August decided to play a practical joke yesterday and turn into October, and our modesty-optional summer wardrobe gave way to long sleeves and socks. Socks, people. I gave into the iron-hued weather and blew off chores to read The Kite Runner, which left me feeling more Octoberish than ever. Even today, motivation only glimmers from behind clouds in fickle bursts. Oh sun, wherefore art thou?
Since I laid off the poison pills in April, I’ve slowly felt more and more normal, and I’m just now normal enough to realize I don’t know what constitutes normal anymore. (Please tell me you get what I’m talking about.) I read through old journals and shake my head at the stranger on each page. Nope, don’t recognize that one either. Was she really me? Am I really me?
Burrowing somewhere in my stomach is the awful suspicion that I like the eighteen-year-old me better. She was often confused and always dramatic, but she had energy and passion and a crazy, glowing sense of life purpose. I feel like I’ve acquired a bitter aftertaste as the years have mellowed my personality; my vim and vigor are sprouting mold. Is there any chance I’ve retained some of my positive characteristics through the constant upheaval of college, married life, and babies (not to mention seven moves in the last six years)?
I suppose this could simply be disorientation after so many months of mind-fog. Maybe I’m still too bewildered by the clearing view to recognize me for myself, to notice the residual beauty. After all, my husband claims to still like me, and I don’t think he’s entirely delusional. On the other hand, I know I’ve lost a lot of touch with the better aspects of life. Maybe this is a call to attention, a prescription from the lazy psychologist in my brain to do some navel-gazing, stat.
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Heavens to Brawny, Sophie just decorated the walls of our newly-painted entryway with a bright green marker. It seems the navel gazing will have to wait for another day, one in which my toddler can be trusted to coexist peacefully with our house. Perhaps by 2025?
Oh dear! Trust Sophie to bring things to a screeching halt! 😀
I suspect you’re having a bit of post-project (moving edition) let-down. Don’t beat yourself up about it too much… your love for life comes shining through quite clearly.
I was unpacking after my move number 9 (or 10) in the past 9 years this weekend and found some pics of us at LU…. ah the memories! I can tell from reading your blog that you are still you- amidst the crazy responsibilities of adulthood your personality shines through. You are still the lovely, passionate person I came to know 9 years ago. Hang in there!
I would gladly trade some sun for socks over here these days. I’m entering my 9th month of pregnancy and this Texas heat wave and I are NOT getting along! I just keep thinking how great it will be when fall comes around the corner soon after my baby is born. Oh, happy day.
Liz – Sophie certainly can be counted on in that regard! I have to admit that I started grumbling about having to scrub half the paint off the wall in an effort not to freak our worrisome landlord out, but Sophie was so very penitent and sweet that I couldn’t stay upset. That kid…
DeAnn – You certainly have us beat in the moving department. I can’t believe you’ve uprooted that many times! Nor can I believe we’ve known each other 9 years… crazy. Thanks for the encouragement, dear.
Linds – Pregnant in Texas isn’t something I would ever like to try. I hope you’re giving your A/C a good workout and staying comfortable (well, as comfortable as a 9-months-pregnant mama can be). Come soon, sweet Lucie!
It must be in the air, this time of self-reflection. I, too, have been reading my old journals. It is amazing the jaw-dropping that can occur while reading about one’s own life. I agree with those above, your passion and love of life certainly comes through to me. Hope the marker came off easily.
I love this!I really do!
I think you’d like, no LOVE the sermon I heard on suffering last Sunday. there was a quote that I’ll butcher for you…
You’ll never recover from your suffering, if by recover you mean to return to who you were before you suffered, because suffering grows us deeper and larger and wiser. Happyness is wonderful, but the things we learn and the ways we grow, they are brought about only through pain.
I miss her too sometimes, but I don’t really want her back. At least not when the fog lifts!
Remind me to tell you about dream books. they help me with the fog
bethany-
i havn’t read ur blog in about a month (i’ve missed it) and reading this post made me think about a farely recent entry in my own journal. “18-yr old riki would be so disappointed in who i’ve become”.