So, nearly a month in and I think it’s safe to say that I am officially a college student. Not that I wasn’t a student before, but now at a college that can give me a degree in Psychology, getting more and more excited about my education while becoming more and more aware of the insane amount of reading that goes with being a full time student. I must say that I am moved back to an overwhelming feeling of awe for those adults whom are able to juggle this, the family, the relationship, the work etc. With all these super important balls flying around in the air, I can’t help but think that at some points in the day/week/month/year, the balls must look like big scary knives threatening to slice down and kill at any moment.
Being an adult is sometimes very hard.
I haven’t taken the time to write here in quite a while, an intentional move in that with school beginning, a two year plus relationship to tend to – they say that this is when the honeymoon phase is over – and of course, trying to participate in that self-care thing, I worry that public self-reflection will cause much added grief. Which is ridiculous because I am releasing a book that is entirely self-reflection, haha, a book I wrote about myself, which will be super public and super un-takeable-backable. So maybe when I say I worry that the self-reflection will cause much grief it’s all bullshit. Maybe I should call bullshit on myself.
I should call bullshit.
I think what has been happening, with the lack of writing and checking in is that after this last time reading through the book, after this last time of reading every single word I’d crafted, most with the help of my wonderful sherpa Sarah, I am kind of experiencing this “holy fucking shit” moment. Not regret- I’m not regretting writing the thing. Not regretting releasing. Maybe living? And yes, I do no wish to forget the past, and I will not shut the door on it, but some of the things I am now seeing that have been part of my life, from the way I drank to the way I partied to the way I thought, man. It was all so destructive.
I am a demolition expert.
I am trying to be better at construction.
Of course the double edged sword in having a personal blog over a period of years, is that in addition to being able to see how far I’ve come (in terms of writing abilities, mindset etc), I can also see from where I came. And some of that vision is terrifying. Because it’s all just a few steps away, isn’t it?
I few left-footed steps in the wrong direction, and I’ve lost the beat of the dance.
A tiny adjustment to a sail, and five hundred yards later, I’m totally off course.
I am trying to keep my affairs in order, to trust that all is as it should be, to believe in that which is greater than myself, but still, there is a struggle. Even with all the proof that has filled my pudding.
A wonderful man, who gave me the most wonderful Valentine’s Day present ever. Literally, the best present I’ve ever been given. A Valentine’s Day handwritten love letter. With a Valentine’s Day love letter preamble.
Enrolled full-time in a good school where I’m confident that I belong, and not afraid of where my ideas have been formed or the voice with which I get to speak.
Incredible relationships with my family, my Dad, Mom, Step-Dad, Mr. Man’s parents, all these wonderful parents in my life, after what feels like a lifetime without. I couldn’t be a more blessed child.
A book on the way, lady friends I can trust, mentors and heros. A legitimate job, a paid-in-full car, not a single trace of her, except of course, in my feminist ethics class where I have some anecdotal evidence to support my ideas about you know what. Ha. The support system that surrounds me still takes my breath away, because the second I close my eyes and wish to fall away, it isn’t simply that the support is there, it’s that wonderful, passionate, inspiring people are whispering about what I could be seeing if I have the courage to open my eyes, all while gently propping me up. I have learned to trust not only the process, but also the people within that process. Intimacy, while difficult and complex, is no longer an abstract concept that makes alligator tears in my eyes. It’s something I get to live, to breathe, to experience, with every cell in my body.
And so I end this post with love. With confusion and hesitation. WIth gratitude and humility (please release from me…). With a teensy bit of impending doom, which I’ve been told is a super natural place for an addict to be. And with the firm belief that not only will everything be okay, but also, that it already is. School will be hard. Life will be full. Relationships take work, and are totally worth it. I will not do any of these things perfectly. And I am okay with that.