At this particular juncture in my life I have some sustained questions that I’m not sure when/if I’ll ever have the answers.
You read the first above: will I EVER be able to spell the word hors d’oeuvres without googling it?
Will I ever stay awake throughout an entire movie, from start to finish?
Will I ever eat a gluten-filled donut again?
Will I ever write and finish the book that is stirring in my soul?
I’m at the point in my life where I feel like I’m just starting to figure out who I am… again.
Didn’t I just do this? Didn’t we just do this?
I remember trying to figure out who I was when I went away to college.
This resulted in some unfortunate haircuts and decisions. But it also resulted in amazing friendships. And a passion for communication. And the humbleness of having to drive a two-toned, four-door 1986 Toyota Corolla.
I remember getting engaged and trying to figure out what exactly marriage was and just how I fit within that realm.
That has been pretty great so far, too. I’m me, he’s him. We fly solo, but together. It’s been r-o-u-g-h, but he’s the saki to my sashimi. (Literally, last night saki for him, sashimi for me.)
I remember trying to plan what kind of Mom I was going to be.
Holy wow, first the meticulously articulated birth plan went out the window and from that point on nothing has really gone as planned.
Next, I remember trying to figure out who I was as a thirty-something woman without a Mom.
That has been… trying. It still is. I get misty-eyed or sobby at this time of the year. I can’t help it. Still, I’m stronger for having lost her. And far more empathetic. But may the record state that I much prefer her here, selfishly, on earth. I have a few more questions to ask her.
Now today. Here I am again. I’m trying to figure out who I am. AGAIN.
I’m definitely not a college student, or a newlywed or a new mom. I don’t want to start over and have another baby, but I also grieve the idea of never holding my newborn baby again.
Um, who am I?
I don’t want to wear Mom jeans and cut and perm my hair. (More power to all of you who do that. I think they’re both fine singularly, but when combined, Mom jeans + a mom perm are a dangerous combination that may result in moments of increased awareness wherein you exclaim, “…Oh… I think I may be turning into my mother.” Accurate thought. Because you are.)
So, while I can’t exactly say what I am right now or what phase of my life I’m in, I can tell you this:
I’ve got a sneaking suspicious that the other women in my life have been here or are here right now.
We’re a little wiser than we once were, but we’re not as wise as Oprah. Or our Grandmas.
We’ve got some life experience, some career experience and some relationship experience, but we still feel like we’re flying by the the seat of our pants sometimes. (I often feel this way with parenting.)
I’ve got a hunch that more than one of us has asked ourselves, “Um… so… now what? Now who am I? Now what do I focus on?”
Ours kids make their own breakfast and seem to have a more exciting social life than I do. It’s time to revisit me.
And, I feel excited. I need this.
The fire that has burned for so many different purposes over the years has spotlighted the important parts of my life: the fire and passion was once for writing and blogging, for my dog (seriously, Ferg IS great), for my boyfriend, my kiddos, for coaching, my career…
It’s time to shine the light on something new… Right?
I am overwhelmed by this life and by the opportunity that lies here, waiting for us to be open and move. Contentment and fulfillment are the goal, complacency is not.
I’ve got to get moving if I’m going to make the most of this life.
We don’t have to be stuffed into one little box where we just get to wear the “Mom” hat or the “working Mom” hat.
We can be whatever we chose. We must only start. And we must start now. From what I understand, time isn’t being added to the life clock, if yaKnowWhatImean.
This past year, I’ve read more than I have in a long time.
I’ve also listened to far too many podcasts and spent too much time on politics.
I’ve held hands with a strong fabric of women who uplifted and encouraged one another.
I’ve also ignored my blog and my passion for writing.
I’ve not spent enough time playing and being present with my girls and my family.
I need to do better.
I need to do better for them.
And I need to do better for me.
And while I may never be able to spell hors d’oeuvres, I’ve eaten enough of them and have tasted the sweetness and bitterness that comes from living a full life.
I want more sweet.
So, while I may never be able to spell h-o-r-s d-‘-o-e-u-v-r-e-s, I’m ready to savor the small bites of joy in my life in 2018. More hors d’oeuvres moments everyday.
This past weekend the girls and I made our annual Christmas cookies. They were cute and fun and their cookies stole the show. I’ve got to show you some of my favorites.
More hors d’oeuvres moments in 2018.