I’ve got business books and baby names on the brain…but not blogging.
The hardest part of moving forward in life is having to constantly say goodbye to things you love, even if temporarily.
Here’s the bittersweet news: I am taking an extended maternity leave from A Brave Life, and I won’t return until this fall. That’s about six whole months without each other.
Now, now…don’t be upset.
Okay, fine…maybe I’m the one who’s upset.
As most of you know, I’m preparing to pop out TWO amazing things in just three months: a baby and a small business.
Waaaiiit a minute. No couple is foolish enough to intentionally put themselves in such a position. Right?
Truth: I’m practically bald, I’m vertically challenged, and I can gain an inch around my waist just by looking at a bag of chips.
But one thing’s for sure: I am blessed with a hardy body.
Which doesn’t sound as fun as being tall, lean and having great hair. But! I have ZERO allergies (I’m talkin’ no food, seasonal, animal, or medicinal sensitivities), no medical issues, and nothing can shake up my stomach or sleep patterns.
I am a rock. My body is steady, predictable and reliable. It never fails me.
But there comes a time in everyone’s life when your body cannot do what you need it to do. It rebels, refuses to take orders, fails to perform the way it used to, or simply can’t keep up with the energy of your spirit and grit of your mind.
And for the first time in my life, I understand what it means to have limits.
Usually my nightmares feature John Mayer and my failed attempts at seducing him.
But my latest nightmare starred Grammy winner Bruno Mars. And he did something much worse than reject my brown sugar charms.
In the dream I was in a cafeteria with friends, sitting at a table next to Bruno and his band. He made a sign that he taped to the back of my chair. It read: “Not creative”.
When I asked what this was all about, he stood up in front of the crowded room and shouted, “You work hard, but that doesn’t mean you’re creative. You’re not going to make it in this industry. ”
Then he pointed to a random girl behind me and said, “That girl? Now she’s creative. She was just born with it. She’s amazing. Not you, though.”
I was crushed. I took his statement to mean that no matter how hard I try, I cannot overcome the limits of my genes, my history, my personality, and my natural skill set. I won’t be able to keep up with the big boys in the new industry I’m trying to break into because I simply don’t belong.
Have you ever felt like you don’t belong? Like you’re out of your league? Like your heart was in the right place, but your skill set wasn’t?
Werewolves know it’s true: the transition is the most painful part.
It’s easy to mistake a year of transition for a year of depression.
For example, you might move to a town and wonder if you’ll end up hating it there. You mistake your period of adjustment for depression.
Or you are hurt by someone who was very careless with your heart, and you discover that the road to the forgiveness is the longest, hardest walk you’ve ever taken. It’s a process. But you don’t understand that yet. All you know is that after all this time you’re still resentful. So now you’re stuck feeling resentful and guilty and weak for not being over it already.
Or you might be moving into a new phase of adulthood and have difficulty accepting that it’s nothing like adulthood was for you just 5 or 10 years ago, so you have an existential crisis about it.
Or you want a baby even though you’re not set with your finances or career, but you try for it any way just in case it takes you two years to conceive like it did for that one couple you know. You get pregnant on your very first try and find that pregnancy doesn’t feel anything like you how you thought it would feel.
Or your friend dies.