9:59pm. Focus Sil, focus Sil, focus. I was in bed perusing the phone, looking for inspiration, looking for a clue, searching desperately for an answer. The answer is inside me, I know it is, but finding it has proven to be quite the challenge.
I could no longer stay in bed. Get up, grab the notebook your friend gave you at Christmas and the pen gifted to you by the woman who brought you into this world. Put your thoughts on display. Thought to pen, pen to paper. Watch the words appear. Surely they’ll make more sense on paper than they do in my mind, right?
Chamomile tea, check!
Blanket over lap, check!
The sound of the water boiling in the kettle subsides and all I hear is the tick-tocking of the kitchen clock. Tick-tock, tick-tock, four seconds gone.
I’m sitting at the breakfast bar on a stool that I’ve owned for so long but just recently decided to put in the kitchen. As soon as I put the stools here, I thought, “Wow! They’re great up here. Why didn’t I do this earlier?”. It’s amazing how much sense some things can make after the fact.
I take a sip of my tea hoping for a calm to sweep over me, hoping for some clarity. I’m lost. I’ve been lost for a while but this reality did not come to light until recently. I’m trying to tap into what it is that I want to do with my life. Sure I’m 32 and I have a career but I still don’t know what I want to do when I grow up. I’ve come to the point where I’ve decided that I cannot accept limiting myself.
At 16, I imagined I’d have it all figured out by 32. At 32 I’m starting to think I actually had it all figured out at 16. I was different back then. I was bright and full of life. Optimism shone from my being. I exuded confidence, I believed in life, in living. Perhaps my naiveness is what allowed for such positivity. I had an answer for everything, a working plan to achieve solutions, no matter the problem. People used to come to me for advice. I was able to listen and to help others work through their feelings. I used to write. I wrote poetry. I had an amazing way with words. When I had a pen and paper handy, the words would just spew from me in a way that I still to this day can’t explain.
In hindsight, I really like who I was. I was pretty awesome. I think Sil at 16 would have helped Sil at 32 find solutions that Sil at 32 just can’t seem to see. What happened? Somewhere along the line, I became a realist. I put aside my childish views and grew up. I traded in my “live life to the fullest” approach for a “what’s next?” type of attitude. I began viewing my upcoming years as a series of bullet point to-do lists categorized by age and complete with deadlines and check marks.
In high school I couldn’t wait to be in college. In college I dreamed about getting married. We were married after college graduation and became pregnant shortly thereafter. When our first born was only 9 months old, I convinced hubby it was time for baby #2.
It took a while for me to a.)recognize this reoccurring pattern of mine and to b.) understand how flawed and troublesome it actually is.
Submerged so deeply in this mentality that has become a part of me, I can’t help but think, “what’s next?”. I now realize the answer to that for the first time in my life is, “I don’t know.”
This year has been a psychological and emotional journey for me. I’ve recognized my shortcomings as a working adult, as a wife, as a mother and am striving to become a better version of me. I do not doubt that I am capable of achieving this seemingly impossible feat, I have just been trying to find a way to do it. How? How my Lord do I do better? How is there no magic button that will turn anxious and jaded Sil into the bright ray of sunshine she used to be so many years ago?
The light bulb lit up this evening. That is why an unexplainable force took me out of bed, made me grab these writing supplies and brought me to this stool.
Back to basics.
Back to what I loved doing when I was young and fearless.
I will write.
Thought to pen, pen to paper.
Surely this is the way back, right?
10:56pm. 57 minutes relished. Euphoria.