She Is Determined
It has been several weeks of stress and tech disasters and doom and adapting and overcoming, but I’m still here, fighting the good fight with my art journal as my shield and my paint brush as my sword. I’ve learned how to create interactive PDFs with embedded video, how to use an AmazonS3 account to store and serve video downloads, how to count to ten and get ‘er done without freaking out first…
And there are so many silver linings to be found. Silver and rainbows and glitter galore.
You know why? Because *that’s what I look for*.
Someone called me determined. They said “this might have completely derailed someone else, but not you…”
And I own that.
That is a true fact.
I am determined.
Things get rough, new curveballs come flying at me out of no where, my youngest son hates me, my step-daughter hates me, I discover in one night that I am, according to people I love, people I have fought for, cried for, stood up for, mommy-dearest and the wicked step mother all rolled into one.
And I roll with that punch because if your kids like you and think you’re cool, you’re probably doing it wrong…
And the work stuff is just stuff, and I hunker down and rework and learn new skills and create new opportunities…
Because what I do matters to me.
But I gotta be honest. I get tired. I despair. And I don’t often share that because I don’t want to burden my people with the ick stuff unless I’ve already worked through it and I can show *them* how to work through it, too.
But, yes. I get worn out. I feel bitter sometimes. I feel depleted and hopeless. I cry enough that it changes the shape of my face for days and days at a time.
And then I tell myself ~ “Self? Suck it up. Life is not a series of pure moments. The moments that shine come through the moments that suck. True fact. Move through. Glide. Yes, you can…”
Last night, after several weeks of social isolation and adapting and overcoming, I went to a party. I wore knee high socks (black) and boots (ankle length, with a zipper up the back) that made me feel like I could kick shit and take names. I sipped a very expensive bourbon (a gift from our house guest) from a very sexy flask (it’s silver with a Celtic knot embossed leather sleeve) and I mingled and socialized and cemented friendships and observed and discerned and walked with a strut.
I got called ‘tart’ in the best, most positive way, in the best, most delicious tone of voice by the best, most scrumptious hostess. I was taken by the wrist and looked in the eye and told “You glide. You glide like nothing I’ve ever seen. Do you know?”
I felt my oats. (Have you ever heard that expression?) I stood tall. I cocked my eyebrow and my hip. I shone.
And then I collapsed in a heap of grateful exhaustion and woke up this morning feeling ~ you guessed it ~ even more determined.
Because sometimes, knee high socks and a flask of something decadent and expensive and excellent company and a bowl of hours spent thinking about everything *but* work and the kids and the stuff that sucks is necessary to reset, to refill the well, to realign.