… because I’m never self-analytical. Nor am I sarcastic.
As I walked home from dropping off the co-op minivan this morning, baby seat slung over my shoulder, I thought about some of the things that I do and things that I have. Last night, for example, I went out with the MuddBunnies to photograph riders working on various stunts. I’ve been working on a couple of websites lately, building or managing content or figuring out problems for people. I’m re-visiting my NaNoWriMo novel from a couple of years back, thinking I should really get on the whole ‘editing’ thing, much as I loathe editing – I’m pretty sure it was a good story, worth following up.
Last week I did a bit of tootling around in the woods on my bike with the aforementioned MuddBunnies. I’m kind of hoping when Adam gets his recording studio all set up again I’ll be able to convince him to help me record a few songs for Lyra (a personalized children’s album, if you will.) In just over a week, I’m heading back to work at the The David Suzuki Foundation after my year off with Lyra – a job which I was incredibly proud to get, where I feel like I belong and am actually really happy to go to work most of the time. I love to write, and I think much of the time I’m pretty good at it – even if I’m not, it makes me happy. When I want some relatively mindless entertainment, I can happily play video games and geek out on the internets.
At home I have an awesome relationship with my husband, even with the weirdness that comes when you first have a baby together. If anything, we’re a stronger unit than we’ve ever been, I think. I have a fantastic, good-natured, happy, smart, funny, beautiful little girl whom I adore, and who lights up every time she sees me. I am probably among the best-rested parents I know, to the point that sometimes I’m afraid to mention it in casual conversation – I’ve been getting enough sleep since Lyra was probably three or four months old, and before that I only hit the exhaustion wall very occasionally. I’ve taken to motherhood well; in fact, I’ve never really felt more balanced in who I am than I do now.
North Vancouver is a fantastic city to live in, and I love being so close to the mountains. I can get out on a trail on very short notice, and I try to take advantage of that fact whenever possible. If the situation changed and we decided to move somewhere, I’m comfortable with the concept that I could easily re-integrate into a new place; especially if we were staying in BC, since I’m now utterly addicted to mountains.
I know that I have a lot on my plate at any given moment, but since before this I would go bonkers with boredom if I had nothing to do, I think I might be in a perfect place. I have enough to do to keep me busy most of the time, enough downtime that I don’t get overwhelmed most of the time, and at this moment I wouldn’t have it any other way. I feel like I’ve got it together for now, and it is an awesome feeling.
It’s bound to change sometime, but for now I am not going to worry about it.
The thought occurred to me as I walked home this morning that if I met myself, I would be utterly, hopelessly intimidated, to the point that I would be terrified of talking to me. I would probably avoid talking to this girl who does a million different things and has it all so together, feeling like I was somehow inadequate next to her; that she would never be interested in talking to me. I feel that way about most people I know who aren’t me; the ones who aren’t quite friends, but who I see or talk to reasonably often. They intimidate me.
Realizing this makes me stop and wonder why I’m so nervous about talking to people. It’s a main component of my anxiety – talking to people who I either don’t know, or don’t know well, because I think I’m somehow not worthy. How ridiculous is that? I’m no more or less worthy of talking to / hanging out with someone than any other human being. Who am I to judge whether or not I’m of a certain worthiness to be allowed to talk to someone? Such hang-ups we acquire when we’re young… I think my next personal goal shall be to work through that fallacy in my brain.
Because really, I’m tired of being more afraid of you than you are of me. It’s really time for me to just quit being afraid at all.