Everyday is a miracle

Then why is it so hard keep from being a mess?

I’ve had the same conversation with myself as soon as I wake up every morning for as long as I can remember. I’m not talking about as far back as youth, but recent history, and surely the last 25 or so years. It’s a conversation that begins, “Today is going to be different…” Different than what? Today, I’m not going to fuck around. I’m going to go on a diet. I’m going to wake up early and get all the things done. Today is going to be life-changing. Radical. All the things will be good from here on out.

It’s a great mindset to start the day, but it is one that ultimately leads to failure and disappointment. Because, some days, I win, and most days, I lose, always thinking I’ll do more-more-more and hating myself when I do less.

I’m a week out from my last undergraduate class. Three weeks out from graduation. I’m stuffing in quilting and pottery and schoolwork and finals and photography and needlepoint and reading and familying and friending and and movie watching and gardening and doing all the things to make up for the last 20 years of child-raising when I wasn’t living for myself. It’s too much. I have skipped the part where I burn the candle at both ends and have just plopped the whole damn thing in a hot pan. It’s liquified.

With age comes the realization that it becomes marginally harder every day to do all the things you want to do. Everything hurts a little more. I keep saying I will dial back. Expectations. Tasks. Time wasting. I keep saying I need to be more kind to myself. To learn to dial things back. Take things slowly.

I am beginning to wonder if this part of myself will always be broken. Or maybe that’s not being broken at all. Maybe that’s just what it means to be alive.

May! Where are you!?!