Saturday I could have gone to a march.
Sunday I could have gone to a race that I paid big bucks to run.
I did neither, both for moderately good reasons, but both activities would have pushed me out of my comfort zone. Sunday morning, as I sat around the house sitting with what I had not done, I felt like I’d caged my potential, like I’d let fear roll over me with a gigantic frowny face emoji that had popped all over me and drenched me in the yellow goo of regret.
The experience reminded me—apparently I needed a reminder—that I’m happiest with who I am when I step out of my squishy, well-padded, perfectly-molded-to-me box…and when I do so on a regular basis.
That box has high walls. It takes a lot of guts to scale it and a lot of energy.
I spent Sunday battling disappointment in myself but not really for good reasons.
Saturday I went to a writers’ meeting and heard a great speaker and got to catch up with some of my writing friends. Sunday I finished a first draft.
Did you hear that? I finished a first draft!
That’s a HUGE check on my to-do list. It’s something that should inspire pride, not disappointment.
Also, I did laundry and cleaned a few (very few) parts of the house, all of which needed to be completed, for the sake of my sanity and so my children could go to school in clean clothes.
My kids can go to school in clean clothes!
I can’t use that word anymore. I think we’re going to have to drain the dictionary of that word.
How about…super? Great? Monumental?
I need to forgive myself for the weekend-that-wasn’t, move on, and plan better.
Next time, I’m going to knit up my Pussy Hat and go…even if I can’t think up a catchy phrase to put on a sign.
Next time, I’m not going to sign up for that race. This is the second race in a row that I’ve decided against (the first one I didn’t register for.) Maybe I need to accept that racing isn’t important to me anymore, that, for now, running with my daughter on the afternoons that she’s interested in doing so are the running highs that racing used to give me.
I’m okay with that. Because running with her is WAY better than racing.
Maybe this weekend was me figuring out what’s important and what’s not. Maybe I’m riding the wave of figuring that out along with the rest of the county. Maybe the entire United States is figuring out what to hold tight to, what to fight for, and what to let go of.
Family time = important
March and action = important
Writing = important
The rest can slough away like drippy yellow goo and in the process, lighten me up and let me climb out of that box and brave the important stuff a little easier.
And that’s super!