"Less and less to prove"

I've re-written this a handful of times, because it keeps sounding accusatory or self-congratulatory and neither one of those is what I'm trying to talk out.

Once upon a time someone told me that he wanted to unclutter his life.

It didn't make a lot of sense to me. I thought a full life, being too-busy, being too in demand was the goal. That, somehow, he'd won the popularity contest (not against me, just in general), that when you get to the point your life is full and people want to spend time with you, that you've arrived. When you cancel on things or don't book things not because you're feeling a little too crazy (or too close to not being in complete control of what you project), but because you've got other better, more important to you things to do. That when you get to be the one to throw away things rather than be the thrown away thing, you've got everything you could want. (Pardon the melodramatic language, I still have some shit to work out.)

But, more and more, I realize I don't want the too-full life. I don't want the endless scrambling, the always being tired, or behind, or trying to herd cats in three different directions simultaneously. I want to curate my passions more deliberately than that. (which isn't to say that other approaches aren't equally valid, just they aren't working for me.)

I love having things to do. Even though I feel like an extremely high-maintenance woman, on my good days, everything delights me. Big screen explosions, my doggie, other people's doggies, books, farmers' markets, live music, hours of browsing etsy, food that tastes good. But I also love carefully planned things, days in advance. One of the ways I measure affection is by people coming along to all the silly things I want to do, even though I often regret my invitations-at-large. (The initial impulse is always ooo shiny! but twenty minutes later, I feel like I just look desperate.)

Frye continues to prowl the house, and while it's certainly not love at first sight, this might end up working out. Light was out at Jiffycon with our friend, so I had the house to myself today. I had an absolutely lovely day of doing what felt like absolutely nothing. I organized my recipe collection, started a project, mainlined most of a season of a stupid show on hulu. It was neat to watch myself, since there would have been days where I couldn't handle being away from Light, and there would have been days where I beat myself up until I did something I considered productive. Today, however, was neither of those.

Today was a good day.

"Less and less to prove"

I've re-written this a handful of times, because it keeps sounding accusatory or self-congratulatory and neither one of those is what I'm trying to talk out.

Once upon a time someone told me that he wanted to unclutter his life.

It didn't make a lot of sense to me. I thought a full life, being too-busy, being too in demand was the goal. That, somehow, he'd won the popularity contest (not against me, just in general), that when you get to the point your life is full and people want to spend time with you, that you've arrived. When you cancel on things or don't book things not because you're feeling a little too crazy (or too close to not being in complete control of what you project), but because you've got other better, more important to you things to do. That when you get to be the one to throw away things rather than be the thrown away thing, you've got everything you could want. (Pardon the melodramatic language, I still have some shit to work out.)

But, more and more, I realize I don't want the too-full life. I don't want the endless scrambling, the always being tired, or behind, or trying to herd cats in three different directions simultaneously. I want to curate my passions more deliberately than that. (which isn't to say that other approaches aren't equally valid, just they aren't working for me.)

I love having things to do. Even though I feel like an extremely high-maintenance woman, on my good days, everything delights me. Big screen explosions, my doggie, other people's doggies, books, farmers' markets, live music, hours of browsing etsy, food that tastes good. But I also love carefully planned things, days in advance. One of the ways I measure affection is by people coming along to all the silly things I want to do, even though I often regret my invitations-at-large. (The initial impulse is always ooo shiny! but twenty minutes later, I feel like I just look desperate.)

Frye continues to prowl the house, and while it's certainly not love at first sight, this might end up working out. Light was out at Jiffycon with our friend, so I had the house to myself today. I had an absolutely lovely day of doing what felt like absolutely nothing. I organized my recipe collection, started a project, mainlined most of a season of a stupid show on hulu. It was neat to watch myself, since there would have been days where I couldn't handle being away from Light, and there would have been days where I beat myself up until I did something I considered productive. Today, however, was neither of those.

Today was a good day.