I realized today that I hadn’t written since May. And my post from May was posting pictures from February. And I didn’t say much about the in-between.
There was a lot that happened. Things are good, now. But for a while, it was very, very bad. Although, I admit, I do dramatize for effect, sometimes, and I get wrapped up in things more than I probably should. It just wasn’t good and I was stressed out, but made some changes that, thankfully, have seemed to work for the better.
I am feeling better now than I have in a long while. And I am thankful for that.
I don’t know that I have any readers, here. I have written so sporadically that anyone who does read, probably has read before and followed from somewhere else. One thing that you would know if you had read for a while is that I am a journal keeper – it’s actually one of the things that brought me to sharing my life online (and un-sharing…and sharing again.)
One of the things that I have found in my “journalling life” is that an issue will continue to repeat, like a cycle, until you do something about it that changes course. I have a few “theme issues” that repeat and repeat and repeat. But I needed to get to a breaking point before I could do anything about it…or at least, that’s what seems to need to happen for change to go down.
So, I made a very risky choice. And it worked out. But at first? I thought it backfired. And that I had made a very big mistake.
One of the things that I try to do is to think, “So what? What’s the worst possible thing that could happen?” (And this is difficult to do, because I go to the most dire, desperate situation EVER, because I think very black and white about everything.) And, I think I learned this from an episode of Dr. Phil that happened to be on when I needed to see it (like most things, if you pay attention), but it comes to reframing how you think about it: “This happened. Not the worst thing in the world. I made it through it. What next?” But when you’re in the thick of things? It’s very, very hard to do.
But, I made it through.
I was thinking this morning about my baby book. (Somehow, between waking and my shower, it popped into my brain. Weird. Does this happen to other people? Must be just me.) Anyway, there were three years’ between me and my next youngest sibling coming along, so the book was actually completed for more than the first year or two. (Which is more than I could say for my son’s book…) There was a section that included the first comments from the doctors and new parents about the baby.
Let me say, I was born three months’ premature and growing up, I refused to look at the “pre-due date” photos of myself. (A scrawny, ugly red chicken thing.) The comments? The doctor said “Baby – ok.” I don’t remember what my mom said. My dad said, “She’s tough.”
(He was always the optimist, my dad. He still is.)
It’s probably the only time I’ve been called “tough” my entire life. Quiet, yes. Sensitive, yes. Tough? Not so much.
When this year began, my husband and I talked about it and I said that I felt like it would be a good year. That I felt like things were shifting – that good things would be happening. We went to Nepal in the midst of all the crap and it was good to be a literal world away, at the time. Although I couldn’t really truly enjoy it.
Next trip will be better.
I wrote SO MUCH while we were in Nepal. The house was cold, but the roof was warm and we would sit out on battered sling-back chairs and read books or journal (me). I wrote over fifty pages and read over sixteen books (thank goodness they were on the Kindle). I felt smarter and more in-tune with myself than I had been in a long while. I thought about the kind of lives we are living; the kind of lives we want.
When we ended the trip, I had honestly debated just staying.
Maybe someday, we will.
For now, our lives are here. If my son’s schooling wasn’t an issue, you never know, it might be there.
It’s hard, with my husband’s parents getting older, having them there and us, here. For now, they are healthy and we can afford to see them. But a few weeks’ every few years isn’t much time. And that’s what it’s about, right? Time.
We went on a safari. Rode on elephants. Avoided malaria. Spent way too much time in a rented car with a driver who was insane…there wasn’t enough time to spend doing small things like holding Maa’s hand (my husband’s grandma, who I adore) or hearing stories. I tell my husband that he needs to write these things down. He isn’t the memory keeper of our family, though. I am.
I need to ask.
I need to listen.
I have learned that I need to do a better job at living in the present.
To have faith.
To change the things I can and to not worry about the things that I can’t.
(I’m still learning.)
I’m still finding answers, (although maybe not looking for them so much.)