Note to self : {untitled}

 {Occasionally I will get on my phone and start typing to no one in particular. Mostly it’s whatever I have on my mind at the time. Thoughts. Hopes. Dreams. Regrets.  

Lots of times it’s regret. The thing I’m always running from until I’m forced to finally look it square in the face.  

I went through my writing drafts recently and saw the one below. Though it doesn’t speak to my state of mind at the moment, I think it’s valuable: because even though I am the same woman who wrote this months ago I don’t feel the same regret now.

I am the same but I have changed.

I am not my emotions and I am capable of change. Good gracious that’s a good thing. And looking back, even on hard times and bad punctuation, helps me remember that my low phases are not permanent. And that they are not the essence of me.} 


Looking through pictures  

remembering glimpses of sams baby-ness

larger memories of the stress and work of the podcast

wondering if I missed out.

Wondering if I screwed myself over.   Wondering if the podcast phase and the art phase were simply phases and I missed babyhood by hiding behind my projects.

Wondering if the things that matter to me now aren't as important as they seem. Wondering what, if anything, matters in my life in ten years other than him and my family. 

Wondering if this is me being blue. Or tired. Or the natural thoughts of. mom of a toddler. Am I dangling into creative apathy? Have the months of "he and me" atrophied my drive and desire? 

In both my phone note and today in this post I leave these questions unanswered. Because some questions can’t be answered in the moment. And I’m learning to be okay with the mystery.