True, maybe. But how does that play out when you're outside your apartment building on a cold December night, and a deranged fan approaches you from behind?
I'm supposed to believe, per my essential self, that it's all heading somewhere, for some reason. No, even more than that - that I'm not so much headed in a specific direction as I am already there. Faith like that is elusive these days. I didn't believe I could emerge intact after this past work week - the first week of summer camp, where I'm the co-director. We had an epically terrible first couple days, though, thankfully, I don't think any of our consumers would agree with that. Details are details, but Monday especially left me broken. Like, crying-uncontrollably-all-night-on-the-couch broken. It got better throughout the week, but I'm left with what feels like proof that I'm not cut out for the position I (accidentally/by default) have. Trust me...it's not a good feeling.
And obviously I made it through the week, but what now? What to do with the terrible realizations that flooded me? How do I make sense of where I failed, where I pulled through, and where I need delegate and/or accept responsibility? How do I make sure it doesn't happen this way again - both in the broader sense of offering high-quality programming, and in the deeply personal sense of staying consistently connected with what nourishes me? And what do I do with the dawning dread that, a week and a half ago, I may have squandered an incredible opportunity for personal change?
Whatever. It's the same old existential angst that I thought was claimed and conquered during my teenage years. But, no, it's my default setting, coming back to haunt me. Made for some mortifyingly awesome, moony high-school-lit-mag poetry, but it's not really so conducive to adult life.
All of this had me thinking, over and over, that I need to check back in with my therapist for a few sessions. I can't tell you how much that feels like a failure. Initiating therapy never felt like a failure for me, even though I know it's common for perfectionists in particular to feel that way. Now, though? It's just - I did the therapy bit, and I know what she's going to say, right? So it's my own fault and failure if I have to go back. Yet...I kind of want to pay her to say it all to me again, anyway. Because when the crazy creeps in, it's difficult to figure out how to help myself. I haven't called her yet, though. Denial, avoidance, self-flagellation...they're the results of the anxiety, and they are so very good at blocking the healing.
This upcoming work week promises to be just as tricky as last week, but in different ways. I need to be in two places at once, and while I may be giving 110% wherever I am, it means I'm giving nothing wherever I'm not. (Another reflection of my poor/absent/under-developed leadership skills?) I mostly want to give up and hide under my covers. I'm trying hard to believe that this is all for a reason, that it's all meant to be, that the journey is the destination - but, o me of little faith: in the short run, it's easier to run away than it is to pursue the dream.
In more important news (yeah), my countertop estimate came in. $4,735 for materials alone. $5200 with installation and removal of the old countertop. HARDYHARHAR, my budget for the entire KITCHEN is $5,000! Time for Plan B, which is...get a new plan?
|But you're so pretttttty, Zodiaq Minera Pearl! :(|
Yeah. Time for Plan B.