I’m debriefing with myself. Sitting in quiet curiosity, wondering what the hell built the bedrock of insecurity and self-doubt I’ve been standing on.
For one, I believed I owed people. The people who followed me, who found value and pleasure in what I created—I felt indebted to them. So even when my psyche crumbled like moist bread dripping through my fingers, the show HAD TO GO ON.
Until it didn’t.
Like an exasperated parent hauling a flailing kid out of Walmart, I marched myself straight to the car and drove home. Game over. Pull the plug. No more creating TikTok content for me.
And honestly? I feel spectacular. Never better. Scattered moments of obligation came, but each time I met them with, “You don’t have to.” That steadfast, caring presence I gave myself felt not only supportive, but like I’d finally done the right thing—by me.
Later, walking through the heavy glass doors at Site One, the cheerful young guy at customer service asked, “How y’all doing?”
I started to say, “Good.” But then I remembered I was at my favoritest place in the universe—surrounded by every plant, tree, shrub, grass, and groundcover a girl could ever hope for—so I corrected myself: “Actually, I’m here, so I’m excellent.”
I came for Mazus groundcover, but it only came in a ten-pack—$150 worth. Pricey, but since it spreads, I figured I’d never need to buy it again. When it rang up at $80, the ouch softened to a squeak. Of course, once I added four or five more plants, the total crept right back up there.
Still, my master plan for the yard is coming along swimmingly. For a few plants that were struggling—holding neither nutrients nor water the way I’d like—I dug down to their roots, formed a ring around them, and filled it with my super-awesome compost. That soil should hold moisture better and feed the roots more directly. Tomorrow I’ll give them a swig of fish fertilizer so they’ll have everything they need to thrive. Oh, and I had Dave bump up certain sprinkler zones to twice a day—because that afternoon sun dries things out fast.
Meanwhile, our spider moved. Both Dave and I noticed separately, and when he asked if I knew where she’d gone, I didn’t. But later, standing outside, I spotted new webbing near the eave, and around the corner, there she was, tucked against the brick. I wonder why she moved. It’s not like she’s short on food—between the grasshoppers we toss her daily and whatever else she catches. Maybe the three-inch beauty is ready for moths or something new.
Alright, I’ll quit babbling and let you go on with your day. I’m so glad you stopped by.
Take care,
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 