I’m Sorry, Writing

I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you. I’m sorry I’ve pushed my notebooks into the corner. I’m sorry I’ve let my laptop sit unused. I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long. I’m sorry I left the words swirling around in my head until my emotions get the best of me.

I’m sorry I’ve kept all my words to myself. I’m sorry I’ve let shame, pain, anger, and confusion keep me prisoner. I’m sorry I’ve been letting myself get overwhelmed without coming to you and using you to cope. I always have and haven’t been lately. The last few months of my life have been proof.

I’m sorry my pens have been sitting in cups without so much as being used for a signature. I’m sorry I’ve let myself get to a sorry state of not being as consistent. I’m sorry I’ve let life dictate what my writing hours are used for and letting it steal them away.

I’m sorry I’ve let unimportant things take your time.

I’m sorry I’ve been unavailable.

I’m sorry, writing.

Advertisements

Thanksgiving

Oreo Pie

Thanksgiving prep is in full swing at my house as I’m sure it is in most houses. Luckily, I got most everything I need. My husband informed me he had to make a run to the grocery store. I gave him the three finger salute and told him with a kiss, “May the odds be ever in your favor.” He laughed for a second but looked genuinely afraid as he walked out the door.

I, meanwhile, stood in the kitchen in basketball shorts, hair in a bun on top of my head, and a t-shirt that’s seen better days and took on the task of rolling out dumplings. Although it’s a messy affair, this is something I genuinely like doing. I love the sticky dough and the flour clouds and the rolling and cutting. It reminds me of being in my grandmother’s kitchen listening to her sing I’ll Fly Away and Leaning on the Everlasting Arms while up to her elbows in dough. It’s a tradition and my heritage to know how to mix the dough, how thin to make the dumplings, and what a secret how easy it all is.

I remember the men folk in my family used to break down the door to get in the house for Mamaw’s chicken and dumplings. She’d usher us kids to the table while the stove was swarmed by hungry men. We all said a little prayer that there would be anything left if my cousin, Chris, was first in line. She took great joy in people eating her food. I think I get that from her.

I’ve not mastered, but can make a close copy of her cornbread, chicken and dumplings, and banana pudding. One of the greatest compliments I’ve ever gotten was a few years ago when one of my cousins put an arm around me and said, “Kacie, yours tastes just like Mamaw Ree’s banana pudding.” I think it brought a tear to my eye.

When the dumplings were rolled, Tony came in and asked if I was going to make a trial run. He seemed a little crestfallen when I said I hadn’t planned on it. “But babe,” he said with a gleam in his eye, “how can you be sure they’ll turn out right?” So, I cooked him dumplings to sample. I’m sure my family will be grateful for his quality check.

About ten years ago, I was looking for something simple when I volunteered to bring a dessert for Thanksgiving. I found a recipe for Oreo pie. I had no idea that I was diving head first into a contract for the rest of my life. Back then, all my little cousins were kids. It was love at first bite. All the kiddos were hooked. It was gone before I knew it. I made a mental note to make two for Christmas.

At the time, my youngest boy cousin, Wyatt, was about six or so. When it came dessert time that Christmas, my mom looked at me quizzically and asked, “Didn’t you make two pies?” I told her I had. Upon further investigation of the missing pie, we found Wyatt had taken a whole one for himself. What was on his face was the only evidence to be found.

Now, each and every time we discuss what foods we should bring, I am volunteered for Oreo pie. Most of my little cousins are adults or entering adulthood now. Several have spouses and kids of their own now. They’ve even gotten their spouses in on it. My cousin’s wife, Michelle, was the first to request Oreo pie this year. 

I’ve made the mistake of not making it a time or two. I’ve learned my lesson. After one of my lapses, Wyatt made sure everyone knew that if I didn’t make pie, I couldn’t come to Thanksgiving. My youngest cousin, Maddie, asked about it one year when I brought something else and made a sound of such despair when she discovered there was none. Needless to say, I now know better. This year we will have Oreo pie.

Food aside, Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. Christmas is wonderful but has been overtaken by the decorating and buying gifts. Thanksgiving is one of the last pure holidays. It’s togetherness and food and being thankful. I took on a full meal with the works last year. It was a lot of work. I was dog tired by the end of the day, but I loved every minute. I’m not doing that this year, but I will be contributing to and partaking in two Thanksgiving meals with some of my favorite people. At the end of the day, it’s not what you eat or where you eat. It’s who you eat with. Happy Thanksgiving!

 

Ladies: Loving Ourselves & Each Other

My self-image has been evolving recently, and by recently, I mean the last few years. I’ve gone through areas of change. Good changes and bad. My self-esteem has suffered. I’ve been doing a lot of reading and following on body positivity: at any size, any shape, and any form. So many people have commented saying that it’s obesity acceptance. That’s not the case. Being comfortable with and loving your body at any size is IMPERATIVE for making healthy changes. I’ve figured this out. Finally, almost 32 years in.

Do I think I don’t need to be healthier because I’m okay with my body? No. People hear body acceptance and love and think that people want to be overweight forever or that they want to get bigger. In some cases, yes, people are fine living in a bigger body, and that’s okay. And you know what? That is none of my or anyone else’s business. Over the last few months, I’ve lost nearly 35lbs. I feel better, I move better, and yes, I feel better about my self-image.

Earlier this year, I went through a dark stage. I hated what I saw in the mirror. I hated it so much, and the more I tried to convince myself that I loved the skin I’m in, it made me hate it more. I said some horrible things to myself about myself. Then I read something that said something similar to that if you wouldn’t look your best friend in the eye and say something horrible about her then you shouldn’t say horrible things about yourself. What I read worded it much better, and I wish I had saved it. I can’t imagine looking any one of my friends in the eye and saying, “You disgust me” or “You’re not worthy.” So, I’m working on not saying them to myself.

I’m still on a journey to heal myself and love myself. It’s a struggle every day. Some days, I look at myself and think this isn’t so bad. Others, I just want to cry. I wondered how many women experience that same thing. I did a little social experiment in my head. I told myself to compliment at least three women per week. Nothing too outrageous or flattering, just things that I noticed and appreciated that my social anxiety would never have let me mention to strangers before.

I started small with an acquaintance at Wal-Mart. This lady has checked me out and bagged my groceries on several occasions. She’s probably younger than me, looks to be Hispanic, wears little makeup, and has beautiful shiny dark hair. While she made small talk, I smiled and mentioned that I wish my hair was as shiny as hers. She offered me a smile back and said it must be the lights. She also said she hates her hair. As I walked away, I thought to myself that it’s sad that she hates something that I find so pretty.

I doubled down on my next compliment. I told a lady that she had lovely eyes. They were almond shaped, heavy-lidded, and looked like they could tell a story. She gave a little smile, said they were hard to apply eyeliner to, and that was that. The more ladies I spoke to, the more I realized that we all hate some of our best features. I didn’t hear once that the person liked what I complimented.

We live in a society that does not accept when we appreciate ourselves. We can’t be thankful for what we are born with, what we are given, and what others appreciate. We are not taught acceptance of ourselves or others. This makes me very sad and also angry. We try to “fix” natural things like stretch marks and cellulite. People say horrible things if any of that is visible. It’s a shame that we can’t see marks that helped bring a precious being into the world as beautiful. 

The more attention I paid, the more I realized that women are the most to blame for body issues. We are catty. We talk about each other in terrible ways. I even do this in my head. I never realized how much I did it. I would never say anything hurtful like the negatives that I think to another woman. I caught and checked myself on several occasions.

I realized too that people think that what is good for them is good for all. On several occasions I’ve heard, “You’d look really nice if you wore a little makeup” or similar comments. I remember thinking, well, I thought I looked nice today.  Also, people try to sell me weight loss products ALL THE TIME.

Ladies, we have got to stop doing this to each other. We’ve got to build each other up and not make someone feel inferior because they have more than 10% body fat or look like they “need to eat a cheeseburger” or don’t wear makeup or wear a large amount of makeup.

One thing is that we have this idea of real women. Real women have curves, real women do this, and real women have that. All women are real women. The curvier lady with the lovely eyes, and the thin lady with a nice smile, the childless women, the abused women, the women who are the primary breadwinner, every single one. We are all real women. It’s time we realize it and appreciate each other.

If I see you in public in sweats, I’m going to think you look comfortable, and comfortable looks good on you.

If I see you without makeup, I’m going to think you look nice and natural. (You’ll see me without makeup more often than not.)

If I see you with your hair in a bun, I am going to think you took more time playing with your family, more time with your spouse, or more time for your own self-care than  perfecting your hair. And that’s beautiful.

If I see you dressed to the nines, face full of expertly applied makeup, and perfectly coiffed Heaven high hair, I’m going to think you’re just as lovely.

Any way you choose to be is acceptable and should be accepted. Love yourself and love each other.

Losing Focus

The beginning of the year came and went. My weight was ballooning. I wasn’t watching what I was eating like I should have been. I was feeling really down on myself. As an emotional eater, that didn’t go well for me.

About two months ago, I had a few health problems. Nothing major. Just things that go along with the disorders I already have. I decided it was time to do something. Anything. Even though I’ve been striving hard toward self love, I always fall short. I hate the way I look most of the time. It was time for that to change as well.

I read up on the ketogenic diet. My doctor had already said low carb would be best for me. Basically, eating low carb makes your body use the stored fat/energy it has rather than using the carbs you take in with food. I’ll include links at the bottom for the curious. I read a bunch on the benefits and the drawbacks. Making up my mind, I put my best foot forward.

I am the type of person that has had probably a thousand of the defining moments where you think of what it is you want to do, you prepare for what you want to do, and then after a week or two, you just flush the whole idea. Not this time, I determined, as I took a long hard look at myself.

I am very personal with my health. I don’t tell people more than the necessaries usually. That’s how I am. That’s just me.

For the past year, I’ve been struggling with my hormones, thyroid, autoimmune, and diabetes. The thing a lot of people don’t realize about these disorders is that they come along with many other issues. My tests last year showed the beginnings of diabetic kidney disease. The ACR test, for those who haven’t heard of this, determines your kidney damage and if you have kidney disease. As for the results, under 30 is great, 31-299 shows early kidney disease, and above 300 shows advanced kidney disease. Last year’s test showed me at an 86. I had early kidney disease. My A1C was bad, I had heart palpitations, I was breaking out all over especially my face, I had zero drive, and I was miserable. I realized I’ve been on autopilot for a long time.

Recently, I’ve made changes. I’ve gone low carb. In just a few weeks, my life has changed. People say things like that all the time, and I am not one of those people, but holy crap, my life has changed.

I realized just how doable this lifestyle change is. I can have cheeseburgers with bacon as long as there’s no bun. The only thing I have truly missed is fruit. I still eat berries, but I have to take care to watch my intake. Sugar is sugar after all.

It took only a few weeks to see changes. My rashes went away. My face cleared. I lost fifteen pounds. My blood sugar has been perfect.

My most recent trip to the doctor was the most positive one I’ve had in ages. My cholesterol was good (for those concerned with increased meat intake), my blood pressure was great, my A1C was perfect, and my early kidney disease is reversed. My ACR went from 86 to 14. I am on track to completely reverse my diabetes. My doctor’s office was tickled pink.

I noticed I’m eating more real food and very little processed junk. When I do eat out, Hardee’s can make any of their burgers or grilled sandwiches low carb. This means substituting a lettuce wrap for the bun. My current favorite is the charbroiled chicken club. Tony gets the low carb frisco burger. He even said he never realized how many flavor he was missing out on with the bun.

As for my mental health, I’ve been staying away from Facebook for weeks. I think that helped with my blood pressure, but I digress. Instead of focusing on the outside world, I’ve been focusing on myself and my husband. I’ve been writing. A lot. Maybe not blog material, but it’s been great either way.

Tony is not a man of words. Strange how opposites attract. He made it a point to tell me the other day how proud he was of me for sticking to my guns. We went out to eat with his family. I ate a steak and a salad. I barely missed the bread and potato.

I lost focus for a while. I worried about things that don’t matter, stayed on an emotional roller coaster, ate with my emotions, and was actually killing myself. I’m not saying I haven’t slipped a time or two, but this is the most doable change I’ve ever made. I’m going to keep focusing on myself, keep my health in check, and make sure I don’t lose focus again.

 

https://www.dietdoctor.com/

https://peaceloveandlowcarb.com/the-ultimate-low-carb-resource-guide/

 

Marie


I grew up in my grandmother’s kitchen. At her elbow, I watched her make biscuits lovingly and with enough practice for it to have been considered an art. She raised her children along with children who weren’t born of her body but were hers all the same. If you tried to say different, you would most likely get more than your feelings hurt. She worked most of her life nursing broken bodies along with broken hearts. Nursing taught her to handle herself and keep calm in most any situation. She was blunt with her words and subtle with her emotions.
After she retired, she threw herself into her home whether it be baking, sewing, or mowing the yard because no one says lawn in the South. She cuddled any baby she ever met and sang the same song to every single one she rocked. Nursing did not end when she retired. She nursed for years her cancer stricken husband and a sister with severe diabetes. Her husband went first, and she never quite recovered. When she did not know anyone was around, she would spend quiet moments in the room where he wasted away before that final trip to the hospital. Sitting on his bed, she would close her eyes for a time, let out a slow breath, and then get on with her day to day chores.
If she ever loved you, she would cook for you, tend to you, and fight for you until she just couldn’t. She was never the most tender of people. After you got a hug and offered food in your time of need, you were told to dry your tears. Crying never did a single soul any good in her eyes.
When she died, my world shifted. It was hard to believe that someone so big, even if she was just so big to me, was gone. I cried for a time. I could hear her voice as clear as a bell telling me to dry it up and be tough like she knew I could. During her wake, the lights went out at the funeral home. Even though it startled everyone, those who knew her personally laughed. It was just the kind of stunt she would pull. I smiled for the first time since she died standing in the dark. When I think of her now, I can only smile. I picture her sitting on her porch in the rocking chairs she loved as she watched cars go by. Those chairs should have fell to pieces with all the miles she put on them. I see her in the kitchen at her stove mixing up a batch of cornbread batter for her cast iron skillet. When I try to describe her most words don’t seem enough. She taught me how to be polite and to swear. She was never anything more than herself and I wish I could have an ounce of the confidence she carried. She was my rock and taught me how to be one myself. I may not be what she was every minute of my life, but I have moments where I can feel her come to the surface. When I feel lost, I find her in me and it’s in her that I find myself.

Today, she would be 93 and has been on my heart all day.

Now is Not Your Forever

While reading Turtles All The Way Down by John Green, I read a quote that says, “Now is not your forever.” I had to stop and just be in that for a moment.

I’ve been so concerned lately with bills and problems and drama and just life that I haven’t thought about how temporary all of that really is. These are issues that may not matter in the least in 5 or 10 years. And yet, here I am sighing and stressing over things that I shouldn’t be and looking for answers where there probably are none.

This nonsense that is keeping me up at night is not permanent.

These moments that seem to hurt so bad will hurt less in the coming time.

This worry that I carry will not help any of these situations.

This now is not my forever.

Thanks, John, for this reminder.

Self Love

I’ve been thinking a good bit lately about how we view our bodies and ourselves. It’s almost never positive. If I asked a random woman on the street what she liked about herself, and then what she disliked about herself, I bet we can already guess what list would be longer.

Society has created visions of what the perfect woman should look like and shoved it into our heads and made us believe there is no other way. We have made these irrational views the social norm.

Because of these insane views, I have disliked myself and my looks for years.

Everything from my weight to my feet, I could give you a list a mile long of things I don’t care for about myself. I see this in other women. They are scared of gaining weight, getting older, and doing everything in their power to stop both of those things. Everything from starving to doing extreme things to their bodies.

Instagram has a community of women who are about body positivity. This is body positivity at any size, any shape, any form, and any fashion. Women who wear a lot of makeup, women who go barefaced. They encourage body love and self love, but also receive a lot of hate. When I read comments on positive photos of themselves, there are people who say that they are fat, unhealthy, and ask them how they can even show their face on the internet.

What does this tell you about our society? A woman can post a photo of herself online and show a little positivity only to be told that she’s wrong. Why can’t a woman have fat and be beautiful? Why is it so hard to be positive or move along rather than be hateful and cause someone to feel worse about themselves?

If there is one thing I know for sure about being overweight and unhealthy is that it only gets worse until you love yourself enough to do something about it. We need to instill in our children a love of self and, at the bare minimum, a respect for their bodies. Just because you are shaped differently than someone on TV, does not mean there is anything wrong with you.

It’s up to us to break this norm.

I am obese and have been most of my life. I’ve found that in my low times, I turn to food as a comfort because in those moments, I dislike myself and my body. During those moments, I don’t care that what I am putting in my body is not good for it.

I’ve been transitioning over the past year. I’m coming to terms with my body and learning to like, if not love, the skin I’m in.

I’ve started doing yoga and eating more veggies. I am in no way vegetarian, but I’ve been eating meat only once a day, most days. I pay more attention to my body and the way it moves and the way it feels. I am more mindful of my body.

My feet are wide but are a good foundation for balance in yoga. My legs are steady, hold my body, and move me from place to place. My hips are shifty and offer better mobility. My back has it’s issues but has carried me for 31 years. My chest and ribs protect my heart that sends blood throughout my body and carries oxygen and water and nutrients to every part of me.

Sometimes, loving ourselves is hard and could use a little help. Getting to imagine yourself from another’s point of view can really help your view of yourself. A family member, friend, or significant other can really open your eyes to yourself.

I asked my husband to make some notes on what he liked and admired about me. The majority of what he wrote was about my mentality. For someone who is not wordy, I was impressed. A lot of it was flattery, but he did very well with his assignment.

He said he appreciated that I’m strong and that I really put myself into whatever I’m doing whether it be cooking, planting flowers, or putting up with him. His words, not mine.

He said that he admires my ability to immerse myself into my writing or reading.

I thought about what I like in myself. I like that I’m compassionate and empathetic. I love my appreciation of nature and living things. Finding things that you like in yourself and recognizing those traits will put you on the right track for self love.

The human body is a miracle and universe unto itself. It all connects and flows to make your body function as a whole. Carl Sagan once said, “The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.” How amazing is it that we are made of the same thing as the stars? When you think of your body in that fashion, it becomes much easier to love.

Before I close, let me tell you something that I am still learning myself. PERFECTION DOES NOT EXIST.

Striving for perfection is like draining the ocean with a straw. No matter how hard you try, you will not reach perfection because it simply does not exist. Just because I love my body doesn’t mean I don’t want to improve it. I want to make it healthier, stronger, and better because I’m learning to love it. So, on the national day of love, I encourage you to love your body, love your heart and mind, and love something about everything about yourself. Happy Valentine’s Day!

Writer’s Block

20180121_160511

 

I’ve been frustrated lately. Creatively frustrated. I’ve been mad at my computer for something it did not do. I’ve been angry about it’s blinking cursor and blank pages without words. I’ve felt dried up and uninspired. I thought maybe if  I went back to the fundamentals. You know, pen to paper. I put pen to paper and waited for something to happen. The only thing that happened was that I scribbled and scrabbled and got even more frustrated.

I’ve words and stories a-plenty in my brain, swirling about in a never ending vortex. I just can’t get a good connection between my brain and my fingers. I’ve tried all the usual suspects to no avail.

I’m discouraged with my inconsistency. My last blog did really well in terms of views and visitors. I think I’ve gotten intimidated by it. Doubts and insecurities can wreak havoc on one’s creativity. I came to the conclusion that I should write about being uninspired and insecure and all those things going on with me.

I’ve sat down numerous times with my computer and determination only to be let down. I’ve put on my game face, tightened my ponytail, and set my teeth only to give myself a headache. In this case, headache leads to heartache because I am disappointed in myself.

After searching WordPress, I’ve found I’m not alone. There are lots of creators out there with brains and hearts on hiatus. I found I’ve been more inspired these past few hours from the one thing that calms and helps always. Reading.

I wish that I could say I’ve been reading something new, but I can’t. I’ve discovered in recent years that I am a rereader. I’m not sure that’s a word. Microsoft Word says no, but I’m going with it. I’ve been reading something that I’ve already read and using it as a comfort. There’s no anxiety, no rush, no suspense. It’s just me and old friends I’ve known for a while taking a stroll down memory lane. It’s reading words that are familiar and seeing something new in the pages.

Stress is more than likely a factor in all this. I find the best stress relief is to go from cover to cover. It’s like a salve for achy head and heart.

I’ve been writing more fiction in private than things I wish to share on my blog. I love my blog. I’m proud of it. However, I’ve recently alienated myself from it. I’m not happy about this and intend to change it. Hitting a brick wall when you want to be on an open highway is frustrating to say the least. I’m slowly taking a pickaxe to it. Please be patient. I’m undertaking an uphill battle in my writing life. There is so much I want to say, and my brain is failing me.

Eighty 

I remember being a little girl and seeing my Papaw standing at the edge of his garden and looking out across it. That particular time was early evening. His feet were planted firmly, his mouth set, and the look of a man who knows his land settled on his face. There was power there and pride. He put his heart into his garden and took pride in that it would help to feed his family.

When he turned to look at me, he smiled and said, “Come on, gal. Let’s get pickin’.” I would hold out the hem of my oversized t-shirt and use it as a tote as I trailed behind him holding the fruits of his labor. When it was full and too heavy, I waddled back to the house to turn what we’d collected over to Mamaw.

Then, when the work was done, we’d sit in the swing and sing. Sometimes I sang along, others I just listened. His voice carried tones of the old south and emotions set to melody. He sang of pain and love and told stories in song. Some of the old and some of the new and some he probably came up with as he went along. His voice was country with soul and blues and something particular to him.

I remember riding along with him on the lawn mower and “helping” him push the tiller to turn the soil. I wore his too big gloves and dropped seeds and made every step he made. I listened to tales of him growing up. I wish desperately I could remember more.

He kissed booboos and dried tears. We giggled and smuggled candy and watched many a-sunset. He would twirl me around until I couldn’t stand and laughed at all the silly things I did.

At his funeral, I listened to one of his closest friends tell of a day in 1956 when some rowdy boys visited Weathersby Baptist Church because they heard the girls there were pretty. Mamaw was one of those girls. She’s told me before how she and my Paw met at a peanut boil at church. Brother Johnny said that on the day he recalled that Paw answered alter call and accepted his Lord at the front of the very church where he met my Mamaw, and the very church where we were currently having his funeral.

He said that out of that group of boys and the pretty girls at Weathersby, my Paw was the only one to find his girl and get married.

My grandmother used to talk about how they were married in a house with cracks so wide in the floorboards that you could see chickens walking beneath them during their wedding.

My grandparents were always simple people. They worked, loved, and lived in a simple, old fashioned way as husband and wife for 61 years. I’ve tried to imagine 61 years worth of living much less marriage. I’ve watched my grandmother, my Mamaw struggle with his death. I watched her before he passed sit beside him and hold his hand. She would rearrange his blanket and hang her head.

Today, he would have been 80. We’ve lived a few weeks without him. His void is definitely felt. However, I find peace in knowing that he is breathing fully on his own again and walking wherever he wishes to go. He has left the struggles of this world and his earthly body. His sun has set.

5 Things I’d Tell Myself 10 Years Ago

Saturday I turned thirty one. Thirty one is an unremarkable age. It’s not an important one like twenty one or eighteen or sixteen. People look forward to those. It’s not awful either. It’s not like thirty. People seem to think their life is over at thirty. Thirty really didn’t shake me.

At twenty one, I’d just lost my twins. Everything shifted. My life has not been the same.

I was at war with myself over my identity. I was pushing myself to be like other people and not who I wanted to be.

Tony and I made a pact that at twenty one, we’d go to the casino together just to say we’d been. We didn’t go. We discussed it later, but still ten years have passed and we still have not been.

If I could go back and talk to my twenty one year old self knowing what I know now, I would enlighten myself on many things.

  1. Read and write. A lot. Stop wasting your time on things that do not matter. I know it’s hard right now, but writing will heal you. This is what you need to do for you. I know you think you are writing, but it’s not nearly enough.You’ve got better stuff in you. You’re neglecting your reading. Diversify your reading.The library is free and within walking distance. No excuses.
  2. Go see a doctor. You and Tony both have things you need to nip in the bud. Also, I know you work at a fish house, but eat healthier. More veggies. Exercise.
  3. You have several toxic people in your life. Weed them out. You know who they are. Pay close attention to how they treat you. Don’t stand for that. You’ll be better for it.
  4. Think for yourself. Some of the opinions you have right now aren’t your own but those of other people and things that have been drilled into you. Read. It’ll help with the opinions. You owe it to yourself to decide for yourself.
  5. Go back to school. You’ll do this later. It’ll be great, but now is the perfect time. While working nights, your days are free. You’ll appreciate the accomplishment.

I could actually write a detailed book for my past self about traveling from then to now, but I suppose all those things helped me get to where I am now. I have nice, tight group of friends. I do regular yoga classes and am a member of a book club. I am still happily in a marriage that many people said would never last. I have a job I enjoy with people who appreciate me. I am at a place where I’m not wondering who I am supposed to be. I’m pretty happy with my world right now. Thirty one is looking good.