Related, I can't believed I've lived almost two years without a dog in my home. That has literally never, ever happened, not since I was born 25 years ago into a house with 2 German Shepherds and two cats. Even with Oliver, it's weird, and if moving into this place with a landlord who is a thief of joy wasn't an emergency snap decision, it would never have been okay with me.
For the first time in my life, I'm really not sure what I want to be when I grow up. I mean, sure. I'm a writer. Got the degree and the clips and everything. I always said that's what I'd be, and now I am. But perhaps it's what I'm writing, or maybe it's the where, but it's all feeling kind of stale lately. I'm more inclined to think it's the content than the practice, because the act of writing, I'm certain, is the one thing I can always rely on to feed my soul and set my mind at ease.
But, writing from behind a desk from 9-5 is not a life for me. Firstly, because it isn't effective work-wise. I can't write quality content for my job simply because we are in the middle of business hours. I know that sounds like a cop-out or a "creative type's" asinine rambling, but it's true. I used to work from home, and was more productive in two 3-hour blocks of time where my mind was at its sharpest, than I am all day between 9 and 5.
Secondly, because every time I notice a numbness in my butt or an ache in my glutes or coccyx, I can't help but think how ridiculous and #firstworldproblem it is that the biggest physical danger to me from my job comes from SITTING TOO MUCH. I mean, I just find that absurd. Don't you? I've been meaning to get a standing desk adapter rather than relying on a stack of books or a bookcase at an improper height, and I don't think I can put it off anymore. Sitting is the new smoking, or so they say, and since I've already kicked the latter, it's time to get moving on the former.
So I'm not sure if it's writing or the circumstances surrounding this particular track of writing-as-a-career that I've tumbled down, but something just isn't clicking quite right. I don't define myself by my job, and I'm realistic enough to know that 100% satisfaction from a job is simply not something most people get. But I'm also smart enough to know that a soul-sucking job doesn't balance well with the amazing life I have outside of it, and it only takes one drop of red food coloring to turn the whole water glass pink.
That's my way of saying that if you don't keep tabs on things and check in with yourself and make adjustments as needed, those little poisons — a bad relationship, a negative friend, a leaky faucet, a knee injury, whatever it may be — don't stay little for long, and if you're not careful, they can infect any other healthy aspect of your life until the point of takeover.
Maybe that's just me. But I have a sinking suspicion it isn't.
I'm still deciding how I feel about weekend recap posts, and still welcoming your opinions about them. I'm inclined to add a quick one here, simply because I caught myself thinking more than once, "Wow, this is my third great weekend in a row. With literally no downsides. I should document this for posterity."
So I'll save the details for my journal, but let me just tell you this: Staying in on Friday night, reading a John Green novel, taking care of some blog and life tasks, and settling into some yoga and a deep meditation was one of the best decisions I made all week.
Aside from that, my weekend was full of going, doing, and being. For a Type A person like me, weekends — especially those that involve such beautiful weather — are about cramming as much "life" in as possible. You won't catch me sleeping til noon on a Saturday these days. Especially when the warm air took so long to get here, and I'm still not convinced it's staying for any length of time!
I'm still really, really, really obsessed with this song.
So that's what's happening here. What's up with you?