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Survive or Thrive?

Survive? Or Thrive?

That’s really the question of the day.

This choice to keep at what I was and survive because that’s something that I know I can pull off.

I think that’s the terrifying part of buying a guitar today. To make music again. It’s been interesting remembering what calluses are good for this afternoon.

Is because this purchase is the conscious decision that I am going to thrive. 

I’m at a special place in time that I finally feel like I moved in and things are where I left them the night before and that I don’t feel like I’m inconveniencing someone else and their needs and wants when I’m not really meeting my own needs in the first place. There was a lot give and not a lot of take in the last few years and sometimes I wonder how much of that was other people or if that was mostly me and my unwillingness to figure out a new solution to an old problem.

Whereas this time, this move, I planned the answers in advance. I planned my morning routine and found the places that I was having fall through and reorganized to get more things flowing from one to another. As the 400 pages of scanning I got done last month will attest.

A little older and a little wiser I can make choices that don’t always make me comfortable or secure, but they do give me the most room to grow.

I didn’t need to get an apartment by myself. But in fact, I really did.

I understood this more Monday morning than I really had for the last month that I’ve lived here. My sister and her family visited and the boys, were toddlers and want to look at everything.

I did, I say with pride, manage to mostly toddler-proof my house that anything that fell wouldn’t break.

Unless it was a child, I’m not responsible for that.

I hid the only thing that I would cry if they broke and was breakable out of reach. I mean like I had to stand on a chair to get it there so there was no way the boys were going to reach it.

But Monday morning, I was prepared to call out of my day job because usually after something like this, I’m beyond exhausted. Like dead on the floor, not a fan of people sort of thing. You know the usual not used to chasing toddlers people who are like, kids are not on my to-do list anytime soon.

I’m also really glad that I didn’t buy my guitar until after they were gone.

But Monday morning dawns, colder than I like but my heater was working so I was awake about ten minutes before my alarm, turned it off and started the coffee.

And enjoyed the music playing quietly just a little more than I had on Saturday morning.

The Transition Time

Let’s be honest, a lot more of us are living in survival mode than we realize at least until the pandemic we didn’t really process just how much of our lives were on autopilot and how much we were draining ourselves with the decisions that we made day after day.

It’s not until this week when I was writing out four thousand words after a full day at work, granted I wrote 3000 of them before and not half of them will make it into the final product, that I realized just how much driving for a living was sucking out my creativity. Just the energy required in those decisions.

Sure, I started reducing the number of decisions I had to make in a morning before it all went down, by sticking to the same clothes, eating mostly the same food, or some variation on it. I know it sounds boring but by not frying my brain I got some of the creativity out.

But it still wasn’t enough. Even this job, with the creative aspect to it, with a set of technical skills is basically just like doing scales for my writing. There are a set of rules to follow and the fun is finding how many you can break without breaking them to get the customer what they want.

They don’t want the same house as anyone else, but they want the same level of comfort, of ‘homeyness’ that they feel at their friends places. But they don’t want to look like they are keeping up with the Jones’s down the street.

Though it is Christmastime, so there may be a little light envy.

Did y’all know this is the first year I’ve ever wanted a Christmas tree?

I have hated the season for a variety of reasons, most of which is that no, I don’t get to/want to spend time with my family and I get to stand there looking like an interloper at a party because I’m not related to anyone else there.

I have only recently come into my skin and well, the last year hasn’t allowed for many opportunities to practice shedding that over layer of shame and guilt and who knows what else was in there. Don’t get me wrong, but as this weekend attests, you can do the work but until you actually sit down with your sister and spend two hours hanging out when the last time you did that, you made it 45 minutes before someone was crying/screaming.

So you worried all week about their visit.

It was fine, but you know, I don’t know if I want little terrors, I mean children.

At least not to jump into the non-cuddly cute stage right off the bat anyways. Also, I own a surprising number of breakable things that I didn’t quite realize until I was toddler-proofing my house while they were on the way with food.

Nothing like a time crunch.

Rearview Moments

The thing that I’m finding more and more as I grow is the rearview moments that stick. Sure, I should probably stop looking at this one, but it’s still very real to the now and decisions that I do need to make in the next few months. At least by April, anyways.

To those of you that didn’t know me in 2015, good. Don’t read the rest of this. To those of you that did. I’m frigging sorry.

I was so angry. So angry.

Some of it was contrived, some of it was circumstance, and some of it was consequence for not listening. I was hearing someone moan and groan at work about how she couldn’t get a promotion and the thought was that there is a difference between calling someone on their bullshit and calling them bull shit.

Can you tell that I’m from Texas, because I know the difference between the two word version or the one word?

‘Cause I’m about to teach you.

Bull shit. Is what it literally is. Having grown up across the way from a working cattle ranch, cow shit smells like something else. You don’t go looking for it.

It finds you.

And if someone is saying that all the things you are doing, which is basically herding cats, is shitty and that you can’t do your job and that they could do it better– do you want to do anything for them? Or do you want to see them land on their faces? Preferably in said cow shit?

Bullshit, the one word version, is a card game where you try to bluff your way to no cards in your hands. You try to take what you’re given and fudge the least amount. You know who’s next to you and how likely they are to cheat and decide that the person next to you is. Call BS on them all the time. Worst case is that you find out who lies, too. And you will always have the cards you need.

Eventually.

So which are you really doing?

Bull shit, or bullshit?

This coming form the woman who won a Texas Hold ‘Em with a two of spades and three of hearts. Granted, we were all kids, but I could bluff better than they could.

After all, I already knew how to lie. The less the better.

So here I tell you, I will thrive in Nashville.

So which game am I playing?

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