My Worried Mind

How fast time flies. Case in point? It's been two months since I last posted - where did those two months go? It's amazing how time can seemingly slip into the same vortex socks fall victim to deep within the Narnian complexity of the dryer. At any rate, that time can be fairly summed up as follows: work, hideous toddler stomach flu, emergency room visit (x2!), vacation (phew!), second birthday, promotion, niggling toddler cold, date night, arrival of fall (hooray for fall! you sweep in with your cooler air and longer nights and cover me in your sweet, sweet weather goodness).  

And that's life. What was once punctuated by new school years is now a firm and consistent path where the chapters seem less defined. When do I get issued my official "You're a Grown Up Now" diploma to hang on the wall? Like a lot of things it just sort of happened (right?) At the office I'm often privvy to the weekend post-mortem conversations which for many are a re-telling of various exciting adventures and rendezvous which are such a gross departure from my own stories that I'm not even sure it's the same language. I literally devolved into spastic hysteria and a series of high fives after receiving word from daycare that baby C used the potty for the first time with the same enthusiasm as others devote to spring break hook ups. Conversely, my idea of a high class meal generally involves anything without bibs or physically wiping another dining attendee down after the meal whereas I sense that others focus a bit more on the traditional eight plate dinner parties and the opening of hip restaurants. What's that sound? It's me getting old. And lame. And loving it.

I'm learning to embrace my lameness. I'm also making an effort to not take it all too seriously - I generally spectacularly fail at this task. Especially in this new role at work where I'm fairly certain I'm going to fall short of expectation, get fired or, I don't know, pushed out a window at any given moment. None of these are pleasant ideas that reside in the neurotic folds of my brain that flare up any time I scooch out of my comfort zone. And given that I'm currently somewhere about five time zones to the left of my comfort zone that means I'm in a state of perpetual worry. Not a pretty sight. In spite of all that I'm working to understand work and home and their ability to each occupy a seat on the see-saw without bullying one or the other off the playground. And in those moments where I get that feeling that I'm playing dress-up in someone else's office I call up some recent memory of amazing little kiddo and try to put the worry to bed in knowing that there are bigger things out there that carry greater weight. C's biggest worries are that he may never see Elmo (or, "MELMO!!" as he is lovingly referred to in our house) again after the dramatic close of Elmo's World. That Daddy may never cut ("MOW-MOW!") the lawn again (our grass has never been so short - our toddler insists its cut every other day so that he may applaud as G traipses around the backyard with that sensational piece of machinery) or, of course, that he wont be able to play outside ("SIDE!") as often as he'd like. Our worries are different but no less important than one or the other - just a different stage of life. I remember my worries as a teenager and sort of scoff at them now (What if so-and-so doesn't like me? What will I wear to the dance? What if I don't get an A in Biology?). I'm always going to have worries that change with time and circumstance. And at no time will they seem less grave until I have enough perspective to realize how momentous the ones I currently have are compared to those that have long since evaporated. Some day I'll look back on myself and shake my head at the time I wasted sitting at my desk - afraid of what others thought of me. Especially when one of my biggest goals as a parent is to teach C that he needs to be himself.

I think one of my biggest worries these days is that time really is going too fast. Nothing I can do about that - except maybe to push back from my desk, even for a moment, and just realize that I enjoy what I'm doing. I enjoy the people I work with. I enjoy what I do every single day and I really am doing the best that I can at it. And if I disappoint - I get back up and try again. And if I get fired - I get up and try again. And if I get pushed out a window? I wave my arms like crazy and try to fly - cuz there ain't no getting up from that. :)  And at the end of the day I can smike...because most of all, I enjoy the home I return to each night.