Hello ladies of The REALLY Real Housewives and everyone else! Thank you for having me.
|Before with worry|
What does this mean? Well, it means I like to worry about anything. Everything. All of it. Why? Please see above for the aforementioned illness.
Honestly? I want to know that what I’m doing is enough—for my family, myself, my career…I also like to make lists ;) I’m organized in my crazy.
But, lovely people, in my thirty-two young years (seriously, I adore my thirties), through the people around me, experiences I have had and those I’ve observed, I’ve learned that worry is not the key to a good life. Living is.
What’s that, you say? What is this thing called living, and who has time for it? Trust me, I hear you.
We all have bills to pay, work to stress over and complete, housework to contend with, a spouse to communicate with, maybe even spend alone time with, and children to feed, scold, praise, feed, cuddle, nurture, educate, love, etc. We all have those things, whatever they are, that we do every day to make sure we can keep our lives functioning. But living isn’t just about those necessary things that keep us going, however much they consume us; it includes stopping, looking around, and being in this moment (even if this moment includes going insane from cabin fever while the school dares to cancel for ice and snow again. Don’t they know we just had winter break? Another game of Candy Land or Connect Four or, sweet baby jeebus, BARBIES, will kill me).
For me, living in these moments means turning my phone onto airplane mode, or Do Not Disturb, and resisting the urge to check my steps for the day, or my book rankings, or sales dashboard, or reading the latest blog post about finding more readers and greater success. It means resisting the urge to scroll through my Instagram feed and compare myself to every other crafting-DIY-CrossFit mom who has five times the number of children and projects as me, and ten percent less body-fat and wrinkles.
- Living means putting on rain boots and taking my puppy and daughter for a walk, even when she’s whining and the dog is chewing on her leash trying to walk herself, and I’m half-crazy by the end of those two miles.
- Living means accepting that my body is thirty-two, not seventeen, not twenty-five, and the marks and curves (fine, lumps) it bears are those of life, not just age.
- And living means looking at myself in the mirror instead of the Instagram filter, and knowing that happiness is mine for the taking—if I’m willing—and it is not dependent on flawless skin, great lashes, or smooth hair (read: everything I would have to purchase in order to have).
|After letting go of worry|
Kiss your cat, your kids, your dog, your partner, your spouse…heck, kiss your kindle and the book boyfriends that live in it and just live. We often look for happiness in those big moments—but life is made up of small moments, insignificant moments, that all paint that one chaotic and brilliant picture. So live today, right now, over your first or fifth cup of coffee. We can go back to worrying in just a minute.
Until next time.