finding balance


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I actually haven’t found it yet. Figuratively or literally. Not one iota.

But I’m working on it.

I had lunch with a long lost favorite person today, who I have vowed to keep in my back pocket and never lose again. As I’m getting older, I’m figuring some things out that other people seem born knowing.

Like the value of good people.

I’ve always, forever valued people. I’m empathetic to the core. I feel people. But I haven’t been great about keeping them around. It’s something I’m working on.

So today. The lunch. The eventual questions about my blog. Why I wasn’t writing. Which made me strangely uncomfortable. I don’t have an answer. There’s life…but we’re all out there, living life and we’re still able to accomplish things. So what’s my deal?!?! I don’t know. But after our lunch, and my return to reality with dishes and kids and dinner, I found I was still thinking about my writing, and why it isn’t happening.

And while I am far from an answer, I remembered that I had written so many posts that had never seen the light of day. So you’ll have to forgive me, but I’m going to start sharing some of these. Because at least it’s something. It’s a start.

And with that, a little blast from the past…(commence time travel music)

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I actually haven’t found balance yet. Figuratively or literally. Not one iota.

But I’m working on it.

As the days creep by (and they are a’creeping), we’re finding ourselves closer and closer to D-day. Or S-day. Surgery. Maybe it should be called eff-day. Less than a week from today, my husband is having a double fusion, and will be out of work for three months.

THREE MONTHS.

To say I’ve been freaking out about this day would be an understatement. My co-workers, who have blindly asked how I’m doing have not made the same mistake twice. If anything, there is an invisible force field around me, and we’re all pretending that everything is going to be just fine. Because when I allow myself to think about the alternative, tiny rivers start to snake down from my eyes, and  my breathing becomes shallow, and I latch on to whoever is nearest. Like I said, no one asks a second time.

So I’ve begun eating everything in sight. Especially carbs. And chocolate. And bacon. And anything that isn’t nailed to the floor.

Have I mentioned that I’m not the most rational person on the planet?

Although it could be worse, right? A co-worker and I were talking about it today. I could be turning to online gambling, or alcohol, or crack. So, there’s that.

About a month ago, however, I realized that I might not be doing myself any favors. So I started working with a trainer (again), and also ventured into the pretzel-y world of yoga. And let me tell you, that shit’s not easy.

I’ve tried the hot yoga. The pilates yoga. The yoga with weights (I know, who knew?). And I’ve found something out. I’m terrible at all of them. Also, I appear to have the worlds worst balance. I have no idea how I’m able to walk upright on a daily basis.

There are yoga guys in these classes with hairy chests. Sweating all over the place. And they are able to bend and contort and make it look like it ain’t no thang. There are itsy-bitsy little girls in their lululemon who are literally pore-less, and they’re all “ohhhmmmmm” and folded up into origami shapes.

And then there is me.

Who has fallen into a somersault (I’m not kidding) and apparently has hips with a mind of their own and is sweating all over the freaking place and it’s definitely not a zen moment to be anywhere near me. My face is red and my butt is in the air and I have to be doing this all wrong because it is not relaxing.

And I find myself thinking of what is relaxing.

My sweats at home. And bacon on Sunday mornings. And chocolate.

And that’s when it hits me. Carbs are my yoga, man.
And that’s okay with me.

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