Week Two

We’re almost done with our son’s second week of daycare. Things are getting better. He doesn’t cry as hard, or long, when my daughter and I leave in the morning. He’s more excited to see his “friends” when he gets to school. He doesn’t spend all morning saying he wants to go to the park or the “backy-yard.” He’s still pretty grumpy in the early hours, but the whole thing feels manageable.

My husband is still getting used to getting himself ready with our son around and I’m still getting used to picking up two kids up from two different care providers (in the increasing darkness), but we’re both finding our grooves. I feel a lot of stress about how late I’m picking up the second kid, but I’m trying to let that guilt go, and I try really hard to pick each of them early once a week.

Last week was definitely hard on my husband and I, harder than either of us anticipated. We didn’t expect the ambivalence we felt about leaving our child in a group care setting. We figured we’d done all this before–at the same day care and with the same teachers!–surely this would not be much of an issue. We assumed we could side step our own emotional reckonings after three years processing these feelings with our first child.

Well, we were wrong. We did have emotional reckonings to deal with, and they were pretty intense. It turns out that just coming to terms with sending our first child to day care for the majority of her waking hours didn’t excuse us from the pain, guilt, and regret of sending our second child as well. The rose colored glasses we were viewing our past experience through didn’t help either.

And there are other factors complicating it. The fact that my daughter is now in Kindergarten, and I could be at home with just my son, for a large portion of the school day, transforms the idea of staying home into an enticing proposition. Two kids at home I can’t really handle, but one? That I could do. I might even enjoy doing it.

It doesn’t help that I’m as unenthusiastic about my job as I’ve ever been. I can’t shake the feeling that what I teach doesn’t even matter; it’s hard to feel like what I’m doing with my days is meaningful.

But being with my son would be meaningful. He’s my last child, and I want to soak up these final years of him being deliciously little. Instead I barely see him for two waking hours a day, and I spend those hours ferrying him from one nonnegotiable task to another. The only still, quite moments I get with him are the 15 minutes right before bedtime. It’s not enough.

But it has to be, because without uprooting our lives entirely, and moving away from our families, I have to work. Right now I have absolutely no say in the matter.

So yeah, this transition has been harder on me than I expected, though I did predict it would lay me out in ways I couldn’t foresee. I guess I just didn’t anticipate how intensely the wind would be knocked out of me when I went down.

Oh my sweet, sweet boy. I wish we could play in the backy-yard too.

Snipped

Tomorrow my husband is getting snipped.

It is a little mind boggling to me that we’ve arrived at this place of knowing we don’t want to have anymore kids, especially when just three years ago we were desperate (or, I was desperate) to have a second.

Not a day that goes by without me taking a moment to actively thank the forces that be for my son, who has brought so much to my life.

And not a day that goes by without me feeling 100% sure that I do not want another kid.

Motherhood has been really hard for me. It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that the experience was not at all what I had expected. I’ve had to mourn the loss of that expectation and I think I’m finally at a place where I’ve accepted my experience for what it is, without lingering disappointment or regret.

My husband has mentioned to a few people why he’ll be out at the end of the week. Everyone has been incredulous that he’s making such a permanent decision so young. He doesn’t have an inkling of doubt. At 34 he knows that he doesn’t want anymore children. He is sure.

Sometimes I wonder if, in 5 or 10 years, I might want to have another. I can’t imagine I would, and I’m not concerned that I might, because I know that at 40 or 45 I won’t have a choice in the matter. Heck, I’ll probably already be going through menopause.

Honestly though, when I read about people with older kids who are starting all over again with a new baby I can’t even fathom what they are thinking (not just in why-would-they-do-that? kind of way, but also in the what-must-that-be-like? kind of way). Older kids are the light at the end of a long, dark tunnel–I have no desire to live these very-young-kid years again. At this point I’m clamoring to regain of sense of self that I lost five years ago and that I can’t imagine myself finding again until my kids are older and don’t look to me to meet every need.

I also have serious doubts that my marriage will make it through this first round with young kids, I would never want to put it through this again.

So no more kids for us, and Thursday we make that decision final. I must say, I am relieved, because if I were to become pregnant at this point, I’d have to make the hardest decision of my life, one I know my marriage couldn’t survive and one I doubt I could move on from myself.

I know how lucky I am, to have the family I always dreamed of. I don’t take my two children for granted, but I also know what I can handle and I know what I can’t. And a third kid is not something I can manage.

Snip, snip.

I Capitulate

I think my husband and I have had our last fight about the diet.

Because I can’t argue anymore. I just can’t.

The weight of it, it’s not something we can withstand. It’s breaking us down, tearing us apart. And it’s clear that on this, we won’t find a common ground. We won’t come to an agreement. We will never see eye to eye on this, and I’m tired of fighting.

We could probably drag this out for a few more tortured months, but eventually we would reach the same conclusion. It will save us all a lot of heartache if I just capitulate now.

So I am.

I can continue shopping as I have been, but if we’re not asking others to follow our lead, and if I hand the weekend grocery shopping reigns back to my husband, things will pretty much go back to the way they were before.

I’m not going to think too much about what we’ll do if our daughter’s behavior deteriorates. We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.

I guess those of you who suspected I’d abandon this new fad were right. I suppose this was inevitable.

I don’t feel the the relief I assumed would come from giving up, but there is a peace in it. I’m so tired of the fighting.

So. Now what?

I wrote that post last night, and I was feeling fucking awesome after writing it. Like I could conquer the world.

And then, as I was opening Hulu to watch an episode of Arrow (yes, I’m a comic book hero inspired TV show junkie), a voice in my head whispered, you know you have to write another one for tomorrow, right?

Oh shit. Yes I do.

So I closed down Hulu and came back here.

And realized this might have been a mistake. A massive mistake.

I even wondered if I could just pull out now. And I cursed myself for pressing publish on that post before I could retract my words.

Because I’m not sure what to write.

It’s not that there isn’t fodder. There is. Lots of fodder. Heaps of fodder. Fodder piled to my eye balls.

But this shit is big. These are hard subjects to broach. The require concentration and stamina. They require I give enough of a shit to write.

No, that’s not it. That’s not accurate. Because I do give enough of a shit. It just hurts to get it down.

It hurts to reach inside, find it, wrench it free, clean it off, make some sense of it, and plaster it all across this page.

I have spent so much time walking around the muck, carefully avoiding it, I don’t remember how to wade in.

Plus I don’t have any goulashes.

But after four long years of drought an El Niño is supposedly coming.

I guess I better find a pair of waterproof footwear and get used to sloshing around in the dark, wet, messy of it.

NaBloPoMo Bitches!

Yep! That’s right bitches! I’m doing NaBloPoMo this month!

I used to sign up, kind of as an after thought, because posting every day wasn’t much of a challenge. I already posted every weekday, posting on the weekends wasn’t that hard.

But this time?! It’s going to be a challenge, and a proper challenge at that.

But I need a challenge. Or better said, I need a challenge that excites me. The other challenges I’ll be facing this month are of the groan-eliciting persuasion. They make me anxious as I’m pretty sure I’m doomed to fail.

Writing every day in this space? That is something I think I can do. That is something I think I want to do. That is something I think will help me.

I just hope it doesn’t backfire.

You see, I’ve been a bit proud of myself, for walking away from this space as much as I have. I think I used to post too much, or I used to post things I shouldn’t have posted. I ALWAYS came to write and I ALWAYS published what I wrote. It was kind of a recipe for disaster, and well, there were a fair number of them.

But I grew up. I matured. I stopped airing my dirty laundry for everyone to read. I started finding other ways to handle the hard shit in my life. And I felt good for doing that. I haven’t regretted much of what I’ve written here, and I hope to keep it that way. But I’ve also noticed that in not coming here, I’ve stopped processing a lot of things. I read a book or watch TV, something that will distract me from the discomfort, or numb the pain, and so a lot is being left by the wayside, or stuffed down until the pressure becomes too great, and explodes. While things may be better in this space, they aren’t so much in my real life.

And therein lies the challenge. I want to write every day, but I hope to avoid airing my dirty laundry. While I think the very act of writing something I feel comfortable publishing will be difficult in and of itself, keeping my dirty laundry in the hamper might be even harder. If I’m forcing myself to sit down and write, it’s going to be really hard not to engage in a good ‘ole venting session.

So yeah, this is going to be a challenge, but it’s a challenge I’m going to embrace, because writing has gotten me through a lot of hard shit, and I think it can help me through some hard shit now too.

So get ready… because I’ll be frequenting your inbox quite a bit.

My Answer

It was so interesting to read the responses to the question I posed via the book Rising Strong. People have really strong feelings about this; it’s clear most of us hold ourselves to high standards and we have expectations that others should meet those standards as well. We don’t think it should matter if someone is doing their best or not–if there best isn’t good enough, who cares?

In the book Rising Strong, this question is posed to Brené Brown by her therapist after she comes in for a special session to deal with some serious anger and resentment she is feeling toward an organization and an individual. She is incredibly frustrated by “the sewer rats and the scofflaws” of the world–the people who don’t care about the rules and worse, the people who scorn those who do care about the rules. Her anger and resentment are making her miserable, but she can’t seem to let them go. When she tells her therapist about the situation that upset her, the therapist asks if she thinks maybe the woman who wronged her was doing the best she could. Brene Brown is unimpressed with this response, and after she assures her therapist that no, the woman could not have possibly been doing the best she could, she leaves the appointment in a huff.

But the question stays with her and over the following weeks she asks a lot of people what they believe. Some answer that yes, they think people are doing the best they can, while others agree with her that no, most people are not. She notes that all of the people who do not believe people are doing their best cite themselves as an example of someone who slacks off sometimes and could do better.

It’s not until she asks a new friend what she believes, that the author’s mind is changed. When she poses the question to her new friend, she is not surprised that the friend agrees with her. She is, however, surprised when her new friend immediately launches into a speech about how she is currently breastfeeding and she thinks it’s the most important thing a new mother can do for her child, and that all the people who say they tried their best to breast feed but couldn’t are kidding themselves and that women who are not willing to do whatever it takes to breast feed for at least a year should seriously consider not having kids, because not breastfeeding your child is tantamount to child abuse.

And Brene Brown just sits there, staring, because in that moment she realizes that SHE is her new friend’s sewer rat, SHE is the woman on the other end of the judgement, being told she does not care about the rules and is not doing her best.

Brené Brown did not breastfeed her children for very long. She is okay with that. In that moment, sitting across from her friend and her friend’s judgement, she doesn’t confess her breastfeeding sins, but she does start to rethink her stance on whether or not people are doing the best they can.

That night she goes home and asks her husband what he believes. After ten minutes of careful consideration he admits that he isn’t sure, but he chooses to believe. In the book she describes his answer this way:

I don’t know. I really don’t. All I know is that my life is better when I assume that people are doing their best. It keeps me out of judgement and let’s me focus on what is, and not what could or should be.

That is exactly why I choose to believe that people are doing the best they can.

To clarify… believing that people are doing the best they can does not absolve them of responsibility. If their best at any given moment does not meet certain standards determined by an individual or society at large, there are consequences. We must establish boundaries and maintain them. We must honor our convictions. If we believe people are trying their best, it doesn’t mean we let them off the hook, it means we hold our ground with empathy instead of judgement. It means we try to help people while we hold them accountable, not simply punish them in the name of justice.

Annie asked what the point of this question is… Z suggested that “this kind of thinking can help us be more forgiving and accepting of others’ shortcomings, and of our own.” I think that is exactly the point. If we believe that people are trying their best, we approach them with empathy and compassion. We try to help them, and we do so understanding that they might not be capable of what we think they should be capable of. It means we adjust our expectations to meet reality, even if that reality is deeply disappointing.

Take my relationship with my husband. For years I’ve been asking him to show me more affection. My brain knows that he loves me, but it’s hard for my heart to feel that love without physical affection. Despite asking him many times, in many different ways, with and without the support of a therapist, my husband has never managed to show me physical affection consistently. This has become a real point of contention between us, and I feel a lot of resentment toward him about it. I can’t help but get stuck in the thought pattern: if he really loved me he would show me affection in the ways I have asked him to countless times. If I believe that people are not trying their best, the logical conclusion is: The fact that he doesn’t do show me physical affection must mean he doesn’t care. If he did care, he would try harder. 

This mindset leaves me with a couple of options. Maybe somehow, magically, he does start trying harder, and he shows me the affection I’ve been asking for for so long. Or, more probably, he doesn’t and the cycle continues escalating into further failure on his part and further resentment on mine. Perhaps eventually the resentment becomes so great that it results in the disillusion of our marriage.

If I think that he really is doing his best, then much of the resentment melts away. I believe that he does love me, he just doesn’t know how to show his love in the ways I have been asking for it. With this mindset, the external options look very similar. I can accept the fact that he will never show his love for me in that way and determine if there are other ways that I can register his love for me. Or, more probably, I can recognize that he simply can’t give me the physical affection I crave, and perhaps it again results in the dissolution of our marriage. Either way, if I determine that my boundaries require my husband showing his love for me in certain ways, and in doing his best he is unable to manage that, our marriage is still in jeopardy. The difference lies in how I feel about him and us; when I believe he is doing the best he can, I feel a lot less anger and resentment and I am able to recognize the situation for what it is, and not what it could, or should be.

So that is where I stand on this issue. Of course there is no way to know for sure if people are doing the best they can, but I chose to believe that they are, because it helps me move away from judgement and toward empathy. It also helps me accept what is, and not cling to what I expect. Moving in this direction has helped me immensely, especially in the arenas of parenting and teaching.

When I believe my daughter is doing the best she can, I don’t bring my unrealistic expectations to our interactions and I am better able to recognize what she needs, even if it’s not what I want her to need. I also feel less resentment in meeting her needs, even if doing so feels like my own needs are diminished.

When I believe my students are doing the best they can, I am better able to create situation in which they can be successful, and I avoid creating situation in which they are destined to fail and I am destined to feel disappointed in them and in myself.

Shifting to this mindset even helps me manage my own goals by helping me recognize what I am actually capable of, even when my judgement screams that I should be able to do more, or better. I have a greater chance of creating realistic goals, and meeting them, if I believe I am doing the best I can, and am honest about what my best actually looks like.

Which brings us to an important point: believing people are doing their best does not diminish the need, and ability, to grow and change. I do believe people can improve, that their best can steadily move in one direction (or unfortunately, another). I actually think it’s harder to make real changes when we judge ourselves as lacking the willpower or determination to do things a certain way. If we believe we just need to try harder, we won’t learn the skills we need to create real and lasting change. Instead we’ll just keep berating ourselves for not trying our best, for slacking off, for taking the easy way out.

It can be hard to believe that people are trying their best, because that means when people hurt us, we have to acknowledge their hurt instead of being able to distance ourselves from that hurt with our anger and judgement. It’s understandable that we want to avoid compounding our suffering, and it’s important that we identify what we need to maintain our boundaries so that we can hold people accountable for their actions even as we show them empathy and understanding. It’s hard work, and it can feel incredibly burdensome.

I guess my final thought would be this: If we keep believing that some people aren’t doing their best all of the time or that all people aren’t doing their best some of the time, how do we draw the lines and what do we do with people once they fall on either side? Already, in the comment section of my last post, verdicts were read and it was determined who was doing their best and who was failing to. I guess my question is, if we choose to judge, then with what purpose and to what end? And how can we be sure our judgements are fair?

Thank you for engaging in yesterday’s conversation. I’m sorry I didn’t respond to the comments individually–I felt one post expressing my views would be the best way to continue the conversation. I hope this post inspires a discussion as thoughtful, respectful and interesting as yesterday’s, and I promise to participate in the comment section today.

A Question

Brene Brown is my spirit animal.

Her six hour talk, The Power of Vulnerability, came to me when I was drowning in the muck of shame and feeling unable, or unwilling, to be vulnerable. I have since listened to it many, many times. That talk, along with her other books, are touchstones for me; whenever I’ve lost my way I listen to them again to regain my footing.

To say I was excited when I heard she had a new book coming out would be an understatement.

I bought the audiobook of Rising Strong a couple of months ago when I was really struggling. The book is about cultivating resilience–how we can get back up when life has pushed us face down in the arena. Reading the reviews I was sure it was exactly what I needed as I felt unsure how to pick myself up in the face of hurt and uncertainty. (I was also thrilled that she narrates the book herself.)

I kind of struggled to get into the book at first. I actually stopped listening when Willpower Instinct became available on Overdrive and I was grateful for the break. I was actually really disappointed that the book was not the panacea I was hoping it would be.

I started listening to it again this past week and it’s been an entirely different experience. Now I am hooked and I “can’t put it down.” It is water on parched lips, nourishing in ways I absolutely need.

In the most recent chapter, Brene Brown is struggling with a question her therapist poses. She is sure of the answer, but after presenting it to a lot of people, and enduring an eye-opening experience of her own, her answers changes and what she learns is profound. I’ve been thinking about the question a lot myself recently, and asking others what their answers are. I realize that I used to feel one way but in the past few years have shifted my perspective, and I see now that that shift in perspective came with personal growth and a renewed understanding.

I’m curious what you all think, so I wanted to pose the question here:

Do you believe people are doing the best they can with the tools they have?

The idea is not that people are the best they could be every day, but that at any moment they are giving what they can right then, that they want to do as well as they can do in any situation.

So what do you believe? Are people doing the best they can? I leave the question with you.

Day One is Done

Well, we made it.

Drop off was kind of a shit show. We got there right as another kid who started last week was being dropped off. He was very upset and cried for almost the entire hour that I was there. His crying set off another crier who also howled for the entire hour. Their combined crying set off still other criers. At one point I think five kids were crying.

Nothing like a room full of inconsolable children to make you feel great about leaving your kid.

It really was awful.

The room looked shabbier than I remembered. The kids were… well not the sweet, fun, interesting kids I knew and loved in my daughter’s class. I’m sure the room looked just like that, and the other classmates left as unimpressive an impression on me when my daughter started, but it was all so long ago I don’t remember. Or rather, my memories are inaccurate. I just felt, not great about leaving my kid there. I sobbed for a long time in my car.

Later, at my daughter’s school, I experienced what her day is like. It was… also not what I expected. I don’t have any specific complaints or criticisms, it just didn’t leave me feeling good. It made me feel sad for her–that this is what her days look like–just like I feel sad that my son is at daycare.

I guess I just wished my kids didn’t have to spend so much of their lives in these places. The facilities are old, run down, kind of dingy. The toys are scuffed and stained. The carpets are faded. Nothing is new or fresh. Nothing seems to hold promise.

And so many of the interactions were reactive. So very little of substance was going on. Trying to keep 24 kindergartners on a rug is like herding cats. I appreciated what the teachers were trying to convey, but I don’t know if any of the students were actually hearing it. And even just 10 little two-year-olds with three teachers, what can they do if half the class is crying.

I don’t know. I want to say that I don’t have much choice, and while I don’t have much, I do have some. If I really wanted to move either kid I could, but I doubt I’d find a daycare that I could afford that’s any nicer that where my son is now. And the teachers at his place are great. I know them. They are warm, kind hearted and caring. They already adore my son. I know they will take good care of him there.

My daughter got a great teacher too. She has been so understanding of my daughter’s many… unique needs. She treats the kids with respect and has high expectations. She really is a great fit. And yet there is only so much one person can do in a given set of circumstances.

I wonder every day if I shouldn’t have sent my daughter to the school in my district. There are so many reasons that didn’t feel like the right choice, but now that we’re living the reality of the decision we made, I worry we chose wrong.

And now I’ll worry for my son too, because that is what parents do. We worry. We worry about the choices we’ve made, and the ones we feel are made for us.

I just hope, in the end, my kids are okay.

{I’m sorry this post is so disjointed, I’m just feeling a little down about things and having a hard time articulating it.}

Big Transition #2

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Tomorrow my son starts preschool. He’s been with my in-laws since I left maternity leave almost two years ago. For the first year and a half I picked him up at 1pm, but these past two months he been with them until 4:30 or 5pm. He has never been in a group care setting of any kind.

Tomorrow is going to be a hard day.

This week is going to be a hard week. For him. For me. For all of us.

In preparing for this transition, I’ve realized what a huge transition my daughter going to Kindergarten was for me. I hadn’t anticipated how stressful it would be for me, how much would change in my life. Looking back on these past 2 months I realize the transition has been as significant for me as it has been for my daughter. We’ve both been learning our new roles and managing uncertainty. We’re both unsure of what each day, let alone the rest of the year, holds. It’s all just been a lot more unsettling than I anticipated.

And now my son is starting school and the other half of our family will experience the same upheaval the rest of us are still recovering from. My poor boy will be thrust into an unfamiliar environment, surrounding by people he doesn’t know, speaking a language he can’t understand (I wasn’t great about speaking Spanish with him when he was younger and by the time I started to try, he was very much opposed). All I can do is hope that he will know that his teachers care for him, that he will make friends and enjoy playing with them and that he’ll thrive in his new environment.

And I hope that my husband and I can manage this transition with a little more grace than we did our daughter starting Kindergarten. That really did knock us on our asses. And I know this will too, because my husband’s morning routine is completely different now that he has to take my son to school on the bus. I just hope we can be there for each other, and for our kids, as we all get used to our new reality. It’s going to be a rough couple of weeks, but I think we’ll get there.

This past week, and especially weekend, were totally insane. It felt like every moment of every day was scheduled. I took tomorrow off so I could take my son to his first day, and hang around for a bit if he needed me there. I scheduled myself a couple of hours to get a chair massage at the mall and do the grocery shopping that didn’t get done Saturday or Sunday. Then I’m off to my daughter’s class to be a parent helper after lunch and then two hours volunteering at her school’s book fair. I know it doesn’t sound like much of a day off, but I’m looking forward to the change in pace, before I get thrust back into my regularly scheduled programming, with the added static of a boy who is coming to terms with a massive change.

I’ll let you all know how it goes.

Which transitions have you found more challenging that you anticipated? 

Where I usually end up

So. Minimalism.

I embraced it enthusiastically. Well, I embraced the idea of it. And I tried to embrace the actual practices. I made many real, significant changes in my life. And yet, I can’t say I’ve succeeded in my quest to truly embrace minimalism.

Truthfully, it feels like I’ve failed.

But I know that’s not an honest, or accurate, way of looking at it. Where I ended up is not definitively in the camp of “failure,” or “success,” but somewhere in the murky, unquantifiable, middle.

Isn’t that where we usually end up?

In so many ways, I’m a complete convert. I really do believe in the philosophy of minimalism. I absolute agree that I would be happier with less stuff. Of course, the practice of getting rid of, and keeping rid off, that stuff, is harder to implement than it is to embrace.

In some ways, I really have changed. I haven’t purchased a book in ages. Maybe one or two for my kids, but very, very few. I don’t buy them many (hardly any, really) toys or clothes. In many of the areas of my life I’ve purged and not let the things back in.

But my closet is still a mess. I just don’t have much desire to get rid of most of my clothes. I like wearing the clothes that I have and if I notice I’m not wearing something I get rid of it, but I haven’t purged my closet down to the number of items I suspect people who are really minimalists have. Same with my shoes. I have more shoes than I need, and yet I wear them all. Could I live with fewer? Sure, but I don’t really want to.

And there are some tenants I can’t quite get behind, like the idea that one is always enough. I’m sorry but one set of sheets is not enough. Actually, I like to have three sets of sheets for every bed that is being used on the reg. There have been countless times when I have needed a third pair of sheets for any one of our beds. The idea of only having one of set is insane to me.

I have two sets of my daughter’s lunch and snack boxes. I’m looking to get a fourth smoothie cup so we have two sets of two and don’t have to wash one set every day to serve two smoothies. Do I need two sets? No. But it makes my life easier.

I still really appreciate my life being easier, and sometimes that means having more than one of something.

So what (physically) does my life look like over a year after I “embraced” minimalism? It may not seem like it’s much different–there are still toys all over the living room floor, and clean laundry toppled about the sofa, and piles of books and other flotsam and jetsam on my bedroom floor, and flurries of crap on my wardrobe and papers on my kitchen cutting board/island. But it feels different. Because none of those messes stress me out the way they used to; I know I can clean them up if I am so inclined. I still KNOW where all the things go and if I start picking up things look substantially neater in just 30 minutes or so. The layer of chaos is still there, but it’s a controlled chaos that I understand and can master. I don’t feel overwhelmed by it in the ways I once did.

I’m still reading lots of minimalist blogs. I nod along, agreeing with them on most points. I recognize that my life is better for having “embraced” minimalism, and I want to keep the ideas alive. Could I improve? Absolutely! Every day I think about committing to the ideals of minimalism a bit more. Sometimes I manage it, most days I don’t. And that’s okay. The seed has sprouted, and even though it’s growing slowly, it would take a lot to uproot. I hope to tend to it more, water it, transfer it to better soil. For now I’m giving it what it needs to survive, even if it can’t thrive. And that is better that nothing.

I wish I could just commit to minimalism full throttle and never look back. I think I would be happier that way. But it’s not how I operate. It’s going to take a lot of years to get me where I want to be. I do believe I’ll arrive at the desired destination, it’s just not going to happen any time soon.

I’m trying to be okay with that. Getting there eventually is better than never getting there at all. I’d rather keep the dream alive despite not having achieved it, because I know that I’ll be better off for it some day.

And I know that as unlikely as it seems at the moment, I will eventually wake up and realize that some day has arrived, that I will be living the minimalist life I always dreamed of.

It will have been worth the wait.