The Never-ending Journey

I've been on a journey this year.

Well, I've been on a journey for 48 years. That's what life is, thankfully: a journey, not a destination. If life was all about the destination, our whole focus would be on death. I'm glad I was able to leave that obsession of heaven and hell behind when I left the church.

But this year, 2021, I've been on a journey to try to find balance. To try to find a way to love the new me --older, heavier, more physically awkward, less prone to wear amazing, uncomfortable shoes. 

Balance, for me, is --has always been-- a struggle. I am a thoughtful, passionate teacher. I am a good writer. I am a decent mom (the kids are fed, clothed, and ethical, albeit unable to enter a room without destroying it). I am an okay friend and an okay partner. But I am not good to myself, as my negative self-talk about my body clouds the beauty that I know I bring to the world. I haven't figured out, in our new pandemic world, how to work out regularly with any intensity, since I don't want to be seen trying to yoga in the living room, or flailing instead of kickboxing, or peeing my pants as I attempt to jumping jack (Just one. Don't get crazy.). I have kind of lost myself in trying to make everyone else happy, and the time I carve out for me is after they all are in bed, when I should be in bed as well, drinking one too many drinks and staying up way too late just to be able to breathe. Self-destruction may very well be my modus operandi. 

Vlad Bagacian on Unsplash

In February, I decided I would try 30 days of self care. I even enlisted a friend. 30 days of yoga, walking, water, forgiveness. Of course, self-care should not be about shoulds, but I don't know how to self-care without a to-do list. As one would expect, I lasted about 7 days before I missed a day, a week, a month. I did, however, try on every last piece of clothing in my closet. The size 16's that I loved went into storage. The size 12's and 14's, calling me old and fat and awkward and sad, got kicked to the curb. What I have left in the closet now at least fits, even if I wish it didn't, even if I wish these pounds away.

And now it is April. Easter. Spring. A new beginning? How many cliches can I roll out in the attempt to convince myself that this time it will stick? This time I will suddenly learn to take care of myself and fall in love with the new me?

I'm not even sure what the new me should be.

Should. That word again.

But I know that this is what I want for the new me. I'm just not sure how to get there.

• I want to be at a healthy weight.
• I want to believe --truly believe-- that I am beautiful, no matter what that healthy weight turns out to be. I want to look in the mirror and love what I see.
• I want to live in a house with less clutter and less conflict.
• I want to run again --even if run means walk-- and I want to be okay with that.
• I want to only wear comfortable shoes for the rest of my life and be okay with that, too.
• I want to learn how to read for pleasure and not feel guilty about "doing nothing."
• I want to find a balance between making to-do lists so that I can get things done, and giving myself a break from the obligations and judgment of the to-do lists.
• I want to sleep more, move more, drink more water.
• I want to build healthy relationships with my partner and my kids.
• I want to build a healthy relationship with myself.

I'm not sure how to accomplish any of this, how to map out this journey, except to get out of bed each day and try again. 

Matt Howard on Unsplash

I need to give myself the same amount of grace I extend to everyone else.

I need to remember that this is a journey, not a quest.

I need to stop assigning myself things I need to do.

It's a never-ending journey.