The other day, I collected money from my editing business, went to the mall, and bought everything I wanted to buy. I bought a bunch of cute shirts for Riley, some bibs and knick-knacks for Micah, lots of yummy organic food for the fam, and a new “mommy purse” for myself. I thought about splurging on make-up, but wasn’t in the mood to sit in front of a mirror for half an hour (which is a must when said make-up is a luxury brand and you don’t want to buy the wrong shade of lipstick). Then, I looked at dresses and realized that my desire for new threads does not exceed my level of laziness. (I’m 7 months pregnant, almost always sweating like a pig, and not really in the mood to be peeling off clothes and trying on new ones – especially when the probability of non-maternity clothes fitting me is very high, and I hate maternity clothes.)
That trip to the mall was the most informative experience I’ve had in a long while: It was the first time ever that I had enough money in my pocket to meet mine and my family’s needs and wants. And it made me realize: I’m closer to my dreams than I’d realized.
I don’t know when it started, but I’ve become obsessive-complsive about making lists. I jot down everything. I schedule my week. I write down things I need to buy. Hell, at the drop of a dime I can produce a list of baby names for my next 7 kids!
I know it’s foolish to plan so far advanced, but I can’t help it. All my life, I’ve been a fly- by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. I’ve never really had a game plan except “Write the next great American novel. Make money. Write more. Live.” Now, I’m not saying that I necessarily hate the way that plan’s gone so far, but I definitely see room for improvement. I definitely see a need for more structure and an elaboration of details. I definitely want to decide now what constitutes my idea of really living.
So I make lists, and I stick by them (for the most part), and I feel a sense of accomplishment at checking things off each list. At the end of the day, though, I realize that I’d much rather wing it. The lists are nothing more than a warm-up exercise. A leading course to whet my appetite for Life. A preparation for the actual doing that Life entails.
So I write out my lists, plan out every detail and every minute of each decision, and then waork my ass off. And wait for that moment to come when a lightbulb goes off and I realize I must have passed a milestone without noticing. This is what happened a few days ago when I realized that, despite all of the chaos that surrounds me, I’m able to live more or less the way that I want.
Now, other worlds are unfolding in front of me and my persective is shifting, and all of a sudden all of the things that I’ve ever wanted seem dauntingly close. I feel like I could just touch them, smell them ,taste them. I feel like I could reach out my hand and get cut by the sharp edge of reality.
A small part of me would rather be paralyzed by this awesomeness than actually see it through. Still, I know I can’t succumb to that fate. And I know that I can’t simply keep on making plans. And I know that the decisions I’ll make in the next six months especially will shape and mold me and my life and my family in ways that I can’t possibly fathom.
And I’m okay with all of that. I just need to focus. And do. Ad trust myself. And have faith in the universe, that it will not put an end to me or my dreams.
So that’s what I’m going to do.
In the meantime, I’m debating what to do with this here blog, since writing all of my progress seems too close to bragging. Maybe I’ll jump ship and start fresh, from a new perspective, with a new agenda?
That’s what I feel like Im doing in every other facet of my life, anyway!