In order to prepare to leave Montana for Oregon, I had a list a mile wide and a bucket of dog poop deep.
No. I didn’t have time to pick up the double dog poop before I left and it bothers me.
I have ultimately, in this seasoned age of my lifespan, accepted that I am good at things. I am actually quite good at a lot of things. Therefore, I am often called upon to do those things in life. In the service of others, myself, animals, the planet, beings of all kinds, I will use my skills to serve.
Lately I’ve been operating with one of my fuses slightly tripped, ready to snap fully closed at any moment. The running dialogue I have with myself during times like this goes something like this:
Hey Jen. Yeah, you have work, and then appointment, appointment, appointment and this list of things to make/bring/remember for each of them, but one hour at a time, right? You got this. Remember you don’t have babies attached to you or carseats in your car or a partner. It’s not that hard. You can do it.
The thing is. It is that hard.
Just because I’m in a phase of life that I’m only in charge of me in my personal life, doesn’t mean that being me by myself can’t be hard.
Au contraire. It can be.
It’s hard to know that the whole show of life rides on my shoulders. It makes me cringe. It makes me wince. It’s a lot. And I’m weary.
I was listening to the extraordinary “Wild” by Cheryl Strayed (again) while driving to Oregon. I was thinking about her journey on the PCT and my journey with Lucy. In both cases, no one was coming to save either of us.
The knowledge that I was faced with challenge after challenge and lived until the next one gave me a lifetime of confidence that no matter how hard shit gets…I will definitely figure it out.
So forgive me while I whine, cringe, wince, falter. I’m just reminding myself I can-and will-figure it all out.