Learning to climb

 How many mountains do I have to move before I learn to climb?

My plate is full, my days are hectic. I remember the importance of time, time for me, time for my kids. Exhaustion doesn't help nurture that need... physically being in the room is not enough. I put all of me into everything I do; there is no middle; there is no half way. I miss being able to breathe without panic. I miss being able to rest without worry. I miss being able to just be.

The more that weighs on me, the more that weighs me down. It's as if I'd gained twenty pounds back, then another ten, and another. Despite my physical weight staying down, I am heavy. I pull myself out of this stress through each run. I find myself there and shed the baggage with each step. It catches back up to me though, as if I'd out ran it, still knowing it would eventually catch up once I stood still. It does, however, give me an  hour or so of freedom before it finds me again. That hour is my link to sanity. That is where I still exist.

I have to survive two more weeks of chaos. I have made decisions to get time back, to get me back. These choices didn't come easy, and getting to their results is like moving mountains. I think I may dig deep and find that bulldozer and knock them down. I do better with immediate results. I will then learn to climb, okay?

I am unpacking my backpack, emptying it all onto a table. I am only putting back in the necessary items, the items I choose to carry, the ones that make me happy. I didn't completely understand that movie Up in the Air... why not have it all in one bag? It hurts like hell to carry all this luggage.

In the bulldozer,
Beth