Part of my problem is that my thoughts fire like sperm. (Right off the bat you ought to know that I have a potty mouth. Or a trucker mouth which sounds gross but is probably more accurate. Not that all truckers swear like sailors but . . . Hey! Sailors! That’s a better analogy, because I may know a trucker but I can guarantee you I don’t know a sailor. The other thing you ought to know is that my internal edit button sticks. And really, I have no desire to unstick it. I’m too tired, and if I do get some energy, I should focus on the laundry. So, there you have it. Suck on that!)
I love that people find me funny in that sort of “who knew you were funny?” way. It is both slightly offensive (keeping the old ego in check) and slightly flattering at the same time. Although I must say that I don’t find myself nearly as funny as I do morbid and inappropriate. But that may be another blog post entirely. Let’s see where the sperm takes me . . .
This is supposed to work in themes? I can’t do themes. Even my 4 year old can’t do themes. It’s in the genes. Rowan turns 4 on Friday and he is having a dinosaur and Ernie party because, like his mother, he just can’t commit. I find it absolutely impossible to be sure of anything. And when I say anything we are talking about things from whether to have a turkey sandwich for lunch (which is silly, since anyone who knows me knows I never have a freakin’ turkey sandwich for lunch—always salad) all the way to is there a God. I think that this has probably caused me some problems in my life. I should probably look into it therapeutically. But you know what? That’s right! Too tired. Anyway, just because I can’t commit with confidence doesn’t mean that I’m not in awe of people who can. There are people in the world who feel so strongly about religion and injustice that they set themselves on FIRE! For reals! I’m here to tell you that I will never set myself on fire. Ever. On purpose. I would be sitting there doused in flammable liquid, holding the lighter and think, well, the <insert religion or injustice of choice here> really have a good point! And then there are people in the world that have “always known” that they wanted to be a doctor/lawyer/hairstylist/mother. Really? REALLY? That. Is. Fascinating. There isn’t one single thing that I have “always known.” Even the things I THINK I’ve “always known” have been called into question! I am pretty sure that at one point I said to my husband, I “always” wanted to be a mother. Um, that was before I had kids. Now that they are here? Well, let’s just say it ain’t how I pictured it.
The thing about my unable-to-commit “condition” is that it allows me to remain open. Anyone who knows me knows that I adore my career. It is the single most perfect decision I have ever made in my life. (And yes, my decision to marry John and have kids was a great blah blah blah decision also but it wasn’t just mine.) It suits my personality, my sensitivity, and my attention span, and I think I do it well. But every single day of my life I can imagine myself also doing about 1,000 other things for a living. I don’t just imagine them but I sort of morph with them and find myself BELIEVING that I can do them. That could be why I’ve had 37 jobs. Anyone remember when I was going to open a coffee shop? How about when I applied to be an international nanny? Voiceover artist? Rock star? Papermaker? Early childhood education teacher? (Until, I SWEAR TO GOD—wait, is there a God?— my mother reminded me I would have to wear pantyhose and I was all like, screw it.) Then we have all of the times that I have decided to move. How about that? In my adult life I have verbally committed to or at the very least researched moving to New Hampshire, Maine, back to New York, Cincinnati, multiple cities in Virginia, Austin, North Carolina, Kentucky (yeah, Kentucky), Colorado, Eugene, Pennsylvania, and I am sure that I am leaving about at least three other places, but you get the picture. Maybe this would be a good time to openly apologize to the friends and family that have had to hear this from me for years. But HEY! I have a CONDITION!
This leads me to a realization. Even though I’m always looking for what else there is, everything I have is here. Right here in my house and in my emotional, personal, and professional life. I measure things against death. (There’s that morbidity!) The things that matter in the true sense of the word are the things I will be grateful for as I’m dying. And I can guaran-frickin’-tee you that whether or not I moved to Austin will not be what I am thinking about. How I live in the world matters. Who I am and how I treat others matters. There is one thing that I am sure of and that is: right now? I’m here.