days? Or is it weeks?
I don’t know. I consider myself to be a strong person. Actually, I pride myself in being a strong person. I often say, jokingly with a huge smile, to my good friend, “Half the people I know couldn’t do what I do for one day let alone every single day.”
Okay. So, that statement is usually a profanity-laced tirade, but that’s the gist of it.
Part of my strength, I think is that I know when I’m worn. And at this point, I will very willingly say I’m not only worn out but weary.
I spent last week’s three-day weekend in a silent meditation. It was an evaluation of sorts. Of where I’m at. Where I’d like to be. I made some decisions, thought logically about things, and put a plan into motion.
The weight of two days hit me on Wednesday afternoon as I could quite literally feel that I should not be driving as my arms and legs shook from the sheer exhaustion.
And the entire week hit me today as my now good friend walked up a short flight of stairs with me, saying that we should create a YouTube show. As she listed all of the things that are funny about our cosmically intertwined lives, I started laughing–a laughter that faded into another moment where the weight of the week fell upon me.
“When you say it like that–all in one little space–all in order, it sounds really, really awful.” I think my voice was so quiet, I scared her.
The strange thing is that at the exact same time, I became acutely aware that I’m damn good at what I do. It is so apparent to me that all of my hard work actually pays off, and that’s a good feeling. So I’m torn with labeling this as a “bad” week. It was fulfilling in its own right, but that fulfillment was positively exhausting.
But really…I’ve seen better weeks.