It’s a rainy, dull, “ache-in-my-bones” kind of day here in Chicago.
I feel crappy.
Affirmations are not working. I try giving myself a pep talk but it falls flat. I’ve been sitting in front of the computer trying to edit a book I’m writing and…nothing. There’s no flow. Every word is a struggle. One of my favorite songs drones on and on, and I hardly realize I’ve been playing the same song on a repeat cycle.
My snippy attitude this weekend has my husband slamming pots and pans from the dishwasher into the cabinet. The stress of an upcoming move is getting to us. We’re learning to let go of the stuff we’ve accumulated over the years, yet we’re having a hard time agreeing on what to part with and what to keep. At the moment, we can’t even agree on paint colors to freshen the walls with. It seems ironic that we’re finally giving the house an updated look, and we won’t be around to enjoy it. For us, moving ranks high on the stress scale.
The cold seems to seep through my bones. I was just in Maui–I have no right to complain, yet I do.
I need a nap. I need a workout. I need to lose 20 pounds. I need to create a powerpoint. I need to pack. I need to be a better mom, a better daughter, a better cousin. I need to do this… and that… I need a reset button to push somewhere.
Yet, do I really? Do we really?
We often beat ourselves up pretty good when we should be embracing who we are. We take it easy when we could be pushing the limits. We push ourselves to do more when we could be rejoicing in what we have now. We hold back, we say too much, we cross the lines, and we fumble. We start up again, over again, or off in a new direction.
It’s called being beautifully human.