You know the saying, “burning the candle at both ends?” Well, my candle has more than two ends, and I’ve been burning all of them – three ends, four ends. Maybe even five. To give you an idea, last Wednesday, I was up at 4:30 to finish marking up student essays, left for work at 6:15 am, and walked in my door at 10:15 pm, trudging up my stairs, wondering how I could possibly do it all again the next day. Thursday, I was scheduled to work all day, go straight to my dance studio to teach, and then drive up to St. Ignatius for a personal enrichment course I’ve been taking. Best case scenario, I’d be walking in my door at 9:30 pm.

I am completely and utterly responsible for the level of busy at which I’ve been operating. I’ve been staring down challenges, launching myself at new opportunities, and embracing change and possibility. Living my “life of yes” has led me down some amazing pathways, but I’m beginning to realize that a person can only walk a single path at one time, and too many left turns will only leave you dizzy, disoriented, and lost. The universe stepped in Friday to help me out, dumping ten inches of snow and bringing the workweek and my too-full life to a screeching halt. While a snow day is always welcome, I’ve never felt I needed one as much as I did on Friday.

Multiple times in the past three weeks, I found myself fantasizing about writing a blog post. Driving to or from work, I would imagine having a free hour or two. I could find a new coffee shop or bar or just curl up on my own couch with a cup of tea or a glass of wine; pluck a kernel of truth from the torrential, perpetual forward motion of my life. Turn it over in my mind and on the page until it made sense to me – until it became something palatable and worthwhile for others to read.

To be clear, it’s not that I haven’t been writing. I submitted another article for Verily which has yet to be published, produced three blog length stories for my story-telling class, and wrote a guest post for my story-telling teacher’s blog. I’ve been reading too – student work, the work of my fellow storytellers, and when I have free minutes, I’ve been losing myself in Ann Patchett’s Run, which was loaned/gifted to me by a dear friend. I’ve been dabbling with words, but there is nothing so satisfying as writing content for this blog, and so today, with a couple hours to myself, I’m writing.

Five years ago this past Thursday, I started my first blog. On February 8^th, 2013, I published the first post, wherein I explained my challenge for myself. I planned to write every day for thirty days. On the thirtieth day, I would turn thirty, and the blog would stand as a digital, literary monument to the final days of my twenties. I loved writing that blog. It challenged me, kept me honest, and I was humbled by the feedback I received. People read it, encouraged me, and joined me in my journey toward thirty.

In order to most easily disseminate my blog to friends and family, I published each new post on Facebook. Thanks to “on this day” notifications, every day from now until my 35^th birthday on March 10th, Facebook will remind me exactly where I was five years ago – not physically, necessarily, but where I was. Who I was as a person – what I hoped for, struggled with, thought about, wrote about. As I read each daily post, I’m pulled back in time. I’m 29 again, and it’s trippy. Five years is such a very long time, and almost 35 if so very different from almost 30.

In reading each post, my initial reaction is to focus on what has remained the same, and then I realize nothing is the same save those things that matter the most and are so easily taken for granted – friends, family, job, health, a warm bed to sleep in and a roof over my head. My most surprising and often uncomfortable truth is that I am single, dating, and approaching 35. At 29, I never would have allowed myself to imagine my current reality. I couldn’t have done it if I tried. In fact, if by some feat of mental gymnastics I had been able to, I’m sure my reaction would have bordered on distraught. Now, on the cusp of another year, I see the glorious parts of my life I also never could have imagined – my second and much more sustained attempt at blogging, my budding writing career, my new home, my myriad life adventures, challenges, friendships, relationships, and cold hard lessons.

It’s also mind-boggling to imagine that five years from now I’ll be a month away from my 40^th birthday. By the grace of God, I’ll be reading this post and the others in Talking to Strangers, thinking about how young 34 was, how short and long five years is, how much can happen in that time, and how lucky I am to have the gifts in my life. Even more trippy than re-living 29 is realizing I have no idea where I’ll be at 39. What I do know is that it will be one adventure after another getting there.

I haven’t moved my car since Thursday night, and that meant a weekend of slip-sliding around the city in my Sorel’s, running for trains, cooling my butt on CTA benches, sloshing through puddles, and digging my car out after it was plowed into its space in my alley. All that time spent in transit or performing manual labor left me many, many minutes to think – beautiful, precious minutes – and I have some ideas for how I will ground myself as I approach my birthday and the Lenten season which begins this Wednesday. But that is a post for another day. For now, I’ll just sit and think. Or maybe I’ll just sit.

 

Until next time…