About garbage day at our new place… In addition to Fridays being garbage day, an alternating Tuesday recycling/compost collection gives us another opportunity to send away the unwanted.
Today, with the recycling, I’m sending away the voice in my head that exclaims daily, “what am I doing with my life?” I’m not even sure it’s my own voice, though I’ve believed most of my life that it was.
Whoever the voice is, she can go now, along with the unwanted cardboard and empty Kevita bottles that I almost didn’t recycle because I thought I might make them into candles… someday.
The thing is that I’ve already done with my life everything I’ve needed to do, and if I just spent the rest of my life making candles and writing about local artists in the Sun, that would be enough. It makes me happy.
Last night I went to bed happy, and I woke up happy this morning. My only responsibility was cuddling the dogs until I absolutely had to get coffee and go pee. I didn’t have to rush the kids to school, get to work on time, or even drive anywhere, and that made me feel a little bit useless, and maybe I am, but so what?
What is the harm in gardening instead of rushing all over the planet trying to meet the expectations of others? What is the harm in doing nothing?
I watched Shelley this morning and learned that Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein when she was 18 years old after her life went to shit, and there was the voice again. When are you going to write your Frankenstein??? I’m probably not, actually, and that doesn’t make my life any less fantastic. It’s not like Mary Shelley was happy.
The inner judgement is all going away in the trash. What am I doing with my life? I’m enjoying it. That’s enough. It’s garbage day, and I’m sending away the voice that hates me and considers me a failure, it’s probably nobody I know, anyway.
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