1. One of my favorite shirts from free people, making up one of my favorite spring outfits (black everything, all the time ya'll), and my second tattoo. A reminder that even the smallest and weakest are not forgotten. 2. Jane on a cool spring walk in the evening sun. 3. Fresh Eucalyptus, that reminds me of my mother, in my grandmothers pottery. 3. A beloved necklace that I searched for and finally found in a small shop in hillsboro in Nashville, TN. It reminded me of Rome before I ever knew that it would hold a place in my heart.
This past week has been more than the usual dose of chaos. For those of you who don't know, my brother was in India with my family and developed a bad infection, which in turn caused an allergic reaction. He and my family spent most of their vacation sitting in a hospital in Bangalore while they tried to treat him, and I spent a lot of time relaying info to the rest of the family here and being more than a little distracted. Thankfully he's home now, and doing much better. But it brought to the surface a realization that I've been coming to terms with over the last few months. As a kid I was as type A as they come. I planned out my day in 30 minute intervals, I got up at 6 am as a nine year old to at least try to read a book on Plato that I had found in our library, and I insisted on color coding and organizing everything. I grew up convinced that this was who I was. I was an organized person, in control of my life. It wasn't until I got married and my husband informed me that I most certainly was NOT the person I thought I was that I ever even questioned that identity.
As it turns out, he was at least half way right, and I've spent the last few years coming to terms with it, and the last few months actually owning it and accepting it. Somewhere along the way I decided that organized, put together people were somehow better than other people (I also picked up some strange Christian notion that they were more godly too, but that's a whole other story), and at a very young age I'm pretty sure that I decided that's who I wanted to be. But the thing is, being that person took up every ounce of me. I was using all of my energy to pretend to be a person I was not, and the moment anything else in life demanded something from me my true colors would start to bleed through. As it turns out I'm a creative, who likes order, but only because it makes things look pretty, and that's important to me. Chaos can totally exist, as long as I can't see it (i.e. please don't open any drawers in my house. They might eat you.). My life is always a little out of control, I don't write things down very well, and I forget things that I deem unimportant far too often. I treat texts like emails, and am still in denial of the fact that I think 3 days is an appropriate amount of time to wait to respond to either. I suck at being a house keeper, and tend to just pretend that my bathroom looks like that because my husband and brother live in the house right now. I don't know what I'll blame it on when my brother moves out. Toddler. That seems like a good option.
Ultimately, I'm beginning to learn to function (and overcome some of the downfalls), as this messy, spontaneous, though still very type A person that I am, and I've finally stopped waiting for "life to get normal" again. I've finally accepted that it's not going to. Not any time soon for sure. This IS normal. The fact that my day often looks like a crazy mix of getting shit done, watching shit get undone, spending an hour stuck on instagram because everything is just SO damn beautiful, and failing to do my mountain of laundry is just real, normal life. Because I hate laundry, mostly. And because I'm not good at following schedules. And I'm not going to spend my whole day feeling defeated because of those things. This is a life to be lived, not regretted, and life is too damn beautiful to feel like a failure because I can't find my calendar and have no idea when my dentist appointment is (tomorrow? Maybe?!).
Can I get an amen.