One year ago this weekend, I was up north in my old homeland at the “Prom.” Like its high-school counterpart, it signified a series of endings to come — a job, the move of my best friend/partner in crime to northern climes, a relationship and, in effect, life as I’d known it.
Ah, to be 18 again … at 36!
Normally I’m a huge fan of change, but even that was a bit much for me. Even if, to be perfectly honest, I was more than ready to move on from most — if not all — of it.
Fast-forward to this weekend, where I found myself at a lovely holiday party, in the state I’ve come to love, on the cusp of nothing but beginnings. New job, new friends, unexpected (but very welcome) reconnections with many old friends and, well, let’s just say hope. Cautious hope, but hope nonetheless.
The 18-year-old me would look at 37-year-old me, though, and bop her over the head with a blunt object. What’s with the caution, she would ask. How can you doubt yourself at a time like this? Blaze your trail, sister — ain’t nobody going to do it for you.
Sometimes I wish I could hang out with that version of myself. I wonder what she’d say about how I couldn’t come up with a million-dollar idea even if someone fronted me the money … how nervous I am that the new (so far wonderful) job will put me out on my ass like the last one did (and I even know that the decision wasn’t exactly performance-related) … how afraid I am to blog anymore because everybody to whom I owe work will ask why I’m not working on their stuff instead … how terrified I am of not having multiple income streams because I JUST DON’T KNOW if it’s going to work out with the primary gig … and, hell, let’s face it — I’m out of practice with this “matters of the heart” stuff — what am I going to do to keep that moving along in the right direction when I’m at both the highest point of my life with the lowest amount of confidence?
And what’s funny is that I’m OK carrying that load. Well, not really, but God and I have a deal that I will willingly accept the minor inconveniences and the uncertainties as long as I don’t have to deal with the “big” unspeakable things. I’ll keep being as good a person as I can be, and I won’t question Him unless it’s to ask for grace and some favor when He can spare it.
It’s the home situation that’s weighing upon me … making all the other things look so much smaller and, yet, magnifying them at the same time. It’s just another place I’ve failed, I feel. I’ve spent the last five years feeling like my grandfather must have, the way my grandmother treated him and put him down for being worthless. (He was the opposite of worthless — the man was a saint, and at least Mom and I worshipped him accordingly.)
But yeah, I’ve been a “husband” of sorts since Mom moved in — and where I’ve managed to be a provider and a problem-solver and the social director (albeit barely, this past year), her health continues to decline and I still haven’t found a way to fix it. I spent the last four years rallying against that role — she needed to advocate for herself. But she hasn’t and she won’t and, let’s face it, she just can’t.
Now I swear I need to get her a psychologist, too, on top of everything else. I mean, I had SUCH a good night last night. And I take one look at her and it’s not that I feel guilty for having fun, but that I can’t maintain that warm-fuzzy feeling for more than two seconds after walking in the door. It’s back to reality and sadness and stress. Lots of love but it’s a challenge every day for the frustration not to try to bubble to the surface.
I had thought getting the job would change all of that … that I’d be back in my old groove in no time and that I’d get some “wins” under my belt right away that would revolutionize my mindset and give me back my, “I am Goddess, hear me roar” power.
Meh. Not so much.
Right now I’m at the point of “Oh God, please don’t let them fire me” street where it intersects with “God please help me shine — I know I can shine. How can I show them how much I can shine?” avenue.
The rest will fall into place, once I get that figured out. But fear isn’t motivating me. It never really did. Deadlines do, of course. 
But right now I’m working around the clock, not doing anything to change the world, certainly not sleeping enough, and ALWAYS feeling guilty that I didn’t do more, more, more.
I’m not sure what will happen with the new glimmer of hope in my life. Hopefully not “the usual,” wherein “the usual” means I find some way to sabotage it before it can go anywhere because there’s that part of me that doesn’t feel like I deserve anything good because I don’t know how to take care of it.
Eighteen-year-old me, by the way, just asked me when that feeling cropped up in my life, so she can squelch it when she sees it. Oh, to have told my 30-year-old self that life isn’t fair but it’s not worth losing your joy over it…
Today I finally deleted old flames’ photos from my iPhone library. (But not Jon Bon Jovi. He stays!) That was too long in coming. I guess I liked having proof that I’ve been loved. But I don’t want the old energy to hold me back. Goodbye, boys. I can’t meet my future when I’m carrying around the past.
Thirty-year-old me just said, “Um, yeah, hello? Might want to do that with all your old jobs, too. Trash those mental pictures and all the scars and strife that went with them. Can’t do well in your new job when your head is still stuck in what went wrong in all the prior ones.”
So anyway, I really like this guy. I want this to go right. I don’t want to look back and point to the moment where I could have done better but didn’t. I want him to meet the sparkling, charming, carefree, determined and audacious Goddess of yesteryear — I think he’d really like her. Right now I just can’t imagine him digging what’s become of her because, most days, I really don’t.
If I could just get some free time back … if I could just find time to go to the beach (although I did today — at his urging, go figure) … if I could exercise and eat right again … if I could just come home and not feel like the weight of the world is on me or that I could at least handle it … I could do so much better for everyone who’s counting on me.
Like I always tell my mom, worry brings about what you’re worrying about. And I believe in manifesting what you want. I manifested this guy. I would like to manifest a way to keep the conversation going — I like this feeling I get and would like to feel this way a lot more.
Anyway, I think this may go somewhere. I hope so, anyway. Maybe everything else will fall into place once I know what happiness feels like.
I used to be a girl who never minded waiting to see what my Christmas gift would be. Never needed any hints, never bothered shaking the box to try to figure it out. And now, I’d give anything to know what next Christmas will look like. Maybe that’s what will get me through right now.
Failure is not an option, Goddess. Not on any front. Just don’t let everything get (and keep) you down. Eighteen-year-old you is counting on you to make her dreams come true. So’s 38-year-old you, who’s counting on you to make next year’s Christmas the best one of her life.
