it is legitimately pouring at my house. it's the end of the day and i've opened the garage door and am sitting here barefoot in the dim light, watching the rain, drinking a non-alcoholic beer (sober september - sigh) and half-smiling at the moment. occasionally a giant pine cone thunks down from one of our towering pines, and even with the sound of the rain they're heavy enough for me to hear across the lawn. the downpour reminds me that the roofer is coming next week, and i cross my fingers that the temporary repair will hold. so here's me: beer in hand, tarp-covered roof, lounging in the garage. redneck much? :)
it is the end of day 11 of my new job, and it's really quite astonishing to feel sane when i clock out. B & i drove out to the beach one day this weekend and, as is our habit, dumped our chairs and cooler and headed off on a long walk. we've done this 4 or 5 times this summer, and without fail, our walks have ended up in alternately distressed and resigned conversation revolving around my work - how much longer can i suck it up / the money is good, so how can i justify walking away (always my struggle, not B's - he truly did not give a single fuck about the dollars vs. my happiness. happiness was always the winner there) / how long can our relationship and my mental health bear the strain. the sand became a place where i vented and hashed out plans to cope. this weekend, though, 10 work days into my new job, we walked and talked and looked for shark teeth and it didn't occur to me until we sat back down that work hadn't even crossed my mind. i was, honestly, a little bit shocked. it was ... a revelation.
if i am honest, though, the western mindset (indoctrination?) that says i must make as much money as possible, consequences be damned, still trips me up. I have continued to second guess myself, on and off, since the moment i gave my two weeks notice, because i choose mental health and happiness over a paycheck. and let's be honest - not only because of the pandemic, but more sharply because of it - i am *incredibly* lucky to have the luxury of even making the choice. i have a partner with a job who shares our financial responsibilities. neither of us were laid off or furloughed. we are, by all measurements except the imaginary ones, rich.
but man, those imaginary ones... the ones shining forth from social media, celebrities, influencers, ads... they're insidious, aren't they? they plant seeds of dissatisfaction that grow fast and furious. it's enough to *almost* makes me thankful for the pandemic. we haven't been eating out, and guess what? we are fed, and our food is pretty yummy. we haven't been shopping or buying new clothes, and i still have jeans that fit and a shirt on my back. we haven't had people around to compare ourselves to, haven't traveled or brunched or tried the newest, hottest trends/spot/whatever... and we are just peachy, thank you very much.
i refuse to be tied up in the bondage of success, as it falsely defined by the culture in which i live. i am unraveling the rope that ties me to the anchor of without. i can live without a lot, as it turns out. instead, i want to measure the success of my life in how much i live with. With joy, laughter, friendship, generosity, courage, compassion and gentleness. i will measure it in days and years lived with an open heart. i will measure it with love.
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