Shifting Sands of Time

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In front of my apartment at Ricks College

My job is to write blogs.  I write 30+ blogs a month for others.  And I enjoy it. I get paid to do something I enjoy.  And that is worth a lot in terms of living a meaningful life. I do not dread Monday mornings because I have to go to work.  I do not come home in tears at the end of the day because of the way a manager or customer treated me.  I do not have nightmares about work anymore.  And I am grateful.  I am grateful to have a different job now. And, the best part of all, I am able to say, I am a writer.  Me, a bonafide, get paid for your work, writer.  And that makes me incredibly happy.

And that was a long lead-in to say, I’m not doing New Year’s Resolutions.  I wrote five or six blog posts about them; and in doing the research, I discovered this interesting fact, only 7% of the people who set New Year’s Resolutions actually follow through.  So, I am not going to bother, because I am pretty sure I wouldn’t be in that 7% if past history of resolutions is any indicator.   I will however, set some goals.  

My first goal is to quit drinking Dr. Pepper, and my second goal is to exercise more. There it is.  In writing. From past experience I know that if I have enough motivation that I can follow through on goals.  So, I am seeking inspiration.  To find enough motivation to care, because honestly I am feeling somewhat melancholy, and that tends to rob me of motivation.

Yesterday was the 35th anniversary of Kelly asking me to marry him. Tomorrow is the 35th anniversary of me telling him yes. (After two long days of trying to decide, another story in a separate blog post.)  And today, in between those days, I am contemplating how my life is so different than I ever dreamed it would be.  I think that is part of my dilema, I am feeling in between.  My past has been an adventure I never would have imaged,  my day-to-day life with Kelly is a bittersweet eleven-year old memory, my sometimes daunting task of finishing the raising my six children on my own is finished. And now I’ve been thrust into an empty nest, by myself — singular, in solitude, alone — and I don’t know what to do with myself.

Kelly and I had made so many plans for this time of our life. But he’s not here, and I’m definitely not the person I would have been, and I can’t tell you for certain, even who I am anymore.  Let alone what I want to do with the rest of my life. And it feels strange.  I feel as though I walk on shifting sands. My future is uncertain except for the fact that it contains my children, grandchildren, and writing. And for now, that is enough.

Feel free to leave a comment.  What inspires and motivates you?

 

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