lot of work to do.
Let's start today with little, tiny steps towards our visions. Let's put the cape down, ignore the cellulite on our non-superhero-y legs, and take those first toddling steps. I promise not to laugh at you when you fall down, knowing that I will fall, too. Let's take those steps anyway, and see how many feet we can travel today.
Let's do it! One bite at a time, let's become Presidents.
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Being a grownup is hard.
Disclaimer:
My life is easier than it has ever been. I have all of the basics in my life: health insurance, a comfortable home, clothes that keep me warm in winter and clothes that keep me cool in summer. I drive a reliable car (yay!). I live in a safe neighborhood in a country where there is no war. My refrigerator and cupboards are full. I have a great job. I have friends and family. I have my health (thank you thank you thank you). My daughter is healthy and happy. I have a great education, and my daughter is being educated, too.
So, anything that I say now might come off as whining, and I know it. Maybe all that I have is a case of first world problems and I ought to be quiet and just sit here counting my blessings. Please know that I know how lucky I am, and that everything I say is within that context.
(Reminder: I had cancer, and then I got divorced, and a couple of years ago I spent a few months being unemployed. I know what real problems look like, because I've experienced them. I also work in an industry where I see people who are truly, deeply suffering in their lives, so I have that context. Even at my lowest, I have been lucky. I know.)
(end disclaimer)
Here's the thing: I keep being surprised at how hard it is to be a grownup.
Now that my life is more together than it has ever been, and now that I'm happier than I've ever been, I find myself startled that it's not always rainbows and unicorns. I've been feeling guilty about it (see above), but I think that guilt is highly overrated so I'm trying to get past the guilt into something more.
I think that I'm hitting on a universal truth: that being a grownup is just really hard. Really, really hard, actually. Impossibly difficult. And maybe it's that impossibility that I forgot about: perhaps it really is impossible to reach the GrownUpNess that I strive for, and that only in letting go of my vision of what it means to be a grownup can I be truly happy.
I want to live my life fully, deeply, to the utmost. I want to squeeze every last drop from my life, feeling all of the joy, the hope, and the possibility of my life. I want to learn all that I can from life. I want to leave the world a better place than when I found it. I want to parent my daughter in such a way that what I teach her will be a beautiful foundation upon which she can build her life (instead of finding out down the road that she needs to unlearn the harmful lessons of childhood). I want to face my career with positive intention, rather than waking up every day dreading the drudgery.
And I want my laundry room to look like this, and my abs to look like that:
But dear readers, I struggle! I mean, I really do.
My life is easier than it has ever been. I have all of the basics in my life: health insurance, a comfortable home, clothes that keep me warm in winter and clothes that keep me cool in summer. I drive a reliable car (yay!). I live in a safe neighborhood in a country where there is no war. My refrigerator and cupboards are full. I have a great job. I have friends and family. I have my health (thank you thank you thank you). My daughter is healthy and happy. I have a great education, and my daughter is being educated, too.
So, anything that I say now might come off as whining, and I know it. Maybe all that I have is a case of first world problems and I ought to be quiet and just sit here counting my blessings. Please know that I know how lucky I am, and that everything I say is within that context.
(Reminder: I had cancer, and then I got divorced, and a couple of years ago I spent a few months being unemployed. I know what real problems look like, because I've experienced them. I also work in an industry where I see people who are truly, deeply suffering in their lives, so I have that context. Even at my lowest, I have been lucky. I know.)
(end disclaimer)
Here's the thing: I keep being surprised at how hard it is to be a grownup.
Now that my life is more together than it has ever been, and now that I'm happier than I've ever been, I find myself startled that it's not always rainbows and unicorns. I've been feeling guilty about it (see above), but I think that guilt is highly overrated so I'm trying to get past the guilt into something more.
I think that I'm hitting on a universal truth: that being a grownup is just really hard. Really, really hard, actually. Impossibly difficult. And maybe it's that impossibility that I forgot about: perhaps it really is impossible to reach the GrownUpNess that I strive for, and that only in letting go of my vision of what it means to be a grownup can I be truly happy.
I want to live my life fully, deeply, to the utmost. I want to squeeze every last drop from my life, feeling all of the joy, the hope, and the possibility of my life. I want to learn all that I can from life. I want to leave the world a better place than when I found it. I want to parent my daughter in such a way that what I teach her will be a beautiful foundation upon which she can build her life (instead of finding out down the road that she needs to unlearn the harmful lessons of childhood). I want to face my career with positive intention, rather than waking up every day dreading the drudgery.
And I want my laundry room to look like this, and my abs to look like that:
My laundry room is in an unfinished part of the basement of my 1923 house, and also hosts the furnace, hot water heater, kitty litter, and stuff that has nowhere else to go. It will never, ever, ever look like a Pinterest post. My abs are not my best feature, and will never look like the "after" picture. More like this:
And of course, it's about much more important things than laundry rooms. I want my finances to reflect 20% savings and 10% charity; I want my parenting to be yell-free (including this morning's "YOU ARE GOING TO BE LATE AND WHY AREN'T YOU MOVING FASTER AND I'M TIRED OF GOING THROUGH THIS EVERY SINGLE MORNING!"); I want my career to be brilliant and consistent. I want to eat healthy, home made food every single day. I want to have enough, but not too much. I want to be the kind of person who writes thank you cards every single time (because I believe in gratitude more than because it's good manners). I want to read intellectually stimulating books every single evening.
I'm trying. Really, I am. I think, in the big picture, I'm actually doing a decent job. I have a good life that I'm (mostly) proud of.
But dear readers, I struggle! I mean, I really do.
My new job is wearing me out, and I find myself taking on the role of the rabbit from "The Tortoise and the Hare." Some days I am all out, and putting in hours and making things happen and basically feeling brilliant, and then there are days like yesterday when it was all I could do to get back to people on email and I took an extra long lunch because I couldn't face my lack of strategy for the day. Thinking about work all the time is overflowing into my personal life, too, and at the end of the day I've been watching Gilmore Girls reruns while Katherine plays on her iPad, and I find myself waking up on the sofa and shrieking "oh no I fell asleep! you're supposed to have read for a half hour and be in bed with the lights out!" and scrambling to get us both to bed.
My finances are improving, but have a long way to go (I'm basically an American statistic about savings rates; it's pretty dismal). I'm skiing on weekends, but my weekday lifestyle is sedentary. I cook healthy meals when I cook, but all too often I rely upon Trader Joe's processed dinners, or we go out to grab a bite (good bye, budget). Katherine got in her well child check up, but is overdue on the orthodontist. My friendships are in great shape, but I'm not spending much time with extended family.
The list goes on, and on, and on. My house is pretty tidy and uncluttered most of the time, but my yard is a wreck. My bills are paid, but my savings rate is terrible. I managed to have a decent divorce, but my ex hardly spends any time with our daughter (one night at his house since September or early October).
Needless to say, I haven't figured out romance AT ALL.
When I look at my life, I'm trying to see where I'm getting it right, just as much as where I have room to improve. I'm trying to be gentle with myself, at the same time that I try to make progress in the right direction.
I think that maybe the key is to just acknowledge that this stuff is really, really, really hard. That while I may be capable of running a marathon, being a fantastic Executive Director, volunteering in my community, aiming at Mother of the Year, sending hand written notes daily, keeping my house clean, growing my own vegetables, and writing a novel, thru hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, and much, much, much more, I just can't do it all at once. I want to do all of those things, and I can....I just can't do them all right now.
I'm kind of resentful about the Pinterest/Real Simple/Shape Magazine pictures that imply that we're all aiming at perfection. I know people with nice laundry rooms, but I do not know one single person who keeps a vase of flowers in their laundry room and keeps that room clutter free. I see pictures of beautiful abs every day of my life, but I know very few women who would ever consent to show me their abs (let alone flaunt them in public) because even among the thin and fit, my 40-something year old friends aren't aiming at the perfection of a 20 year old's fitness. I'm proud of my career growth and the work that I do, but I just have to accept that this means I don't get to go on all of the middle school field trips. Perfection isn't the goal. I will never have that laundry room, or those abs, and saying so isn't giving up or letting my life fall apart.
Maybe acknowledging that I will never reach perfection is one more step on the way to a perfect life, the way I define it. Because in my perfect life vision, I fall asleep each night knowing that I've done what I can, that I've helped more than harmed, that I'm still growing and learning.
I need to make the orthodontist appointment. I need to watch less Gilmore Girls and read more. I can do those things...I think. At nine in the morning, they seem doable, but when 8pm rolls around and I'm tired, I feel much less certain. So, every day, I try again. I keep hoping for that day when I have exercised (with the dog), prepared healthy breakfast/lunch/dinner and refrained from snacking, my house is clean with the laundry put away, my thank you notes are caught up, the yard is tidy, I've spent an hour writing and an hour volunteering, I landed the new sponsor and moved the strategy forward with key volunteers, I played a board game with my daughter, I stopped to enjoy the sunset, I called my mom, and I did it all under budget, and got to bed on time (with a kiss on Katherine's cheek before we each go to our rooms to read, knowing that we'll talk about what we read at the breakfast table).
I don't think that day is coming. I get pieces of that day every day, but I don't get it all....ever.
Maybe the hardest part is pushing forward to be my best self at the same time that I relax about ever getting to that mythical place where it's all in order. Perhaps we're already doing a good job, and we need to smile at our efforts more often, instead of berating ourselves for our flaws.
Maybe it's okay to vege with Gilmore Girls, to have the messy laundry room, to have abs that aren't airbrushed. Maybe it's about the big picture - a happy child, a life that strives for overall balance, purpose and intention - more than the little bits and pieces that aren't quite right.
Being a grownup is really hard, and I know I'm not doing it all "right." But maybe one step towards getting it right is letting go of some of the smaller details, and looking at the big picture. Maybe it's okay to aim at an A without getting 100%.
I'm heading out into my day, and that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to try to get an A as a grownup, but if I miss a few points I'm going to try to let it go. I'm not sure who's grading me, anyway (and I'm certainly not inviting anyone in to my laundry room to evaluate me). Maybe accepting that is one step closer to actually feeling like a grownup.
---------------
A poem on that subject that has spoken to me for years, but which I clearly haven't fully absorbed, is The Ponds by Mary Oliver. I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing.
https://bookdiva.wordpress.com/tag/the-ponds-by-mary-oliver/
The Ponds
Every year
the lilies
are so perfect
I can hardly believe
the lilies
are so perfect
I can hardly believe
their lapped light crowding
the black,
mid-summer ponds.
Nobody could count all of them —
the black,
mid-summer ponds.
Nobody could count all of them —
the muskrats swimming
among the pads and the grasses
can reach out
their muscular arms and touch
among the pads and the grasses
can reach out
their muscular arms and touch
only so many, they are that
rife and wild.
But what in this world
is perfect?
rife and wild.
But what in this world
is perfect?
I bend closer and see
how this one is clearly lopsided —
and that one wears an orange blight —
and this one is a glossy cheek
how this one is clearly lopsided —
and that one wears an orange blight —
and this one is a glossy cheek
half nibbled away —
and that one is a slumped purse
full of its own
unstoppable decay.
and that one is a slumped purse
full of its own
unstoppable decay.
Still, what I want in my life
is to be willing
to be dazzled —
to cast aside the weight of facts
is to be willing
to be dazzled —
to cast aside the weight of facts
and maybe even
to float a little
above this difficult world.
I want to believe I am looking
to float a little
above this difficult world.
I want to believe I am looking
into the white fire of a great mystery.
I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing —
that the light is everything — that it is more than the sum
of each flawed blossom rising and fading. And I do.
I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing —
that the light is everything — that it is more than the sum
of each flawed blossom rising and fading. And I do.
Friday, January 1, 2016
Happy New Year!
'Tis New Year's Day, and the sun is shining and the mountains are sparkling, almost glaring in their white brightness against the incredibly blue sky. 2016 is here, and I couldn't be happier about it.
2015 was a year of personal and professional growth for me. It had some serious challenges (professionally and financially) but it also had some new joys. I skied. I backpacked. I grew professionally. My relationship with my daughter grew stronger (at exactly the time everyone told me it would grow weaker). I came to some realizations about myself and who I am and why I am the way that I am, and I felt so incredibly liberated by it.
I am in the new job, and I am determined to make it INCREDIBLE. This small organization is poised for growth, and I'm going to make it happen.
My home feels almost like someone else's home it has changed so much (in my eyes), and I love it. I have swept through every room, removing what I do not want or need, and what is left are items that make me happy through their usefulness or beauty. My basement is light, bright, and clean, and walking into it I feel my spirits lift. The walls are a shade of blue called Waterfall, a fresh, clean tone that reminds me of summer skies and snowy hills and swimming in alpine lakes and yes, waterfalls; the floors are a clean, light bamboo; the trim is crisp and white. The whole effect is airy and light. If my basement represents my foundation, then my foundation is utterly altered, almost unrecognizable, and improved in every way.
I even got rid of eleven - ELEVEN! - boxes of books. The two large bookcases have room to add a few more things, and I have enough credit at the local used bookstore to buy books for years.
Yes, I am ready for 2016.
16 is my favorite number, and I do think that this year will be sweet 16. I am looking forward to a joyful year, where the wonderful surprises far outweigh the sorrows. I am looking forward to professional success, bonding with Katherine, and even more skiing and hiking and backpacking. I'm looking forward to a return to running.
My new year's resolution is to OWN IT WITHOUT APOLOGY. I will not apologize for my desires or for my needs. I will not apologize for others' behaviors. I will own my strength, my capability, my desires, and I will forge forward with joy as I pursue my dreams.
But this year, even as I pursue my dreams, I do feel like I'm already living them. How did I ever get this happy? How did I ever feel this whole? The shape of my life is so much closer to the way I've always wished, and I feel that wrapping around me like a soft blanket, or like the sun on my skin.
And love? Oh, I still believe in love, and believe it's there for all of us, and that I am worthy and lovable. I am also not sure if I will ever find love, and I know that the search for it doesn't bring me a lot of joy. This year I'm focusing on my life, but not on romantic partnership. If someone fabulous crosses my path, I'll smile and say hello and let nature take its course, but I am not scanning the crowd for fabulous strangers, and I'm not online dating. This year, I'm setting all that aside, removing all pressure from myself. My life is good and whole, surprisingly wonderful, and doesn't need a partner. Sure, it would be nice, but maybe I'm just not ready. I don't know if I want to share my beautiful relationship with Katherine, or take time away from work, or manage someone else's needs. I'm learning how to manage my own desires without compromising them into nothingness, and it feels so good that I'm not in a hurry to alter that process.
This will be a year of owning who I am, living my life, and reveling in the idea that I am living my dreams. You will find me on a ski hill, at a table surrounded by friends, diving into an alpine lake, running a 5k, snuggled up with a book, speaking to a group. I'm going to whip my board into shape, and I'm going to spend a lot of time laughing and being open to surprises and to joy and wonder.
Thank you, 2015, for all that you gave me. It was a wonderful year, perhaps the best of my life so far. I treasure that! And I feel that 2016 will be more of the same, but building on last year's joys, this year's will be even deeper. What an amazing feeling.
Happy new year!
2015 was a year of personal and professional growth for me. It had some serious challenges (professionally and financially) but it also had some new joys. I skied. I backpacked. I grew professionally. My relationship with my daughter grew stronger (at exactly the time everyone told me it would grow weaker). I came to some realizations about myself and who I am and why I am the way that I am, and I felt so incredibly liberated by it.
I am in the new job, and I am determined to make it INCREDIBLE. This small organization is poised for growth, and I'm going to make it happen.
My home feels almost like someone else's home it has changed so much (in my eyes), and I love it. I have swept through every room, removing what I do not want or need, and what is left are items that make me happy through their usefulness or beauty. My basement is light, bright, and clean, and walking into it I feel my spirits lift. The walls are a shade of blue called Waterfall, a fresh, clean tone that reminds me of summer skies and snowy hills and swimming in alpine lakes and yes, waterfalls; the floors are a clean, light bamboo; the trim is crisp and white. The whole effect is airy and light. If my basement represents my foundation, then my foundation is utterly altered, almost unrecognizable, and improved in every way.
I even got rid of eleven - ELEVEN! - boxes of books. The two large bookcases have room to add a few more things, and I have enough credit at the local used bookstore to buy books for years.
Yes, I am ready for 2016.
16 is my favorite number, and I do think that this year will be sweet 16. I am looking forward to a joyful year, where the wonderful surprises far outweigh the sorrows. I am looking forward to professional success, bonding with Katherine, and even more skiing and hiking and backpacking. I'm looking forward to a return to running.
My new year's resolution is to OWN IT WITHOUT APOLOGY. I will not apologize for my desires or for my needs. I will not apologize for others' behaviors. I will own my strength, my capability, my desires, and I will forge forward with joy as I pursue my dreams.
But this year, even as I pursue my dreams, I do feel like I'm already living them. How did I ever get this happy? How did I ever feel this whole? The shape of my life is so much closer to the way I've always wished, and I feel that wrapping around me like a soft blanket, or like the sun on my skin.
And love? Oh, I still believe in love, and believe it's there for all of us, and that I am worthy and lovable. I am also not sure if I will ever find love, and I know that the search for it doesn't bring me a lot of joy. This year I'm focusing on my life, but not on romantic partnership. If someone fabulous crosses my path, I'll smile and say hello and let nature take its course, but I am not scanning the crowd for fabulous strangers, and I'm not online dating. This year, I'm setting all that aside, removing all pressure from myself. My life is good and whole, surprisingly wonderful, and doesn't need a partner. Sure, it would be nice, but maybe I'm just not ready. I don't know if I want to share my beautiful relationship with Katherine, or take time away from work, or manage someone else's needs. I'm learning how to manage my own desires without compromising them into nothingness, and it feels so good that I'm not in a hurry to alter that process.
This will be a year of owning who I am, living my life, and reveling in the idea that I am living my dreams. You will find me on a ski hill, at a table surrounded by friends, diving into an alpine lake, running a 5k, snuggled up with a book, speaking to a group. I'm going to whip my board into shape, and I'm going to spend a lot of time laughing and being open to surprises and to joy and wonder.
Thank you, 2015, for all that you gave me. It was a wonderful year, perhaps the best of my life so far. I treasure that! And I feel that 2016 will be more of the same, but building on last year's joys, this year's will be even deeper. What an amazing feeling.
Happy new year!
Monday, November 9, 2015
Out with the Old
In preparation for my new floors, I've had to go through every nook and cranny of my basement. I need to either move items elsewhere in my house, or get rid of them altogether. Never before have I had such a good incentive to purge: I'm going to have to move every object anyway, and there's no sense in keeping what doesn't suit me.
It has been strangely liberating.
The sweater that didn't quite fit? Gone. The cute Japanese rice bowls that I never really used? Gone. The supplies purchased years ago for craft projects that never took place? Gone. (I am never, ever, ever going to sew pillows or use those pillow inserts. It's time to own that, no matter how cute my vision of the finished project is.) The big crate of canning jars that has been sitting in my attic for three years without being touched? Gone. And with each of these things, the freedom to stop feeling like I'm behind for not using them. It's okay that I don't have Japanese themed dinner parties. It's okay that I haven't gotten around to making jam in a long time. It's okay that I don't want to sew anything. What freedom!
That framed print, street art from a European vacation years ago? I've never liked it; it was never quite right. And yet, it has lived on my wall for fifteen years. Fifteen years of "I don't really like this"?! I lifted it right off the wall, impulsively, and stuck it in the pile. The blank space it leaves behind doesn't look empty, it looks clean and free.
I had no idea that I was weighed down by these objects - mostly tucked away out of sight, neatly organized in their appropriate zones of the house - but clearly I was, because it feels so good to let them go. Each time I said goodbye to something, I think I was saying that I was enough without that item. I was saying that it didn't matter if that item was perfectly useful if it wasn't useful to me.
Sometimes, it feels really good to let go of things.
I'm trying to cleanse my life of everything that doesn't fit. I am shedding my baggage, literally and metaphorically, as I move forward. I think it's interesting how the literal shedding of what doesn't fit my life feels so good, but perhaps that's because I see the links to the metaphors. I'm working at only inviting what I love into my life, and letting go of what doesn't work makes room for that.
I wish I'd done this years ago.
It has been strangely liberating.
The sweater that didn't quite fit? Gone. The cute Japanese rice bowls that I never really used? Gone. The supplies purchased years ago for craft projects that never took place? Gone. (I am never, ever, ever going to sew pillows or use those pillow inserts. It's time to own that, no matter how cute my vision of the finished project is.) The big crate of canning jars that has been sitting in my attic for three years without being touched? Gone. And with each of these things, the freedom to stop feeling like I'm behind for not using them. It's okay that I don't have Japanese themed dinner parties. It's okay that I haven't gotten around to making jam in a long time. It's okay that I don't want to sew anything. What freedom!
That framed print, street art from a European vacation years ago? I've never liked it; it was never quite right. And yet, it has lived on my wall for fifteen years. Fifteen years of "I don't really like this"?! I lifted it right off the wall, impulsively, and stuck it in the pile. The blank space it leaves behind doesn't look empty, it looks clean and free.
I had no idea that I was weighed down by these objects - mostly tucked away out of sight, neatly organized in their appropriate zones of the house - but clearly I was, because it feels so good to let them go. Each time I said goodbye to something, I think I was saying that I was enough without that item. I was saying that it didn't matter if that item was perfectly useful if it wasn't useful to me.
Sometimes, it feels really good to let go of things.
I'm trying to cleanse my life of everything that doesn't fit. I am shedding my baggage, literally and metaphorically, as I move forward. I think it's interesting how the literal shedding of what doesn't fit my life feels so good, but perhaps that's because I see the links to the metaphors. I'm working at only inviting what I love into my life, and letting go of what doesn't work makes room for that.
I wish I'd done this years ago.
Saturday, November 7, 2015
Growing Up
Have you heard the Macklemore song that he wrote for his new baby when his wife was pregnant?
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6mhtJduoCZ0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
The lyric that stays with me is:
Times are changing, I know, but who am I if
I'm the person you become
If I'm still growing up?
I am 46 years old. I have a nearly thirteen year old daughter. I have a mortgage, a car payment, and a real job. I hold a masters degree. I have been married, and divorced. I've run a half marathon, and I've had double mastectomies. I do volunteer work in the community. I cook dinner nearly every night. I walk the dog, I pay the bills. I own a crock pot, a table saw, a lawn mower, and a life insurance policy.
But I don't feel like a grownup yet.
When do people usually feel like grownups? Am I the only one who often feels like it's all a bit of an amusing joke that I've been granted all of these responsibilities, because I'm just starting out?
According to Macklemore, probably not. He's an international star who, I assume, is much more together than I am. I guess if it's okay for him to feel like he hasn't arrived, it's okay for me. And for you.
I'm in a between-time right now: I'm winding down my current job, struggling financially because I haven't received a full child support payment in months and because my current job just barely covers the bills. I start my new job in three weeks, and not only will my professional life change substantially, my financial life will, as well. It is certainly a period of growth.
In order to get ready for my new job, I have to first wind down the old one of course, but I also have to make space in my life for the new one. Because I will be working from home, I need to create a home office, and I'm spending a lot of time doing so.
A note about my house: my house is really two houses on top of each other, or so it feels. The upstairs is a cute bungalow/cottage style, with hardwood floors, picture rail, original trim and doors (solid and attractive). The downstairs is a daylight basement that was clearly a 1970's afterthought, with almost no trim work, horrible carpet, acoustic tile ceiling, and bad design at just about every corner. When I had a flood I had to tear out part of the carpet, leaving bare concrete exposed in the center of the basement (and not smooth, polished, sexy concrete: this is 1923 crumbling concrete). The downstairs is where the TV is, and where kids go to bounce off the walls, but mostly I ignore the downstairs. It's barely usable.
And I'm changing that.
I am attempting to create a grown up's house. I am ripping out the horrible carpet, and ripping out a poorly designed wall, and ripping out a bunch of cabinets (set up as a mother-in-law kitchen but not used that way for probably 25 years). I'm evening out the concrete, and adding beautiful light, clean bamboo floors. Gone will be the 1970s linoleum in the bathroom. Gone will be the boards nailed between posts to make "bookshelves" (they weren't fooling anyone). I'm even getting rid of the pressboard bookcases that I purchased in college and have housed my books since then.
Not only am I creating an office space for myself, I am redoing the TV room and guest room at the same time. And I'm not borrowing favors from friends to patch something together, I'm paying Real Live Professionals to come in and do it right.
This makes me feel a teensy bit more like a grownup. But it also makes me feel like I'm a total fraud as a grownup, because I feel so out of my comfort zone in doing this. I feel like maybe I should cut more corners - if I put in new flooring in my office, I don't need to do the whole basement, right? I don't really need an ergonomic chair that will help my back, do I? It's okay to leave that weird little wall that sticks out into the middle of the room, right? Because I don't really need anything, I can make do. I'm fine, I won't cause any trouble, I don't need to take care of myself...
I have to fight through these feelings just about every minute of the day.
But I am fighting them, and winning!
In my new job, I need to be a full grown up. If I do my job, I can quadruple this little organization and serve so many more women. I need to allow every ounce of leadership within me to shine, to inspire the board and volunteers and donors to make it happen.
And in my new life, I'm trying not to put off my hopes and dreams for the future, I'm trying to make them happen. I'm trying to remind myself that I really am a grownup, and I can make grownup decisions. I suppose it doesn't really matter if my basement is finished or not, but it matters to ME.
In Feng Shui, basements represent the subconscious, and one's foundation. Well, if that is the case, my subconscious has been dark, partially finished, out of date, dusty, uncared for, and ugly. That's not the kind of foundation anyone should build upon. I'm doing a clean sweep of the basement - that ugly old carpet probably contains enough nastiness to make anyone sick, and it needs to go - but I'm also doing a clean sweep of myself.
I want my foundation to be built upon light. I want it to feel clean, and open, while still being inviting and comfortable. I want to feel solid. I want to feel complete, not unfinished. I want to feel proud, not apologetic. I want to feel welcoming, not closed off. I want to feel beautiful.
I'm not even sure if I'm talking about my basement or myself as I do this project, but for whatever reason it has become highly symbolic to me.
I might be growing up.
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6mhtJduoCZ0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
The lyric that stays with me is:
Times are changing, I know, but who am I if
I'm the person you become
If I'm still growing up?
I am 46 years old. I have a nearly thirteen year old daughter. I have a mortgage, a car payment, and a real job. I hold a masters degree. I have been married, and divorced. I've run a half marathon, and I've had double mastectomies. I do volunteer work in the community. I cook dinner nearly every night. I walk the dog, I pay the bills. I own a crock pot, a table saw, a lawn mower, and a life insurance policy.
But I don't feel like a grownup yet.
When do people usually feel like grownups? Am I the only one who often feels like it's all a bit of an amusing joke that I've been granted all of these responsibilities, because I'm just starting out?
According to Macklemore, probably not. He's an international star who, I assume, is much more together than I am. I guess if it's okay for him to feel like he hasn't arrived, it's okay for me. And for you.
I'm in a between-time right now: I'm winding down my current job, struggling financially because I haven't received a full child support payment in months and because my current job just barely covers the bills. I start my new job in three weeks, and not only will my professional life change substantially, my financial life will, as well. It is certainly a period of growth.
In order to get ready for my new job, I have to first wind down the old one of course, but I also have to make space in my life for the new one. Because I will be working from home, I need to create a home office, and I'm spending a lot of time doing so.
A note about my house: my house is really two houses on top of each other, or so it feels. The upstairs is a cute bungalow/cottage style, with hardwood floors, picture rail, original trim and doors (solid and attractive). The downstairs is a daylight basement that was clearly a 1970's afterthought, with almost no trim work, horrible carpet, acoustic tile ceiling, and bad design at just about every corner. When I had a flood I had to tear out part of the carpet, leaving bare concrete exposed in the center of the basement (and not smooth, polished, sexy concrete: this is 1923 crumbling concrete). The downstairs is where the TV is, and where kids go to bounce off the walls, but mostly I ignore the downstairs. It's barely usable.
And I'm changing that.
I am attempting to create a grown up's house. I am ripping out the horrible carpet, and ripping out a poorly designed wall, and ripping out a bunch of cabinets (set up as a mother-in-law kitchen but not used that way for probably 25 years). I'm evening out the concrete, and adding beautiful light, clean bamboo floors. Gone will be the 1970s linoleum in the bathroom. Gone will be the boards nailed between posts to make "bookshelves" (they weren't fooling anyone). I'm even getting rid of the pressboard bookcases that I purchased in college and have housed my books since then.
Not only am I creating an office space for myself, I am redoing the TV room and guest room at the same time. And I'm not borrowing favors from friends to patch something together, I'm paying Real Live Professionals to come in and do it right.
This makes me feel a teensy bit more like a grownup. But it also makes me feel like I'm a total fraud as a grownup, because I feel so out of my comfort zone in doing this. I feel like maybe I should cut more corners - if I put in new flooring in my office, I don't need to do the whole basement, right? I don't really need an ergonomic chair that will help my back, do I? It's okay to leave that weird little wall that sticks out into the middle of the room, right? Because I don't really need anything, I can make do. I'm fine, I won't cause any trouble, I don't need to take care of myself...
I have to fight through these feelings just about every minute of the day.
But I am fighting them, and winning!
In my new job, I need to be a full grown up. If I do my job, I can quadruple this little organization and serve so many more women. I need to allow every ounce of leadership within me to shine, to inspire the board and volunteers and donors to make it happen.
And in my new life, I'm trying not to put off my hopes and dreams for the future, I'm trying to make them happen. I'm trying to remind myself that I really am a grownup, and I can make grownup decisions. I suppose it doesn't really matter if my basement is finished or not, but it matters to ME.
In Feng Shui, basements represent the subconscious, and one's foundation. Well, if that is the case, my subconscious has been dark, partially finished, out of date, dusty, uncared for, and ugly. That's not the kind of foundation anyone should build upon. I'm doing a clean sweep of the basement - that ugly old carpet probably contains enough nastiness to make anyone sick, and it needs to go - but I'm also doing a clean sweep of myself.
I want my foundation to be built upon light. I want it to feel clean, and open, while still being inviting and comfortable. I want to feel solid. I want to feel complete, not unfinished. I want to feel proud, not apologetic. I want to feel welcoming, not closed off. I want to feel beautiful.
I'm not even sure if I'm talking about my basement or myself as I do this project, but for whatever reason it has become highly symbolic to me.
I might be growing up.
Monday, October 19, 2015
Changes
It's fall, and the leaves are in full color, the skies gray, the air cool. The bright trees won't last much longer: even as I watch them turn, I know that soon enough they will drop their leaves and the branches will turn from bursts of flame to lace against the sky.
I couldn't stop it if I wanted to, so I try to embrace it. I live in the Pacific Northwest where almost everybody complains about the gray monotony of winter: we may not get any snow, and we will get lots of rain, and sometimes the gray sky feels like it is only three feet over our heads. People get grumbly about it and complain about it even in the summer ("oh, summer's great here, but November....!"), but not me. I like all of our seasons; I appreciate that though it won't snow in the city (not much anyway) I can go up to the mountains to ski, just an hour away; I don't mind running in the rain. I like hot apple cider, Halloween parties, turkey trots, and so much more about the season. I look forward to Christmas with tiny lights everywhere and Christmas ships and friends and sparkly dresses. Sure, it would be nice to break it up with a trip to Hawaii and blue skies....but overall, it's much more good than bad.
Life keeps changing, as much as the seasons, as much as the trees, and I'm trying not to fight that, either.
The job change - yes, I got the job! - is mind-blowing. I have faith that this is the job that I've craved since returning to work, and that I am on the path I want to be on. I am filled with awe, the kind I get when I see a particularly bright sunset, or a whale breaching, or stars over a mountain lake. I am filled with joy. It helps that I'm leaving my soon-to-be-old job on a high note: our big auction was this weekend, and I positively killed it. More money, more people, better messaging, and a much smoother event. I spoke to the room (300+ people) and did "the ask" and when I told them about our clients, the entire room cried. Afterwards, more people than I can count came up to me to tell me how powerful my stories were, and how grateful they were to hear them. (One slightly inebriated guest told me, "Your charisma makes me faint!" which was good for a chuckle.) I most certainly earned my keep. I felt rock solid, strong, capable, successful.
That's a change. Two years ago as I was fighting unemployment I felt insecure, frightened, uncertain. Hope that it would get better kept me going, but I was so scared.
I'm not scared anymore.
***
My daughter is going through changes faster than I can count them, too. Soon she will be a teenager, and her body changes daily before my eyes; she could easily be mistaken for an older girl, given the "right" clothes and some added makeup. She's tall and slim but muscular, with glossy hair, clear skin, long legs, and a gorgeous figure. At twelve! She does her homework without prompting, has good friends (with minimal drama), does her chores, is trustworthy. She's a fierce competitor in sports, giving it all of her heart. She's kind. She does volunteer work. Right now, her dream job is to fight for women's empowerment; she's thinking that maybe she'll become a lawyer to fight for women's rights (especially the gender pay gap). She sings to Taylor Swift nonstop. She prefers jeans and Converse. She bakes. She's my backpacking buddy, my lake swimming daredevil.
And this month, she became somebody's girlfriend.
I do not feel okay about twelve year olds dating. I don't feel okay about it AT ALL, actually, and my mind leaped from "she's such a great kid" to "this is the beginning of the end" in the space of about two seconds. I think in the space it took her to say "I have a boyfriend" I went from "all is well" to "she will be a pregnant teenage dropout" without blinking.
Fortunately, I kept my panic hidden and said something like, "Uhhhh, oh, ummm" or equally intelligent.
That night I Googled "tween dating" and "when should I let my daughter date" and such. I learned that my daughter is at the average age for this kind of thing; I learned that at this age, "dating" means that they text each other a lot but have no plans to go out and actually DO anything together. (Phew.) I read articles on how to discuss dating with your child.....and how NOT to discuss dating with your child. I read articles about how to put boundaries in place without becoming such a strict disciplinarian that your child will rebel from being too constricted. I read articles about how to coach her through this, and started saying "self respect" and "kindness" a lot.
At about the exact minute that I caught my breath, after weeks of monitoring text messages, I got the news that he dumped her. I felt an unnatural desire to throttle a child, to call him up and give him a piece of his mind. I felt certain that he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.
And then I caught my breath, realized that this was what was going to happen all along (she might have dumped him, or he might have dumped her, but the dumping was in the air from the first shy glance) and that I shouldn't expect a 12 year old to handle things gracefully, and that he was learning too, and that the two of them could handle it just fine. My daughter texted with her BFFs who were suitably enraged and full of girl-power. She played "We are never, ever, ever getting back together" loudly. She did her homework. We watched a movie together (one with no romance).
I breathed a sigh of relief.
***
Everybody knows that the only constant is change. We hear it all the time, and we live it all the time. That's why it's funny to me that when changes happen, they surprise me, catch me off guard and make me think "what on earth is happening!" and my mind spins off in crazy ways. (Uh, as far as I can tell there was never even a first kiss, and I don't think that pregnancy is going to result from five-character text messages.)
I'm trying to go with the flow. To accept the incredible goodness that is going on in my life, and to embrace the changes yet to come.
My new job is extraordinary. It is an answer to the prayers I've been sending into the Universe; it is filled with hope and possibility. I'm trying to live fully in this moment, to celebrate it deep in my heart as well as celebrating it with cake and champagne with friends. It, too, will change. It *will* be good, but there will also be challenges, struggles.
My daughter is extraordinary, and full of hope and possibility. She, too, will keep changing.
I never, ever, ever would have guessed that this is how my life would look when I was 46 years old. The single mom thing, the cancer thing, the career crazy thing....none of it has gone as predicted. My finances most certainly haven't gone as predicted. Some things are better than imagined - my own happiness, for one! - and some things I could really have done without.
And it all keeps changing, all the time.
I'm trying to live with that uncertainty, while holding optimism, and rooting myself in the present. It's tricky territory, acknowledging that I'm not in full control, yet working hard to make my dreams come true. I haven't got it figured out.
But today, now, in this moment, is really, really good. And I am really, really grateful. The recent changes are incredible, and I'm ready to embrace them.
What a moment in time I am in; what a gift it is.
So grateful.
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