Hello friends, and thank you for sticking around.
Call it stress, call it excuses, call it poor time management, but lately I've been feeling like I don't have time for any of the things I love the most - things that bring me that priceless sense of peace and contentment I once prioritized.
I haven't seen my best friends, called my grandmother, or done something just for me in weeks. I find myself apologizing to my dog every time I exit my home because I'm starting to feel like I'm never there. I make seemingly conscious decisions to write and then end up taking a nap instead. I don't eat and take my vitamins like I'm supposed to because I want my food to be quick and easy since nothing else in my life is right now. I feel like I have a million things to do every day, although I'm pretty sure most would argue I haven't even begun to truly know what having a million things to do feels like.
In short, a lot of things in my life have taken a backseat and I can only hope that they will still be there waiting for me when I'm ready to make room for them in the front.
Why is all of this happening, you may ask?
Because I'm adulting, that's why.
In less than two hours, I have to get ready for my fifth consecutive day of what has become mentally and physically exhausting work. Tomorrow will be my sixth consecutive day, and the next day will be my only day off before I return the day after that and work some more consecutive days.
I'm trying and failing to purchase a reliable vehicle that doesn't bankrupt me. Yesterday was strike I'm not even counting anymore.
I found an apartment and am currently in the process of figuring out what to do with 25 years worth of stuff that needs a new home while simultaneously attempting to be responsible enough to realize that paper towels, soap, and a microwave are things I should probably acquire.
I'm trying to nurture the most serious relationship I've ever been in, even though I apparently know nothing about nurturing myself anymore. The self-help articles aren't lying when they say this is difficult.
The closest person in my life is weeks away from joining the military, and I haven't even taken him out for lunch or mini golf yet. And when he leaves, nothing will be the same. It will be hard.
This is merely a handful of the commitments I currently have on my plate. I'm trying to take everything one step at a time, but sometimes life simply won't allow it. It's like if you're not cramming 17 important things (including eating, drinking and sleeping) into a single day, you're left feeling as though you accomplished nothing when you finally lay down to get some rest before it starts all over again.
I feel like I'm drowning. I know that is largely because I do in fact have poor time management and coping skills, but it's also because I have more going on than I'm typically used to. I'd like to think this is a good thing. I'm learning, growing, and moving forward. I'm growing up. And I found someone to share my life with, so it's not like I'm doing this all alone. I'm incredibly lucky in that sense.
But I miss writing. More importantly, I miss who I am as a writer. I miss the part of me that noticed the things that nobody else did in the midst of their fast-paced and money driven lives. I miss the part of me that turned her face to the sun instead of hanging her head to the ground. I miss the self-awareness, the optimism, the overflow of inspiration. I miss having the time and energy to create and attract people to those creations.
So with all of this said, I owe you an apology.
I apologize for letting the demands of life bury me and my spirit. I apologize for letting the work that feeds my bank account take priority over the work that feeds my soul. I apologize for becoming less of who I am instead of more of who I am. I apologize for making you think that I don't care anymore.
I do care. I care every second of every day. And I kick myself for every day that I don't write, even if it's only for ten minutes.
All I can promise you right now is my faith that the dust will settle and my head will break the surface again. And when it does, I will return with a fire that can never be put out.