It is with much reticence that I tell you, dear readers, that I drank too much last Friday. Perhaps my Catholic roots are coming back to me, confessing my intoxication in a desperate attempt to be absolved from my less-than-pretty moment. Or perhaps I tell you because it was an amazing opportunity to learn and grow.
I can’t remember anyone who has ever recalled that they flourished, or matured, from relatively simple times. It is when we are not at our best, or in the best of places, that we come out on the other side with a newfound sense of self. Whether forced into the situation, like with the loss of a job or a loved one, or whether it is self-imposed, like mine, most of us pull ourselves from the depths of the situation with a rather pristine clarity. This was no exception.
In full disclosure, my inner self has been stressed out lately. There are so many amazing changes happening within my wonderful world, all of which are carrying us, my wife and I, to our next big venture, that I am dizzy with the possibilities. The opportunities in front of us, to say the least, are grand, more than I would have ever anticipated in my lifetime. Every single day, I wake up counting my blessings, and do the same when my head hits the pillow at night. But lately, for some reason, with so many options abounding, I found myself worried. Change does not come easy for a simple girl from Texas.
The ‘what ifs’ began. Namely, what if we don’t make the right decision? My stomach became a meat-grinder, churning the options over and over until I could barely feel the difference between what my head was saying, what my heart was feeling and what my stomach was stirring. I internalized the potential mistakes, blaming myself for making a wrong decision that I had not even made yet. I was paralyzed with fear, and keeping it all inside, grinding and tossing and whipping up worry that overwhelmed me.
So, instead of doing what any girl lucky enough to be faced with such amazing choices should do, namely count my blessings moreover, I drank wine. And then I drank some more. And before I knew it, the following day was upon me, wasted with a hangover to end all hangovers.
There, I admit it. I am not perfect.
But while I had all day to wallow in my humiliation, I realized something. I may not be perfect, but I am certainly better than this. I am stronger than my own fear. Dealing with our grown-up choices is a privilege. Just like living in my healthy body is an honor, and finding the woman of my dreams is a gift, the life options we have are nothing short of amazing. And with all of that comes responsibility. That is what being a grown-up is all about.
The flipside is not having the plethora of choices from which to choose, right? That certainly isn’t what I want. So, I continue on the journey toward respecting my inner self and the gift of options that has been bestowed upon me. Like a proper girl from Texas, I am silencing the what-ifs by pulling on my cowgirl boots, and trudging through this time, secure with the sense that there is not a bad choice to be made.
Truth be told, as long as my wife and our cat are beside me, I cannot lose.