This might be the kind of 31 days series that happens in 3 months. I’m sorry to say. But I’m also interested in the possibilities of considering the topic for longer.
Because sometime no matter how much you want something or how hard you chase it, now just isn’t the right time and maybe putting all the words on display all the time isn’t the most hopeful for any soul, on or off the internet.
Sometimes I need the reminder that I can do a certain thing (write or run, for example), but that maybe I don’t have to do that thing right now quite as religiously as I might like to consider myself a proper writer or runner.
I don’t have to post on the Internet every day to call myself a writer. I don’t have to run every day to call myself a runner. I don’t have to publish anything of note, nor do I have to run a race every month or weekend.
If I am doing the work and it is part of who I am, I am the one who gets to declare it. I can claim it.
And I can choose what I devote to it.
I don’t have to prove it to anyone or play by anyone else’s rules.
Or even my own rules.
Sometimes I get too attached to my own definition of success and forget to find the merit of being here in my one life as I am. Just as it is without always trying to control all the outcomes at all times.
Woman. Mom. Wife. Me. Here. Just here.
And sometimes I need to make adaptations to my own expectations of myself to become more aligned with reality.
There’s a road between nothing but reality and drop everything dreaming, I’m sure.
Maybe it’s lined with hope and fairy dust. Or expectations and reality. Or maybe it’s a bridge of every piece of insight or knowledge we ever gleaned, held together with hope and hard work together.
All I know is it’s a lot of hard work to be on the road and still care about what you want from life while still being a little accurate about where you are and what you can actually do at that particular time with these particular responsibilities and resources in tow.
It’s that layering of life I have yet to master.
The art of choosing how to spend my time.
These days I am spending more time running, painting/ modifying my house, reigning in the munchkin rampages, reading, and generally recovering from said rampages. And then there’s writing, that used to fit a little more cleanly in the edges with a little more clarity about which story was mine to tell and which was someone else’s.
But it’s still here.
And while the modest proposal of writing every day, at least a little bit, sounds like something so very good for gaining skill and habit. It’s not the type of writing I can post here. Nor have I yet managed to make that type of habit. Though I want to try for more consistent practice.
But for now. I will living my life as I make it, but gradually counting up these posts on adaptable living to 31 instead of a steady 1 a day as is usully expected of this endeavor.
I’m inviting an adaptation of my own expectations in light of this particular life.
All these particularities beg for consideration and conciliator-iations.
Because there’s value to knowing where my enough-ness walks alongside my striving instead of always running to catch up.
I hope you don’t mind the idiosyncrasies between my last two posts, but those idiosyncratic abilities might just make living possible amidst it all.
And a book you should read: if the beauty of the peculiarities of each of our living freely wholly lives you will enthralled and enchanted by Bandersnatch by Erika Morrison. A book you wouldn’t guess would change your life until it already has. **Bandersnatch: An Invitation to Explore Your Unconventional Soul**
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