The Face Plant

A couple of weeks ago (on a Saturday), I was having a fabulous day.  I was at work, having a really cute day…cute dress, cute hair, cute wedges.  I was rocking it out, feeling like I had it all together.  For once, my work day didn’t suck.  My customers were happy, my employees were happy, I was happy.  It was good.

Then, when I was on my way out to the parking lot at the end of the day, walking with one of my favorite associates, having a random conversation, I tripped all over myself and face-planted right in the middle of the sidewalk.  One minute I was standing, being adorable, and the next I was sprawled all over the concrete, right in front of God and everyone.  Okay, well maybe only two people saw me, but it may as well have been millions.  I attempted to pick myself up, which was not as easy as it may seem considering the shoes that I was wearing and the awkward position that I had landed in.  I was mortified.  My knee was all skinned up, my hair was suddenly a mess, and my pride and self-esteem were left behind as I marched into the elevator to go to the top of the parking deck.

In a way, I feel as though I have face-planted in everything at the moment.  My happiness comes in spurts, short little bursts of feeling like things are working out the way they should be.  Then, something or other comes along and hits me like a train, and I’m right back where I began.  Maybe I’m just not cut out for the things that I always envisioned.  I am 32 years old.  I have been divorced for almost six years.  I thought that by now I would have had another chance, that maybe I would have found this elusive meaningful relationship that I have been searching for.  I continue to meet people who I think may be “the one,” and then everything spirals and I end up feeling like a dumbass.  I feel like I have done it all right, like I have worked hard to get myself together, to prove that I am successful and a great mom and anything else that would make me seem like a great catch, and yet it is all in vain. One good thing is that I have discovered how to sniff out the rats, at least a lot sooner than in my younger days.  In my early twenties, I tended to pick the most terrible guys on earth to date, and when they proved themselves to be complete jerkfaces, I would decide that there was simply no other choice but to cling to the awfulness for dear life because I couldn’t bear to see it slip away.  I remember my mom telling me a few years ago that when someone showed you who they are, you should believe them.  For the longest time, it didn’t really make sense to me because I always thought that I was such a great judge of character, but eventually I learned that, in actuality, I tend to only see the things that I want to see.  I would ignore the bad parts because I didn’t want my idealist views to be tarnished, and that’s where the trouble always started.  I have come to the conclusion that I cannot be with a person who doesn’t make me a priority, who doesn’t want to make the effort to get to know the real me and be accepting of it. 

I debated for a long time about whether I wanted to renew my current lease in June.  I thought about finding a place closer to work so that I didn’t have to deal with the traffic and the commute and the craziness.  I even made a list of pros and cons of going versus staying.  I stared at it for a long time.  I even considered moving to Michigan for the mere sake of being able to leave everything and everyone in NC behind.  I wanted to be closer to my family, who (despite being completely insane) are still the people that I know will always have my back.  It has been a year ago today since my grandmother passed away.  I have been a basketcase for the past couple of weeks, knowing that the anniversary was coming up.  I expected that some of the sadness would have dissipated by now, but it has stayed entirely intact.  It still stings just as much now as it did then.  At the time, I asked my mom how long it would take before I would stop hurting, and she said, “I don’t think it ever goes away.”  Once again, she was right. 

 
In the end, I decided that moving north would not bring my grandma back to me.  I have this habit of feeling like I need to make some big drastic change in my life, convinced that happiness is lurking right around the corner; I just need to catch it.  I have moved so many times, changed jobs as often as my hair color, tried to find whatever it is that I’m missing.  But this time, I reminded myself that I don’t have the right to disrupt Kylie’s happiness in the pursuit of my own.  She has adjusted so well to where we are.  Her life finally has a routine, a balance, and I can’t take that away from her.  I never thought that we would get to the place where we are now after such a rough start in Raleigh, when she was angry and sad and miserable.  I recently told her that I was thinking of looking for a new job, and she replied with, “We won’t have to move will we???!!”  In a way, I was relieved to say “no.”  I don’t want to have to start over again either.  Being the new girl is hard, no matter how old you are when it happens. 

Since we are going to stay put for now, I decided that it was long past time to do something that we have wanted to for a long time.  Kylie and I adopted the sweetest, most amazing puppy in the entire world.  Here she is…..

I am finding my happy in small places now.  It is the adorable little face of my puppy.  It is in hearing Kylie talk about the drama in her fourth grade class.  It is in deciding that it is okay to spend my entire vacation in yoga pants and a ponytail.  I will take it anywhere I can get it these days.