Yes, I know, not the usual topic for a blog about living life simply on/near/or dreaming of a farm but it is a topic I think we can all relate to.
Thanksgiving isn’t my holiday. I have never really gotten it. It’s a meal, it’s never as good as I think it is going to be and it is the mark of the beginning of end the year. Or, as I see it: t-minus eight weeks till my birthday and thus eight weeks to get my act together and/or a plan for how in this next year of my life will accomplish X, Y and Z.
I have been deep in reflection and strategic life-planning mode the past few days. It didn’t help that I have had the last week off and therefore can spend nearly every moment obsessing over every detail. That is, in between writing a grant application, studying, cleaning and cooking.
In one of these moments I realized that I am, in fact, quite close to being the woman I’d hoped to be at 14. Well, if you don’t count the rockin’ body, loads of cash, loving husband and sophisticated yet quirky house with a spiral staircase. The essence is pretty close though. I wanted to be strong, opinionated, popular, confident. These were four things I lacked when I was 14.
At 14 I was a freshman in high school, I was lonely, fat, on my way to being anorexic (I didn’t eat from February till October that year). I had a dream though: people would someday like me. I would have amazing, funny friends who actually got me. I would make the room stop and listen to me. I would be the person everyone wanted to know and be near. I would be dazzling.
Now, not to toot my own horn but I can easily say I am that person today. What I am not is thin, a successful writer (i.e., with loads of cash), happily married or in possession of a sophisticated yet quirky home with a spiral staircase. Thin is something that went out the window years ago. After being anorexic, bulimic and a binge-eater (hey, I like to cover all my bases) I am at a weight that is comfortable and healthy but definitely not thin. I run, I do pilates, and I eat very healthy whole foods. So I’m not going to be thin, but I am going to be me and this is it.
I am not happily married. You may have seen me say in the past that boys are a drug and I’m going cold turkey. The problem is that boys…well…I’ve fallen off the wagon. This year though, NO BOYS. No thoughts about boys, no daydreams about boys, no boys. I need a year to detox from empty promises, unfulfilled possibilities and all around soul-sucking lack of action. I want a man. I’ll leave it at that.
The final bits: writing and a home of my own. Well, the house fell through in the 11th hour but I think that things are always meant to be and happen for a reason. The reason was, perhaps, this: I am a writer. I have always been a writer. I have allowed the voices of doubt color my ability and my belief in myself. But now, the only way I am every going to have that quirky little house is through the money I earn via writing. So I’m sitting down and getting it out.
By my 35th birthday (t-minus 60 weeks) I will have a book deal, a quirky home…I will have become the woman I’d hoped I would be at 14. 21 years late, but accomplished none the less.