Sometimes I feel like this blog is dying, and I’m ok with it. I just don’t feel the burning desire to post as often anymore, in fact, I can’t remember the last time I felt that way. I still enjoy writing but its different now. I’m just not sure what to write about anymore. I am no longer spending my time getting riled up over something I’ve read on the internet. I feel like that part of me is either dormant or gone, and I can’t say I’m sad about it. I mean, I miss a little bit of my fire here and there, but I don’t miss feeling personally victimized by everything I read.
Its hard to put into words where I’m at right now. I’ve been doing some soul-searching for a while. Trying to decide how I want life to be at this stage. Not much has come from it yet. I did a 31 day journaling exercise to try and gain some clarity (in 14 days because I’m antsy and an over-achiever) which made me decide I needed more time for myself. I decided to wake up an hour before anyone else in the family every day to give myself time. But I LOATHE waking up early, and couldn’t figure out what I wanted to use that time for. I thought yoga, meditation, writing, but because I couldn’t be concrete about it, the first morning my alarm went off in the dark, dark early morning, I hit snooze and never set that alarm again.
Instead of adding things, I’ve been giving them up, making space for the new, whatever its supposed to be. I’m trying to learn (going on 31 years now) how to be patient, not to force things, to just let them unfold as they are supposed to. I quit a job that I was certain I was meant to do. I have given up little side jobs I had for extra income. I’m writing less and less.
Honestly, I’m not really sure what I’m doing. A couple years ago I had so many things up in the air I could hardly breathe, so many jobs, so much work, so many commitments. Cutting things out has certainly been good for me emotionally, hard on us financially, and also has left room for me to be a little restless.
I watched the finale of This is Us and felt a pit in my stomach as I was watching the fight between Rebecca and Jack, the part where she says she has no life. It’s a fear that has started slowly creeping in. Leaving my full-time career to work part-time from home and be with my kids every hour of the day was 100% my choice and desire, but its startling how all of a sudden I am lost as to what my purpose is outside of my family. Certainly I am needed, desperately, at this stage. It is all-consuming and completely overwhelming at times how desperately I am needed. I know given the choice again, 100 times out of 100 I would make the same choice. But I know it will gradually end. And then what will be left?
About a month before I got pregnant with my second baby, I had lunch with a couple of people I knew professionally. We were talking about my job and one of them looked at me and said “I mean, is that really all you want to be doing?” It was a comment from a male without children and I felt instantly defensive. I thought about it the other day and it still burned me remembering it. Like what I was doing wasn’t enough, wasn’t important, wasn’t satisfying. And I guess it burns because some part of me believes it might be true.
Sometimes I all but scream out to the Universe “WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO BE DOING??” I lay on my yoga mat and repeat mentally “I am open to whats next” like a calm, serene yogi and then I write that and get a little scared because WHAT DOES THAT MEAN and what if its scary and what if I’m NOT ready yet?
So I’m making space for the new, and it means I don’t have a lot to say right now. Its hard to write when your searching, when you just don’t know where you are headed yet.