For a long time I thought I was avoiding writing because my external life wasn’t matching with what I wanted it to be, thought it should be. I had moved to the suburbs, to the worst kind of suburb – the new build cookie cutter kind. I had step kids and I got a dog and the things I thought made me ME were fading. I didn’t throw parties, I wasn’t writing, I didn’t have interesting & costumed places to be. I did have a husband who I straight up adore and love. And a good job that let me do interesting work with some very nice people (and some real arrogant jack asses). I kept reminding myself that I was fortunate and living a very nice life all the while struggling.

Turns out that perhaps, the struggle is inside. This is most likely a surprise to no one.

I recently went on a less than great vacation to the Sedona/Grand Canyon area. What was great is that I had an afternoon off from the friends and I went to get a picture of my aura and cards read. This is the most me activity in all the land. The medium’s name was Heather and she did her thing and told me the number 12 was coming to her. She asked what happened when I was 12, that I needed to reach out to the 12 year old past me and write her a letter.

I have avoided activities just like that in all my years of therapy. Probably the past was fine, I certainly wasn’t traumatized, and let’s just focus on the future.

But ever since then there has been a nag. A nag that has wondered what I would say to 12 year old me. A nag that said you have all the freedom in the world to do the things that bring you joy. A nag that says stop playing dumb ipad games and read, paint, draw, write, learn or dance. And so today, armed with a second crazy pill (when one just isn’t enough) I deleted the dumbest of all ipad games, came outside to start a fire, and picked up this here laptop.

I did this 2 minute meditation over the weekend. A simple one that said close your eyes and picture the you you want to be getting out of bed tomorrow. What does she look like, sound like, do? I started sobbing and couldn’t even finish. I have been acting in a way that is counterproductive to my desired future self. And any change manager worth her stuff knows better.

I spent a couple years happy in new marriage, but struggling with the life that came with it. I’ve now accepted the life that comes with it, and still very happy in marriage. (He really is the dreamy best.) There is only the issue of me fighting myself.

I’m sitting here with my 2nd glass of wine, still the best version of me, my little firepit fire, lots of sky beyond me and the new build houses still going up. I love to poke at a fire. I cannot let it go more than 3 minutes without rearranging the wood. The fireplace is something I loved from my last home. The home I bought and painted and entertained in and inhabited so completely.

My cat Quinn passed away last month. She was a role model of ladylike living and general disdain. I loved that cat so much. My first pet and the first to pass away and it was terrible. A few weeks later I decided we needed a new kitten and my husband is the nicest so a new kitten we got. Our incredible luck with cats continues and Leo, the new tabby, is a delightful addition to our little domesticated animal zoo.