It started at a very young age.
I recall never being fully satisfied with what I had; always looking towards the next thing, promising myself that life would be great as soon as
I didn't have to shop at Kmart for back-to-school clothes
I could get my bangs to curl exactly like perfectly perky Sue's
that dumbass boy in algebra would write me dirty notes instead of that skank rebecca
I had a nicer car
the babies slept through the night
there was more money in our bank account
I finally lost those "few" extra pounds and could wear dresses again without having to use crisco to get them past my "strong" shoulders
they found a cure for autism
I finished my book
At 32 I can only begin to estimate just how much time I have wasted on waiting for something better to happen just so that I could really start living.
What a bunch of bullcrap.
Today I don't weigh what I should, but I cooked dinner in pink and pearls, shiny gloss coating my lips, simple gestures required in order to build a solid foundation of self-love; because if I don't, then who will?.
Today I didn't get published, but I wrote what my heart dictated and felt both free and fulfilled, basking in something I love to do, knowing how lucky I am to be supported on my personal quest.
Today no one called me with the news that a cure has been found for what afflicts my firstborn, but I held his hand in church as he inappropriatley giggled and jumped, stimming like crazy when the choir sang, his eyes wild and his grin contagious, my heart bursting as I breathed in this moment, anything beyond it quickly becoming irrelevant.
I still want a new car, a big house, a book contract, single-digit pants, and of course, a cure for Autism.
But I'm done pressing the pause button on what is already such a full and blessed life; one that deserves my full attention and enthusiastic participation.
I'm choosing to dream my dreams
and steadfastly head towards my unmet goals.
But make no mistake
I'll be living in the meantime.