So I Decided Not to Leave

Decisions, decisions. And at this stage of my life they all feel so final. Do we remodel the kitchen in this house? Will we live here long enough to enjoy it? Should my husband retire this year or next? Why do they keep giving him promotions? Should I keep trying for a different job or stay with my fabulous students and colleagues? 

One of our main tactics in answering these questions involves procrastination. The kitchen did get remodeled this summer and it is the best thing we've done in a long time. Still, it was a conversation for about five years before we both took the leap. Then the answer to question two is that we'd damn well better stay here forever because that kitchen was a lot of work! As for question three, retirement keeps eluding my husband, mainly because he says he may as well stay as long as he loves doing what he's doing and they keep paying him well enough for it. The final question is really rhetorical and was answered as I wrote it. I have hit so many walls to moving in the direction that I thought I should be taking that I think the universe is telling me to choose another path. Last week I realized (okay, okay, my husband told me) that part of my path must include writing. I talk about writing. I talk to myself about writing and I write in my head almost constantly. So I decided, for the fiftieth time in my life, that if I don't include writing in my life, I will go crazy. Crazy will be the next blog. 

Some things that have changed about my writing since I last wrote include the font size. Why does "normal" look like "tiny" now and I have to use the "large" font size choice on this stupid Blogger site? Well, I'm past thinking too much about comfort and am just going to go with it. Like shoes. My feet need comfy, clog-like shoes in order not to hurt. I have looked for three years in vain for an administrative-looking pump that I can wear all day comfortably. I have now added my fruitless efforts to the long list of ways the universe is telling me I am not meant for the administrative path. If I were going to be a school administrator full time then supportive but intimidating pumps would be required and they don't exist, so there's that. I choose comfy and am not ashamed of it, or of the large font.

I tried Xanax the other day in preparation for an MRI and it made me realize that I live with a constant level of anxiety that wasn't there ten years ago. At least I don't think it was. Two of those magical pills made a layer of anxious just evaporate like mist in the warm sunlight. I was calm and clear. I was able to get through what had caused a panic attack two weeks prior with a clear head and slow, steady breathing. Unfortunately, I could remember very little of what happened after that, and what conversations I had, so those magic little pills must be reserved for extreme circumstances only. Writing is a safer kind of Xanax for me. I feel calm when I write. The world makes more sense and I am not as anxious about the future, or about the decisions I have to make every day, big and small. Finding those shoes and deciding when to retire don't seem such large, looming problems anymore. 

So I've decided to write. More often. For me. If you enjoy my ramblings and want to join me for the ride, come along. I sincerely hope you find your own Xanax, but I'm more than willing to share mine.