In a time of year when I should be feeling beyond motivated to set resolutions for the new year, I’m feeling a little lackluster in the dreaming department.
During a season when I should be feeling grateful and counting my blessings, I find that once they’re counted, I might feel content for the next ten minutes or so, but then the doubt and anxiety and uncertainty creep back in to their usual nesting places.
(And trust me, I make myself count my blessings on a daily basis. It’s one of my coping mechanisms, apparently.)
So what’s my deal?
Well, here’s the Great Truth I’ve come to after thinking about this for months on end:
Just because something is worth it in the end, that doesn’t mean it won’t be hard to go through it.
Just because something is what your wiser self knows you need, doesn’t mean that it’s something your childish, immature self is going to be okay with all the time.
I was talking to Matt the other day about how it seems that I don’t dream much anymore. Perhaps it’s because so many of our dreams didn’t come to fruition (like becoming a bajillionaire by the time we were 30, naturally), or perhaps it’s just because my child seems to have been on a napping boycott for about three months now, but my mind doesn’t delve into the realm of possibility so much, anymore—
It’s usually stuck instead on, “Wow, I have a messy apartment that I really should clean and a child that’s super whiny that probably needs to be bundled up and taken outside because we’re both going stir crazy and oh yeah, I haven’t eaten any real food in 6 hours or even gone to the bathroom for that matter, so I probably should get on that.”