This time

This is the part that I don't do well. . . .that liminal time in between the path that was and the path that calls me onto a new direction. . . .that time when one part of me grieves for the loss while another part chomps at the bit to move on. . . .the time when the sadness of grief unproductively comingles with the anxiety of change leaving my body and mind in a constant state of internal warring that even endless bags of cheetos and boxes of thin mints and all day napping can't quite seem to quell.

This is the time when all of the "what ifs" haunt me like ghosts of choices past. . . .that stage of grief when the bargaining kicks in.. . . .What if you change positions. . . .what if you continue working with Caren. . . ,what if you pray louder, hike more, meditate harder to change your focus. . . .then we can stay. . . .even if for just another year. . . . .we've worked so hard creating this amazing home. . . .we're not ready to leave! . . .and so the lament begins.

This is also the time when the critical part kicks in its own litany to make sure I know exactly what I am not, and just how irresponsible and personally dysfunctional I am. This part is the me who remembers every single mistake and bad choice like a roadmap through my personal hell, the part whose unrelenting razor sharp criticism makes me feel like crap about myself for not having the fortitude to follow through on my commitment to the life I have worked hard to created here.

Yes. . . .this is that oh so fun place where time waffles between two worlds created out of choice and circumstance. . . .and it gets harder each day to remember all of the wonderful reasons why I am moving into a new direction to begin with.

20 weeks and a weekend is a long time to hold this tension, a long time to wade through all of these "what ifs" and "what I am nots." Which is why when I'm done I like to move on as quickly as possible, because I really don't do this part very well. . . .and this time is no different.