Rats. I feel like talking, but there’s no one to talk to.
I tried calling my mom first – she’s usually my first call when I feel like chatting, or when I need someone to take my mind off things that are bothering me.
But her phone’s been busy for the past 30 minutes.
So I tried my friend Pat, who left me a message on my answering machine at home, saying she was thinking about me and just wanted to say hi.
But she wasn’t home.
Then I tried my friend Millie, my BFF as the kids would say. Although I was a bit reluctant to talk to her because I’m going to have to give her an answer (soon) about whether I’m willing to return to Classical Bells next year (which is actually one of the things I’m looking to be distracted from).
Anyway, she wasn’t home either.
So I guess I’ll talk to you.
You know who you are – my wise, wonderful blogging friends…Star, and Bella (both Bella’s), and Sherry, and June, and Deirdre, and Imelda, and Tammy, and Tara, and Anno, and …well, the list goes on and on.
At least one of you has to be out there to listen
So the past month or so has been a little crazy for me – some upheaval in my finances, some worries about my children, some decisions to make about my plans for the future. Some of that is starting to settle down – the refinancing is over and done with, the kids are home safe and sound -and now I have to concentrate on me for a bit, try and decide what shape I want the next year or two to take.
You know I’ve been mulling over this idea of a “me” year – actually a retreat of sorts, where I could spend my free time focused on writing or even on some new activity that might spark my interest. For the last decade, music has been my alter ego. Seriously, I almost feel as if I have this other identity – an action figure type character who peels off her sweats and tennies, pulls on her concert dress blacks and hurls herself onto the stage to create musical magic.
It’s a rush, it really is.
But it’s also a lot of hard work to get there. You all know I’m a perfectionist, which means I beat my brains out over every piece to make sure it’s perfect, to make sure no matter what goes on around me during the performance, that I will have my part down cold.
Part of me says, give yourself a rest from that.
But…and you knew that was coming didn’t you? But, what if I get bored? What if I sink back into that person I was 15 years ago, who hung around the house all the time, who didn’t have any social life, who was rather introverted and one dimensional and (dare I say) boring?
Because it’s really easy to stop striving, to pull back on the reins so far that you’re just loping along through life, especially if you have nothing providing that little kick in the butt to spur you forward.
Sure, I enjoy days like yesterday and today, days when I’ve nothing more pressing than writing a post for Sunday Scribblings, or doing some laundry, or making dinner. But would I want a whole year of those days?
Won’t I need more focus than that to keep me from sinking into old-ladyhood?
You know, going out into the wide world was never much encouraged in my family. I don’t come from a long line of ambitious over-achievers. Slow, steady, and above all, safe were the buzz words during my upbringing. So it’s really easy for me to lay back and lay low, because that’s what my family would rather have me do. And sometimes, even at my advanced age, it’s hard to go against the grain of those kinds of expectations.
I guess I need to think a little more about who I am, apart from the expectations of anyone else, and think about the things that make me the happiest even if they sometimes aren’t easily accomplished.
Gee, I’m glad we talked.