There’s a word that separates Your and Self - a word that allows you to set your goals, commit to your workout, juice your greens, save your money, hit your target, meet your soulmate, meditate to keep calm and carry on in pursuit of your best self. Whereas being yourself doesn’t require anything - not a dash, not a comma, not a space.
I got married 21 years ago today. That’s 21 years of struggles and stress, celebrations and surprises (some more pleasant than others). 21 years of my belly growing, my heart expanding and my tolerance increasing as I learned to make room in and around myself for the (amazing) people that I share my life with.
21 years of figuring out how to compromise, to share, to think of others without losing myself.
The problem with getting what you want is that there is always more want underneath. Once you satisfy your appetite for food or for things or for power or for experiences, your desire becomes unleashed. There is more to want. More to yearn for, more to long for.
Grief has no rationale. It doesn’t care how old they were, how ill they were, how close you were.
Grief grabs you at your chest and squeezes relentlessly, just a moment longer than you think you can hold with a sudden and momentary release so that you can inhale sharply before you’re squeezed again. (Best to have a paper bag nearby to help with breathing.)
My friend L and I caught up last week. Her nanny had left to tend to family matters, and L hadn’t hired a new one yet. “What surprises me is not how much I’m enjoying being home with the kids, but how much I want to be home with them. I’ve always loved working - I never thought I would want that.”
It’s summertime, which means I am spending more time with my kids, which is sometimes awesome and sometimes awful, which pretty much sums up my entire parenting experience, which reminds me why parenting sucks.
Purpose is a problem because it tangles us up inside. Like a fish caught in a net that becomes more enmeshed as he tries to escape. It is often related to our outside selves (and frequently confused with What Do You Do?).
March is not my favorite month. It’s a time when I first experienced overwhelming grief. The kind that takes your breath away and makes no promises as to when you will get it back. A time when I experienced loss. Of relationships whose time had come but the parting of which left me torn.