If you read this post, you’d know that in honor of my 40th birthday I addressed the things that I dreamed about that I didn’t accomplish. It was a way to be complete, to let go of old dreams to make room for new.
I had said that I was going to write a list of my accomplishments. I wrote the list on paper, sitting in my car while waiting for L to finish her piano class. It felt fine to do it, but I am not going to put it on my blog. It seems…too…self-indulgent. Besides, this way when I need some crazy story about my past, I haven’t already used it for a list.
Interestingly, after I wrote the list, I didn’t feel better about myself. I didn’t feel a surge of confidence or more clarity about what I am supposed to do next. Funny. I thought I would. Especially after looking at the things I hadn’t accomplished. But I knew all of those already and so many were, frankly, old. I thought, “If my old high school friends read this, it would sound sad.”
So where does that leave me? Tonight, I’m not sure. Been rough with my daughter the past few weeks, I’m struggling to write this unwieldy, overwhelming article where I have to act like a real reporter and confront public officials about unworkable policies (never done that before), and I need to have three different confronting personal conversations, none of which I want to have. I’m not much in the mood to create big plans or tout my own successes.
Right now, I need a plan to get through this week. A plan for the rest of my life will have to wait.