Every once in a while, usually in the aftermath of a near-meltdown, the universe arbitrarily decides this, THIS is the day when you will realize–no, you will remember–your life is not so bad.
After great pain, a cringy feeling comes.
All your debilitating anxiety from the previous year melts away and you realize you’ve settled into a routine that is working for you. And you feel a little ashamed at all your fussing and fretting. Ok, I do. I feel a little ashamed.
The routine is not three jobs and single-momming a toddler, as previously stated. At least not for me. It probably is for some
nut warrior, somewhere. Two jobs, I’ve decided, is much more manageable. I can pay my bills, spend time with my little guy, write, and not go broke paying for daycare. I like the work I’m doing and can see opportunities for advancement in both positions. My commute for my morning job is four minutes; my commute for my afternoon job is the walk from my son’s room to my room after I put him down for a nap. My family are taking turns watching Jax for the few hours I’m gone in the morning, depending on their work schedules. I love them for that, and Jax gets to play his flat little behind off with all the people who love him most, every day.
And I’m writing, did I mention that? A lot.
Because guess what? When you settle in, you find your stride, and you’re happier, and you have time and energy for stuff you like to do. I realized a while ago that if I’m not hitting that point–where I’m super busy but having fun and feeling happy–then something has to go. You aren’t settling in if you’re running around like a crazy person. You’re surviving. Barely.
So I’m settling into a routine, after uprooting my entire life last summer. It feels good. I feel grateful. But settling in doesn’t mean settling down.
…I take random turns onto back roads when I’m out running errands, just to drive around and blast music and maybe Instagram a pic of something stupid. Like my Docs.
I climb mountains. I run through the woods in my Docs. Even when it’s crappy outside.
I got drunk on Stegmaier Porters watching the Steelers’ one playoff game with friends. Drunk!
I am a wild woman.
I’m a grateful, humbled, happy, writing, moming, grunge-loving, mountain-climbing wild woman.
I remember now.