I want to change my life

The last time I wrote, in September, I was full of hope and conviction. I was feeling like new things were opening up for me and that I was going to finally live my dream. My reality was a little more shaky. Shortly after my last entry I realized that the vague sense of ennui I've fought my whole life was, in fact, depression, and it was more than my set of tools could handle. I went on medication. It has helped tremendously and I'm loving the difference.

The next few months I was dealing with life and adjusting to the medicated version of myself. November of last year brought me bronchitis. December Nora spent a week in the hospital shortly before Christmas. A lot of the time I'd spent in the hospital at Nora's bedside, was me connecting to who I wanted to be at the end of my life. I understood that some of the things that motivated me, that made me want so much to "make something of myself" stemmed from a set of outdated rules on what success truly means.

January came and it was a month of revelations. For the first time, probably ever, my answer had nothing to do with what I did. I didn't close my eyes and imagine the books I'd written or the money I made. I envisioned myself as loving and spontaneous, laughing and brave. None of those things had anything to do with my profession, or lack thereof.

Bit by bit I've been deconstructing my life. Shaking up the routine, trying new things, planning less and living more. I've stopped writing my chores down in my planner. A simple thing, but once I took The List out of there and kept it in my head, I could suddenly see More Time. It's not that I stopped taking care of the housework, but they are no longer my priority. They're no longer dominating the page of my day.

I want to change my life. I want to stop worrying about other people. Parenting. Being a "good" anything, except me. At my heart I'm a decent person who cares about people. I know that my first choice will always be to act with kindness. Why did I spend so much energy worrying that I'll mess up?

I've shaped much of my thirties by how useful I was to other people. If I was good in a crisis. I charged into situations intending to help. Always helpful, even when it was a thankless job. Now I'm reforming myself as someone less reliable. I'm still great in a crisis, but I've stopped volunteering. I've stopped putting myself out there and I've taken to saying, "No" more often. It's a process and I still slip, but I'm not discouraged.

I don't write much anymore. Frankly, I've been blocked. As I've come to appreciate the world I'm living in, the less I want to escape. I've been reading less, writing less, watching less television. Staying away from social media is easier, although I still get sucked in because FOMO is a thing.

Meditation is my daily habit. Dancing is how I blow off steam. Sometimes I get a bee in my bonnet and I start rearranging furniture, but I never regret how I spend my day. Society is telling me I'm doing it wrong. I should want more out of my life. I should challenge myself and I should Do More with everything. And, for some people, that is the right choice. For me, slowing down and doing less is how I Do More with the life I've been given. No more rushing, no more guilt. No more feeling like I'm failing myself every day because I've yet to reach some ever-changing goal.

I want to change my life. So I am.

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