Grades posted, check. Didn’t get into Charleston Fashion week, check. Midlife crisis, check.
Ever have that feeling that you know you are supposed to be doing something, but you’ve forgotten what it is? That’s how I’m feeling lately…only about my entire life, not just one moment of it.
David and I talked about it last night. Only, I don’t feel like I’m really saying anything substantial. Blah, blah, not feeling like I’m doing what I’m supposed to, blah, blah, not happy, blah, blah, want to do something meaningful, blah, blah, BLAH.
Is this just a function of my age? Menopause? Spiritual funk? Or is it the culmination of a life of mostly doing what pleases others and not pleasing myself?
Just trying to figure it out wears me out, so David suggested to just “not try to figure it out”—now that, folks, is like telling Sherlock Holmes not to try to solve a mystery. But I’m trying.
Sitting down, having a cup of ginger tea and eating a little gingerbread boy, appendage by appendage.
