Remember the story of Chicken Little, running around shouting about the sky falling? That is similar to the weather reports we had all week. We were supposed to get a ton of snow, ice and rain making a real mess of our weekend. We got a couple inches and not much else. At least, thats what is out MY window. I have to admit, I'm a bit disappointed. I wanted to be buried in weather. I wanted to have a reason to be stuck inside, on the couch, under a blanket. Book in hand and tea nearby.
Now that I see it didn't quite happen that way, I feel guilty for my attempt at hibernation. I feel like I should have gone out. Done something with my weekend. Pretended to be a "hearty Minnesotan" and braved the elements. Why do I do that to myself? I don't like being cold. I don't like running in and out of places traipsing through the slush and muck, messing my shoes, my car and whatever building I enter. Its messy, icky and not "fun", so why do I feel the need to do so? It was fun snuggling up with my book, my blanket and my kids. (Fun for me, anyway, but maybe not for them?)
When is it going to be okay to give myself permission to do nothing? When will I be comfortable with not feeling like I have to DO something or have to be productive? I feel like it is a measurement of how "good" I am... to myself, my children, my family and friends. Some sort of tangible success of who I am. Why? Where did that notion come from? I can't quite put my finger on it, but I don't like it.
I have plans. I have ideas. I have LOTS of ideas. Things I want to try and accomplishments I want to achieve. What I DON'T have is a reason, a motive. No motivation to keep me engaged. My sky may be falling but I don't seem to be concerned enough to get out of the way. Let it fall. I have an umbrella. I'll be okay.
Tea, anyone?
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