In a rare moment of calm within the last few weeks, I had a sudden, gut-level sense that things were about to shift. I didn’t know what it would look like or what would be involved. I didn’t totally trust it, as I was in the midst of weeks-long anxiety. Things have been crazy.
It has been a long few weeks. A couple of months, really.
And on the other side, I’ve decided to give myself permission to do things I want to do because I want to do them. Not because they’re a good back up plan for an English and Spanish major. Not because they’re difficult or noble or an option. I don’t have to do everything I’m capable of doing. I don’t have to prove to be a hard worker to myself, to my parents, to a nonexistent audience I fear is hiding under my bed or in my closet. I don’t have to do all the things.
I don’t have to overwhelm myself, filling my time until people notice how productive I am. This has only yielded multiple unhealthy results.
It’s taken me a full year and a half, maybe more, to get here.
Right now, I have some breathing time, and an offer, a promise, of a tangible shift only a few weeks away. My gut was right.
How else to celebrate but a productive trip to the library on a soggy late afternoon?
This is how I plan to spend my time over the holiday. Five glorious days to sleep, be with family and friends, read because I want to, and be thankful for what’s to come.