I need to be dressed and headed out the door to work in 5 short hours and I am nowhere near the point of falling asleep. ( The seven people who actually read this blog will know that my sleeplessness always leads to blogging rants, meltdowns and word vomit—I’m sorry, friends. )
It’s nearly September—the time when anxiety and stress settle heavy on my shoulders like the wool coat I’ll be digging out of the closet soon.
After scanning old blog posts I discovered a sad little pattern in my world: I always have a career/faith/family crisis in September. Okay crisis is a bit dramatic. Mostly I just find myself trudging along with too many commitments and looking for a good place to nap and a new city so I can be anonymous.
Last September I blogged that I was on the cusp of something new, right at the edge of something big happening in my world. I was just starting a new job and digging down deep to establish roots for the first time in my life. But I also knew something was coming.
I wish I could tell you it has arrived.
For the past year my ship has gently knocked against the dock—feeling an intense urge to set sail, but still waiting for coordinates. It’s frustrating to sit in a moored boat for an ENTIRE YEAR.
It hasn’t been a dull year. Big things have happened since last September. I traveled to six different states for work and for play. I met a kindred spirit who quickly became one of my best friends. I met a bearded babe who (maybe too quickly) became my boyfriend. I bought the foundation of my future tiny house on wheels. I picked up more freelance gigs than I have in any other year.
I have an offer for a job in a faraway land, a long-distance love and a garage full of building supplies.
These are big things.
But they still aren’t THE thing that is tugging at me and begging me to untie my little boat. I am SO. DAMN. CLOSE. to touching whatever it is I’m reaching out for. So close. But still my boat is docked. Here I am after midnight in the same room I sat in last year, with the same job and the same questions about what to do with myself and how to have patience while I prep my boat to sail.
It’s 1 a.m. and I don’t care—screaming still helps.