On the Road to Nowhere in particular

 

Strangely shy is how I would describe it. Literally hiding behind my mother’s body and averting my eyes as to not make eye contact. It was beyond not wanting to draw attention to myself, it was wanting to sink into the background, as in, if I could camouflage my being, that might make it better.

My friends—most of whom I’d know since pre primary school was a different story. With them, I was my silly, quirky, but still one of the shyest ones in the group –when out in public, self. I secretly hoped to have their confidence, their boldness in living life—as much life as “kids” can assert in the mid – late 80’s, at least. They were what I aspired to be.

I can remember boarding the bus one specific day in my red romper and white Keds, “Learning for Dummies” (referencing the L.D pullout class I was in all of my Elementary years and most of Middle School) was shouted from the back. I swiftly took a seat behind the driver, in hopes his proximity would derail further taunts. It typically worked. Shame is a funny thing; the rush of heat radiating a tingling feeling up my neck as I boarded the school bus each day in anticipation of being targeted, is exactly the same visceral sensation I experience at almost 50 when I screw something up. I now understand how the body has memory.

Fast forward to what seems like a million years later--so many chapters lie in between the days of weirdly shy and now; I am often too blurty-outy, too bold for my teens liking, too unaware in the moment to realize my quirkiness often paints me an outlier. I don’t say this as some kind of “screw you” that many of us post 40 women seem to come into as we age, but rather, I seem to miss many of the cues others subscribe to be anything other than transparently “me,” not out of boldness, but rather in the same way we breathe. We don’t think about it, or learn it, it just is.

Saying no to something else

Finally, 3 days later, a moment to intentionally release my shrugged shoulders, roll them down my back and breathe. Isn’t it funny how all “breath” is life-giving, but sometimes there almost seems to be a hierarchy and some “deep breaths” feel more tangibly, “life sustaining” than others?? Yet in truth, every single one of them is equally as paramount as the others.

It’s been a long week. A long week at work, a long week emotionally and a long week physically. I’m spent and have been spent since about Monday afternoon. I’ve learned first hand this week (for the  umpteenth time) that saying yes to something, invariably means saying no to something else. And lately the “no” has been to any sense of personal time, rejuvenation and replenishment, by way of super absent self care.

I don’t know why consistent self care has been such an all of nothing feat for me. In my single days, I did stellar with it. Like Superstar, loose 90pounds kind of self-TLC, but the minute I am sharing a home and gold bands …”poof” the struggle ensues – all over again, after 6 years of perfecting it for the first time ever, in my early 40’s no less. Sadly, for me, self-care always is the last on the list -----until I crash. And I am crashing. Fortunately, a respite is near. No, not fortunately, thank GOD, literally, Thank you sweet, 5lb, 6oz sweet baby Jesus for my pending reprieve, Amen AND Hallelujah!

I’m not sure why exactly I feel so spent, other than, my new role marries both physical exhaustion from my constant moving, walking, bending, loading, lugging WITH emotional exhaustion. And I don’t say that to mean my job isn’t incredibly rewarding, but for any of us that deal with people all day, as opposed to numbers or technology, I venture to say, the engagement looks a bit different & therefore the investment of time, caring, consideration, just being a good listener is needed. Even for a self proclaimed Chatty Cathy (or Cindi, as it were) such as myself…it takes energy. Which I am happy to give, but those two aspects, coupled with zero self care….well, that’s not my sweet spot. And I tend to Go Big or Go home on the giving side, not in reasonable rations to be sure I keep something back for my husband, my kids, myself.  I think a lot of us are like that. We are relentless achievers/doers/givers at the expense of our own health and well being.  Across my life I remind myself the airline schpeel, “Put your oxygen mask on yourself first, before assisting anyone else.” Makes perfect sense, but I stink at being intentional about doing just that.

This week one of my very best friends laid her Daddy to rest, I was at her house a few hours after she heard the news of his passing and present at his service earlier this week.  I was equally shocked and yet felt a sense of “knowing” regarding how his sudden, unexpected passing had me hyper anxious all week and my emotional tank idling on fumes the last few days.  This was the first death since my Mom passed.  Funny, I haven’t cried about my Mom in months, but I’ve cried more the past week than I have in months!! It is always so shocking how just barely under the surface my loss, grief, frustration, guilt, sadness and overwhelming sense of “orphan” can be…especially when I have barely shed a tear in my day in day out goings on- prior.

To watch someone you love in pain, is one of the most heartwrenching feelings we can experience. I felt that way with my Mom and I was reminded of it with my friend, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I wouldn’t. Call me Suzy Sunshine or Pollyanna, whatever, I’ve been called both many times, but I emphatically believe that at our core, we all ALL share the same longings. The means to “get there” might look very different, but I believe at our core; our humanness transcends.

My grief counsellor and I talked and still talk about my new role and the recent loss of my Mom. I am literally every day, facing one of my biggest fears…aging/disease/losing my independence by walking into work. Are there people full of vigor and life- of course- lots! But at an Assisted Living and Memory Care Community, you can’t hide from the fact that we are ALL aging, every day- we’re growing older- every last one of us.

I’ve always had a fear of disease and dying. Always. I’ve taken courses, read books and literally held the hands of not one, but two family members as they took their final breaths. I don’t care who you are,  experiencing that changes something in you forever. Both the same final outcome, but two very different outlooks for me about the process. For my grandpa, it was so peaceful, he always said he wouldn’t go to hospice and the day we made arrangements for his discharge, in his mid 80’s, was the day he pulled his oxygen tubes out of his nose and said “no more”, and passed within hours. He really meant it, he wasn’t going to hospice. We were reciting the Lord’s Prayer as he passed – as strange as some may think this sounds, it was beautiful. So incredibly beautiful. We all had said our peace and goodbyes and let him go. With my Mom, it was so different. She had just turned 70, was cancer free and has grandchildren to watch graduate and get married and start families and in truth, even at 45, I still need her. Perhaps she felt that way still about her own dad, my Grandpa, when he passed in his 80’s, but I had and still have an overwhelming sense of “I’m not ready to let her go” No, not yet. I still need her. This coupled with the traumatic events in the days and hours leading up to her death- had everything EXCEPT peaceful or beautiful tied to it. It wasn’t. She was unresponsive but would cry out HELP ME, or look right through me seemingly and plea, “Help me Mom, it hurts, Mom help me” before her pain was well managed, as the bulk of her major organs began failing in quick succession. Here she was dying from complications of a drug to fight a recurrence of a cancer that only 3% of the population get to begin with, 1% of those being Caucasian and was in the under 5% that die from complications of drug therapy. The worst case scenario, seems pretty damn feasible – frequently to me know. That “Oh it’s rare” “That never happens” – is something I often struggled with dismissing, but I REALLY struggle now, because a series of events that individually “never” happen- happened. To my Mom.  I read all about the statistics and the complications (over 120 pages worth) evaluating the feasibility of said statistics with my Mom and she decided to move forward, with my endorsement.  Of course there is still much I am processing, at almost 9 months later, the death of loved ones of those around me is going to reignite some of those complex feelings all over again, but I so rarely give them the time to bubble up. Instead they are felt unrecognizably as insomnia, aggravation, busyness, anxiety, or avoidance.

I continue to strive each day to “be a better version of myself than I was yesterday” and in doing so, I push on, through the discomfort in an effort to expand my capacity for compassion- the trick is to extend that not just to others, but myself as well.

Living a Legacy

So often we hear about leaving a legacy- what your community, friends and family will remember you by, when your time on earth has come to pass. But since the passing of my own Mom, quite suddenly, (despite there being the dreaded "c" diagnosis, it wasn't from cancer per se and it was incredibly sudden), I've been turning my focus to my own legacy and the notion of  LIVING my Legacy, more so that worrying what legacy I'll be leaving.

Living vs. Leaving, is any "background" needed? I think we all get the inherent differences between the two, one connotes closure, the other - a dynamic, today, this present moment, notion...Living, breathing, experiencing, sensing, sucking the marrow out of life...that's living. Leaving is - I'm done. Things are finished here, I'm moving on.  And so as I sit with the idea of what my own legacy will be, when my days on earth are done, I've realized, that if I can find a way to be present and truly live the life I am called to, and work at something that fulfills a perceived higher purpose, I might just be able to LIVE my legacy, and even enjoy the fruits of it as I create it.

I am so, so, many things, much more than the titles I bear:wife/mother Step Mother/believer/worker bee...I am:

An explorer, an emotional scuba diver (credit to my dear friend for bestowing this most appropriate title years ago!), a connector, a supporter, a ponder-er, a creator, a pursuer, a doer, a child of God, a child of wonder (even at 45) a philosopher, a tragic purveyor of throw pillows, a sometimes short patience-waiter, a high expectations "expect-or", a hold your hand while you get the call-er,  a wanna be Yogi, a grace giver, my own worst critic,  a too-rigid house run-er, and so much more....Yes, I am the text

book definition of a dichotomy. Isn't that the crux of humanity? We are both good and evil, joy and sorrow filled, pain and pleasure inducing...we are onions, people, hopefully less odiferous, I pray, but as complex and layered. How does one live their legacy, when we have so many unanswered questions about ourselves? What direction do we go, how do we know if that's really it? Once again I say God could have really done us all a solid and delineate  his voice (of course, a deep, booming, all-knowing tambor) from our own. Or perhaps, if our exchanges with him showed up in our mind as a play with parts noted-

        God: CINDI

        Cindi : Yes? Who is it? Wait, am I talking to myself? Because it sounds like my voice. Yea, I'm definitely talking to myse....
      
        God: CINDI! NO! It is I, your Lord and Savior, the one you affectionately refer to in texts as "JC" -Your gift is (insert spiritual gift here) Go to (insert specific address) on (insert specific date & time) to fulfill your destiny.

If only things were more explicit, right?

I recently left a professional role that I loved - at least I think I loved it. I certainly loved the people surrounding it, and the idea of it, but as I get some distance, I'm realizing more and more that I not only crave to be in deep connectedness with my family and close friends, I have a instinctual longing for recognizing the connection and commonalities across my community, and humanity as a whole as well. That rambling paragraph above??? All those things I am? I bet I could find a litany of people, all genders, all walks of life that could echo those same sentiments. "We are more alike than we are unalike." Amen.

As I explore what's next for me professionally and I allow for dead space in my day- to just let the thoughts come, and forgo my every-expanding gotsta's list, I realize I don't want to just leave a legacy .I want to live it first.

Gently Fold In

So, here it is. Inspiration has struck. I can no longer contain it within the confines of my mind, my inner circle, it's time to take to the masses (all two of you who might be reading this - my Fiancé and my Mom!), as a few truths have held true throughout my (almost) 43 years thus far.  One being, there is great relief, and great HOPE in living in community with one another. I'm talking about real life community, the not so pretty, nor shiny, over my dead body would I openly share- stuff, that only our "circle of trust" (or perhaps a random, fellow waiting room Mom, who strikes up a convo about life with Tweens) explores. These topics tend to be the deep emotional struggles we all deal with- whether it be based in an unsatisfied work life, family dynamics, financial strife, addictions, old habits, you name it. All of the above? Sure, that too!  It's the stuff that shows our dark corners, our insecurities, frustrations and longings, if only to ourselves and no one else.  Except, when we do- when we share our challenges and struggles, we open ourselves up to community with others, who have been there, and relate. I am starting, "Step 1: Gently Fold In..." under that belief. That through this blog, a community of support and kinship is formed.

In my life currently, the most difficult, yet meaningful challenge, is this transition into a "Blended Family." While it won't be officially official for another few months, we are quickly approaching the one year mark of all being under one roof, after a blissful courtship for all of us, which lasted about 1 1/2 years; owning separate homes, across "town" from one another and largely, only coming together a couple nights on the weekends when we each had our kiddos. Ahhh,  my cheeks hurt from smiling as I reflect on the almost- continual joy. No, I mean it, really...continual joy! There was the "wooing" by my then boyfriend, the anticipation of date night, the hair products, the picking the "just right" outfit, the hilarity that ensued around the dinner table, the multitude of car rides - as 5 of us squished in,  the joy of time alone and working on whatever tickled my fancy - working out, home improvements, ACTUALLY PAGING THROUGH A MAGAZINE. And not just ANY magazine,  an issue that was semi-current, and not 9 months old, covered in school papers, buried at the bottom of the ottoman tray!

Yes, it had moments of challenges, we are dealing with real people here, 3 of which are between the ages of 7-11, we had our share of: bad moods, disappointments, illness, conflicting schedules, but by and large, it was generally delightful. Oh, and not to mention the artwork, the gifts, the adoring remarks. No, not from my fiancé, but his children and my son toward him. I would always diminish the compliments, and appreciated the images of me as a Princess, complete with crown, flowing hair, zero wrinkles, or acne. However, I also knew that the pedestal I had been put on, (I am guessing due to kiddos desire to just get back to a "normal" family that someone, ANYONE, fulfilling that role  would be warmly greeted in those early days) would someday falter.

Kids want their family to stay in tact, and when it isn't - they want some semblance of that 'normalcy' - I get it. I got it then too. So I realized our easy breezy transition from dating to being engaged after 1 1/2 years would likely not be the case for long. It took a little bit longer to start to see that "the bloom was off the rose" and from there a much faster clip to, "Not only is the bloom off the rose, but holy cow, that rose has some thrones and those suckers HURT!"

Which brings us to right now. We are months away from signing the marriage certificate, exchanging gold bands, and speaking our covenant to God amidst our friends and family. If I am being candid, Whew, it's been a challenging transition lately. Mainly because not a one of us have ever been a: Step Dad, Step Mom, Step child, or child sharing their parent with a Step - before.  We are all novices. Here's my 2 cents thus far: Parenting and being a Step- Parent are totally different. Oh, and each kiddo may need your role to look a little different, specific to their needs, and yeah, the expectations may change from time to time, day to day or moment to moment. And your step parent and biological parent may be trying to navigate all this as they also navigate their own differences in parenting. Uh huh and maybe just maybe, you are all also trying to figure out what this family wants to be like, look like, function as. Yeah, so there are just a few things swirling about, and if that wasn't enough - these children are simultaneously growing up and going through their own internal challenges, while they maneuver this new family life and maybe the parents are facing some of their own internal challenges to boot as well.  Easy, breezy, lemon, squeezey, eh? Umm no. There are moments though, I mean the most beautiful, fill your heart till it hurts moments that remind you - this is a process that is building deep, wonderful relationships. It may not be a straight line, but a journey, maybe most akin to a "walk about" where you really are, adjusting as your journey dictates and maybe you make some wrong turns, maybe you make a lot. Maybe you end up stuck in a pothole, that you never even saw and you're stuck. The good news being, you won't always be, there are many hands and resources to get you out of it, fix your tire and your rim and point you in the right direction again.

I welcome you to the journey, as seen through the eyes of our journey; ours is not so much, a "blending," but Gently Folding In...we aren't changing who we are and becoming something else entirely new, as the name "blending" denotes. We are 5 people, with different needs, motivations,  challenges, gifts and desires; on a journey to do our best to Gently Fold In together.

We want to hear about your journey, where you are at in it and how we can all learn and grow through it and from it. We hope you come along!

That time I almost died. (ish)

I can almost feel the vibration of the steel rails against my back, it’s growing in intensity, just as this primal desperation to somehow get up, “GET UP, RUN! GO! What the hell are you waiting for? What’s wrong with you?”  I feel utterly overwhelmed and helpless as to how to break the chains that seemingly have me bound to my death, I have no concept or thoughts on how to escape, nor how to just succumb to my obvious fate…the only emotion I can focus on is doom. This is it, this is how it ends.

 The vibrations are growing, with no break in the waves, and I can hear the whistle now too, I couldn’t before because my mind was so focused on the physical sensations of being trapped, tied down, with an overwhelming feeling of vulnerability and catastrophe, like an out of body experience, except, that’s ALL I could feel – hyper acutely, EVERY sensation of my body, at a rapid fire rate. My jaw clenched, heart racing, ears ringing, and the innate sense that this is the fear felt when end of life is imminent.

Sometimes a few of the physical sensations change, and my focus is more on my heartrate, or my mental state (surely this is what going insane must feel like?) or it’s an extra-exhilarating experience when it happens while driving, especially with your kid in the car (everyone loves sarcasm, right?). Have I mentioned how I don’t greet, “exhilarating experiences” with excitement? Yeah, that’ s a “no” for me. If I did, if I was a thrill -seeker, I venture to say, I wouldn’t have panic attacks. I’d welcome them. I’d look forward to the adrenaline, the rush, the ride. The adventure of it all, the enlightenment that may come from the endless “Why” (Why here, why now, why at all?) but, alas, I think I got my fill of “unknowns” probably by the age of 14.  Yea, I know, that makes me sound about as interesting as concrete. To each his own…

Growing up, I thought (like we all do as kids) that I lived the typical experience, but as I explore the recent sudden loss of my Mom, I’m learning (through talking with a great grief counselor), I experienced a fair amount of trauma -well beyond the trauma associated with coming from an otherwise  “healthy,” divorced family (side note: I am by no means advocating that coming from a divorced family equates to an “unhealthy” family, just as I’m not saying coming from an intact “unhealthy” family provides some faux buffer) One person’s trauma may be another’s non-issue; God wired us all different and some of us may be more seasoned in coping mechanisms than others,  I get it.  But for me,  I think between those exposures and my natural “be in control of yourself”/ “careful’ personality, one that prefers more security and predictability than wild abandon, struggling with panic and anxiety attacks on and off since my early adulthood – isn’t too hard understand.  Life is unpredictable. Bad things do happen to good people, feelings go somewhere. If you don’t deal with them “then” they don’t magically dissipate, they go somewhere (explosive anger outbursts, numbing with drugs/alcohol to keep those pesky/uncomfortable feelings in check, multiple unhealthy relationships, loose boundaries, enmeshment, etc…) Pick your poison people (and we all have ‘em) some of us just aren’t as transparent and willing to get them all “parade-ready” to prance across your monitor screen like me. Oh, and you’re welcome. 😊

While I’ve always known grief is a personal process and no two experiences the same; I didn’t realize that the emotions attached to it, may seem completely atypical. Crying, tears, sadness, yes… .these are all well universally accepted and expected reactions.  For me, the first 2 months I had far less of that and a whole heaping helping, southern-Grandma style of panic attacks. And I’m not trying to brag here, but they were pretty damn impressive at that! While driving with your kiddo on I35? “Oh yea! “While sitting in church, “Mmmm, my favorite, thanks God!” In the middle of a work meeting? “Hey who doesn’t love trying to contain sheer panic while positive you look like a meth addict for fidgeting in your seat trying to get yourself in check with the life and death matter playing out in your head, all while giving a project update. Talk about multitasking? Good times. Um huh, the best!

Recently, things are slowly starting to shift for me, the panic/anxiety hasn’t completely left my life, but it doesn’t direct my life it was for a spell there, with great support, I am learning to make time for feelings. Like, in an intentional, sacrificial way- kind of time. I’m a doer people, a survivor – for 44+ years now, I press on, make the most of it and as that “Bad News Bears” look alike cutie yelled at me as I hoofed it around that wood floor skating rink in Roswell, GA some 32+ years ago, “Keep on Trucking” Side note: Is it sad this nameless, random strangers words all those years ago, still rank as one of my Top 5 “Yea Me” moments? Or that I even have “Yea Me” moments at all? I do. It’s part of my self care, as I kinda tend to be pretty rough on myself due to high expectations, but I’m working on that every.dang.day.

Here’s my new challenge, to surrender. When we give negative thoughts/words/emotions power, that’s when things get sideways…quickly. Whether it be negative self talk, hatred towards others/ourselves, Those emotions can overwhelm, stifle, and skew reality. Surrender isn’t a word I’ve given much credence to in the past. To be honest, it had a bit of a negative connotation to me, (after all my husband even credited my “bad assery” in our wedding vows, I have a reputation to uphold here!),  but I’m learning that anything you ‘hate’ about yourself or others plants shame and other emotions that  gain fuel and even greater power. So, I’m challenging myself and I’d like to challenge you too - try surrendering.  No, it is not easy, and no this isn’t a “get out of jail card” for inaction either. It’s an active, engaged action, a verb. I’ll save you diehards a Wiki search:

Surrender

Verb

Cease resistance to an enemy or opponent and submit to their authority.

Naked & Afraid

The naked truth. Have you ever watched the show, “Naked & Afraid?” It almost paralyzes me to think about the notion.  A) I am afraid of all reptiles, like phobic about them, and equally not a fan of most anything with fangs, teeth, or the ability to consume me for supper.  B) You are facing these aforementioned wild elements- naked, with a stranger. Naked. Like no forgiving self-tanner generously applied, no concealer, no smoke and mirrors. It’s all just there in its natural, dimply, pastey white glory for all to see. Or all for the stranger to see. The viewing audience at home has to use a smidge of imagination to “guess” what’s beneath the blurry area that some say is where the good Lord split ya, for instance.  All of this terrifies me far beyond the 28 days you are there without food or water supply.  More than scared, I think I would mostly  feel sympathetic. Sympathetic for the person who “drew the short straw” stranger that got me as their partner the next month.  For my lack of any type of survival skills, or desire to forage/hunt/kill anything. Mainly though,  my sympathy is for the person that will undoubtedly bring themselves to commit murder. And I will be the cause.  They would kill me to stop my whining. I’m positive of this.  Ever been with me when I am (multiple answers are applicable) Hungry? Tired? Scared? Experiencing nature? Hot? Headachey? PMS? Overwhelmed? Stressed out? On a High ledge? Sunburned? Eaten alive by mosquitoes?  In all seriousness….I am dead serious. I am confident, I would meet my demise for my excessive whine and thick, yet tender, thighs.  C’mon, I’d totally expect you to then take nourishment from me – it’s the least I could offer.

I say all this because – it’s true, Hell on Earth to me would be the above scenario, Ok. Not Hell, but throw in some Algebraic word problems to the above situation and that, THAT would be my hell on Earth. Without a doubt.

I share this because I realized some time ago that I have someone in my life, that would only want to be in the Hell On Earth scenario described above if it was WITH me. And that my friends - is a miracle. Truly, miraculous. There is someone who gets me at my best, my “Meh”, my most giving, my most beautiful, my ugliest, my most selfish and a host of additional states and still says, I choose you. And to clarify, yes, to my Christian friends, Jesus- Jesus does this for us and loves us in this way & how amazingly humbling is it. But I’m talking about a person, in the flesh.  A fellow beautiful and flawed spirit, that knows all this, and would choose me anyway, despite of it, BECAUSE of it.  I am often mystified as to why/how? 

The truth is, moving in with Matt & the girls has been more of a REALITY check than I bet either Matt or I envisioned. In one instance it is bliss, BLISS I say!  As our kiddos giggle, laugh, play and we all engage and build our family memories; in the next, there is conflict, or frustration surrounding 5 people who know and love one another suddenly LIVING under one roof and try to make sense of expectations, or rules, or assumptions.  We anticipated much of it, but something’s have taken us by surprise and I’ll be the first to say, a demanding job, parenting, 2 homes, and trying to truly LIVE life often times has me at far short of the best version of “me.”  Lest I mention, 2 approaching Tweendom kiddos, one perimenopausal broad, a cat that likes to piddle outside the litterbox on occasion, a too small garage for all the crap in it, and a guy that likes to sing show tunes incessantly. ;) 

But, through it all, being “naked” (talking metaphorically, get your mind out of the gutter, people. The real-deal me, the good the bad, the ugly)  and most definitely “afraid” (did we give the kids enough time, too much time, 2^nd marriages have an even higher divorce rate than first, etc..) and yet, he chooses me, over and over and over again to go on this adventure. And although at times, I may feel like I’m “going” kicking & screaming, because I AM “naked” and I AM “afraid,” there isn’t another person on this Earth that  I’d want to be on this adventure with either.  Not a one. Nope.

In under 10 months, we’ll be married; dealing with who knows what new stuff, and very likely much of what we are already facing. 

In the show, ‘Naked & Afraid’, you get to bring one “survival tool” with you on your journey.  As 2015 looms, I think I know what mine needs to be for our journey.  If you’ve read along, thanks for your interest. I’d ask that you pray for me & that I always remember what my “survival tool” is & pray for us and our family as we take on this new adventure. No doubt we are in for quite a story!

Here’s to an EPIC/BLESSED/FANTASTCIAL/MEANINGFUL 2015!

Skimming off the Top

An article I saw in my newsfeed this week made me stop dead in my tracks, “10 Reasons to Make Your Bed Everyday.”  Of course I didn’t read said article, I had no time to, but as I read the title it hit me; that title and all the creative, adorable,  Elf on the Shelf posts I’ve seen lately….I haven’t been living at all lately, I’ve been skimming off the top.  And when I say “lately” I mean a good part of the last 3 years or so.  My thought of why should I make my bed daily was immediately met with, “Hell. I can’t recall when I changed the sheets last, let alone make my bed every.single.day” (short of throwing the duvet towards the headboard as I exit the bed each frantic morning) Thankfully they’re flannel, so I at least know it’s been sometime in last 1.5 – 2 months given my flannel sheets make an appearance the same time my big fleece robe surfaces. Don’t judge me. Or judge me.  I honestly don’t care, but I venture to say there is at least one other person out there that more funky sheets than I.  At least that’s my hope.  But I digress, back to “skimming…”

When I first went through my divorce, some 5 years ago; God provided me the most amazing support system and circumstances. I had friends encircling and supporting me, a new job that challenged me, but didn’t demand of me more time or energy than I could muster each day. I focused on myself- my health, my time, my heart, my son, my friends.  Sometime since then - some challenges and transitions have transpired, taking on buying my own home, a demanding sales job in a competitive industry –totally new to me (two different times), meeting and falling in love with a great guy with 2 lively daughters, a bright son that struggles with attention and focus at school & home, keeping said home cared for and maintained, trying to continually find new sales opportunities as I feel my way through what has worked, what hasn’t-for a company new to the metro, still trying to have time to talk a walk, shoot, make a phone call to loved ones, read the Target Ad, put on those new windshield wipers that have been in my trunk the last 3 weeks, and oh yeah, make the most of the 15 days each month I have my kiddo, and our family of 5 is semi- together – with the multitude of activities and different counties these activities take place in.

The long and short of it is, I seem to manage one,  maybe two,  if I give myself some grace…well.  Or at least, sufficiently, at any given time. The issue being,  I continually have many, many spinning objects at once.  Some out of obligatory guilt(getting better there), some because I know it will “fill my cup”, some because it has to get done period and some because I think that’s what a loving: Mom/fiancée/friend/coworker/human ought to do.  But none of it, zero, would I say I do well. Or feel like I do well, at least. Simply because there are so many roles I play- what’s most pressing at that moment is what gets me; my attention, my time. 

In these oh so rare moments of reflection, I know in my heart of hearts, this is not the way I want to live life. I want to actually LIVE, not skim through life. I want so desperately to feel like I have committed and invested in those things that I say mean the most to me. In truth, I have failed miserably in that if that’s the measuring stick. I literally owe everyone and their brother: a call, a text, a lunch, a coffee, a random “Hey, how the hell are you?”  It’s a list that started accumulating years ago and no doubt continues to grow  (& shrink by those who got tired of waiting, perhaps) and while I have tried to be intentional to mark some of those off the list, it’s only met with another item added to it.

Short of winning the lottery, our economy suddenly operating off smiles versus monetary exchange or cloning coming to fruition…I don’t see added hours in a day, me magically having more energy than I already do, or a reduction in “gosta’s  or wantsta’s” any time soon.  Which creates a vicious cycle. I know I’m just “skimming off the top” when I want to be scuba diving to the bottom; the question of the day, or more so, year is – what am I willing to do or risk to stop skimming and start diving?