Leaving

Leaving is a very interesting thing. 

I left my store this week. My home. My adorable 5191 hot mess disaster home that I love so very much. The home that I ran with Jonah with our precious babes, my dear loves, I left it. I was forced out. I know it's for the best. I know I will do better and learn more and Jonah will do better and learn more but it's so hard. I feel like my heart is being ripped out and I'm leaving it every day to go to Mercer Island. The new kids are nice, they're fine. But they're not MINE. I know they probably will be. I know I have to give it time. 

But there's no Kristen and Tessa to joke around with and bring me Chick-fila-, there's no sensitive Alex to give me a back rub and come to me with problems, no more of my precious high school loves figuring out the world and growing up, no more documenting Berlin excuses. No more Jonah. No more rock that I hate and love and can't live without. 

The transition period is the worst. I miss my old team so much. I hate that they still text me and tell me how much they miss me and need me and I hate that they text me and tell me that they're doing okay without me. Every little bit, all of it, it hurts my heart. I hate that they can move on without me, even though they have to. I hate that I have to move on without them. But they all get to move on together, and I have to move on alone. 

I've even made weekly meetings with Jonah so I can see him and my babes. 

I know it's for the best. I know it'll make me better. I know Brittney will teach me more than I could ever learn from Jonah. But it's different. 

Everything is different. 

It's all just going to take time. 

Midnight Rants About Life

Growing up is the strangest thing that's ever happened to me. I think it's probably the strangest thing to happen to anyone. 

I'm going through the things you hear about as a kid, as a young adult. I suppose the term "kid" is too vague. I don't know when it happened that I became a real adult. Not when I thought I was an adult or acted like and adult but when it really happened. I don't often think of myself as a real adult but I really am. I'm closer to 30 than 21. I'm one of those "old people" teenagers know.

Things can happen to people at any age: death, tragedy, change, consistency, real happiness. I think some of these things are a rite of passage for your life. The stress of someone you care about having brain surgery, the devastation of hearing one of your friends got arrested and will face jail time, making your parents proud, but like, really proud. But at the same time knowing that you don't need that validation anymore (even though it's nice to have.) Realizing that your parents were right about almost everything but they're also fallible. And that it's okay to grow out of the things they taught you. To grow into yourself. 

I wonder if people with a set plan for their lives feel accomplished at the end of it. I wonder if people without a plan for their life feel accomlished at the end of it. And what that looks like for everyone. I've always had a plan but I've almost never followed it. It's never made me feel bad; it's mostly ever affected only me. It's just interesting what everyone values. And what adds value to people's lives. As someone with no one else to answer to, no significant other to worry about, no children whose lives I need to worry about, I'm trying to decide what adds the most value to my life, what I can measure success by. I think many people will say family, their significant other, their beliefs, possibly money. Happiness isn't as quantifiable but maybe contentment is. But when does that complacency turn into a plateau? Should we always be reaching?

These are the rantings of an overworked, over-tired brain. At this exact moment of my life, I'm going to measure success in how many hours of sleep I'm going to get tonight. And I think the outcome is something I can really be proud of. 

Short Stories

I tried not to picture the man with the mustache. But that was impossible; he kept popping up in my head. Any time I saw a mustache, this man's image invaded my mind. My boyfriend had a mustache so I made him shave it. He'd had it since before we started dating and I had never gotten to know the skin of his upper lip along with the rest of him. It made me feel uncomfortable and guilty that I refused to respect this skin just because it was covered by hair. What other skin was I neglecting? I had to break up with him before he started to go bald.

Dennis, we have to break up.

What the hell? Why?

Honestly?

Honestly.

Your upper lip skin makes me feel guilty.

Guilty? You told me I had to shave!

That's because I can't look at mustaches anymore but your upper lip skin made me feel guilty for neglecting it all this time. 

Neglecting....what?! Why can't you look at mustaches anymore? You used to love it!

I have to go.

We need to talk about this!

No. I can't talk about mustaches anymore. I have to go.

I think I probably hurt his feelings but he just didn't understand. And I wasn't about to go public about the mustache man so there was no way he could understand.

Stress

Stress is a funny thing. Maybe it's just my brain. Maybe I just need more coffee.

Here I sit, ready to interview prep and all I can think about is the Seahawks. Not altogether surprising, considering it's Super Bowl time again, but my oatmeal and my latte are getting cold and I'm staring off into the distance thinking about Seahawks socks. It's not productive and it's not going to get me a promotion.

When I think about if I'm stressed or not, of course my conscious brain gives me a very calm and collected answer that no, I'm certainly not stressed. I am completely ready for this interview and I can speak to everything I've been working on with complete clarity. I am so ready for this promotion and can do it with my eyes closed. After all, I've basically been doing the job for three months.

My body is having a different reaction to the question at hand. Every time I think about the interview my stomach ties up in knots and I feel like I'm going to vomit on any and everything around me. My skin dries up and I have lovely red patches all over the place and my cuticles are a nightmare. But maybe that's just a lack of water. 

Every day closer to Tuesday my stomach ties up a little tighter and food becomes less and less appealing. The red patches aren't going away and my delightful conscious brain is still telling me I'm fine, I'm ready while I am unable to focus on preparing answers to interview questions and reflecting on my growth as a manager.

Why do you want to be a store manager?

I love coffee. I'm drinking coffee right now. It's getting cold. That day old bread looks delicious. I wonder if I should get some bread for later. Would anyone help me eat a loaf of bread? I don't need a whole loaf. These guys next to me are really loud. Not even Mozart can block them out. Mozart because it really helps me focus. I'm great at focusing and getting tasks done. Yeah, that's a great quality I should write that down. What category does that fall under? I need some juice. That hipster on the Mac is only wearing shades of green. I wonder if he did that on purpose. Is my typing too loud? I need a new pair of leggings. Yeah, to wear with the Seahawks socks! Good thing I got that gift card. I love my team. Oh yeah, my team. I want to inspire them. How have I inspired my team? 

The unusual thing is, I don't get too nervous for interviews. Maybe it's a good thing that I am. Maybe it's better. Minus the inability to prepare, maybe this means I'll be better. 

I guess we'll see how Tuesday goes.