I’m stretching myself, molding myself like cold clay into warm gooiness in moments throughout the day. It’s the feeling of slipping from a too-stiff shoe into a memory foam slipper. That’s the goal, anyway. The iron-hot tension in my chest seems to have other plans, strong-arming, saying, you have your work cut out for you.
The buyer’s real estate agent’s concern with the roof is quelled, and so is the uncertainty about whether the buyer will back out. Paula’s surgery to remove a tumor behind her eye is scheduled for mid-July, close to the time we’re shoving off to Georgia. Thankfully, the dates are flexible, and we will have a week with her post-surgery.
Am I already feeling the untethered effects that come with a future of living cross-country and having less ability to support or help my friends and family? Maybe.
I’m struggling to find words tonight. There’s this unshakable feeling, this tension, that feels like I’m a pot under pressure. The word “inescapable” comes to mind. Something is chasing me, whether it’s this belief I’m messing up or doing something wrong. Whatever it is, my body is responding.
When I feel this way, I often talk with a friend about it. But that’s not what I want. I need space.
Both Dave and I have been daydreaming. Of our porch in Georgia under an 8-blade fan’s breeze. That’s the extent of our daydreaming, just being there. Is all the future to-do’s between now and Georgia pushing me down?
Even though I’m feeling off, I’m grateful I have writing. Even if I don’t totally understand what’s going on with me, I have this space. There is a gentle presence that I give myself between sentences. I sit, allow myself to breathe, feel, glance around the room, and relax while listening to the “My Likes” playlist in my headphones.
I care about myself. I do. I think I’m pretty great. Sometimes, in the racing and pleasing, pacing and the next thing, I forget to take a moment and let myself know how appreciative I am for my hard work. I’m quick to point out where I’ve done wrong, but right? I do so much right. So, so much. And I just want to say how grateful for who I am and all I do.
And I want to tell you, dear reader, we can do hard things. We can do very, very hard things.
I love you.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 