Day Ten. Fear not, reader, I shall not forever submit you to a logging of daily journals to tell you about daily progress. I shan’t be the landing page for hash marks and gold stars and logging wins and losses from here until eternity. Sit tight. We are ten days in to my 23 day project that stemmed from a really fun 30 day project and I’m still reeling from the notion that I can totally geek out on something that I would describe as NOTHING like what I naturally enjoy. You mean I can fall in love with a growth mindset learning project over the course of 30 days and not hate myself through it AND I can allow for all the kinds of days and emotions to exist AND not think there’s anything wrong AND I can talk about embarrassing imperfect life full of mistakes and regrets AND still be allowed to breathe and eat sandwiches? What the hell kind of fifth dimension is this?
Is this called grace? Did I find it? Is this called love even on the days when I’m really kicking the shit out of myself and still don’t give up? It’s either mercy or patience or love or compassion or something. On Day 10 (now that I’m an expert on day 10s..no I’m not), I’m comfortable in this world I’ve created. On a Day 10, it feels good to know how to get to the post office all by myself and which banana stand sells my favorite bananas. Yes, I equate it to moving in to a new town. Travel is my love language. Learning the rhythm of a new place is one of my favorite things in the world. Day 10s feel like finally adjusting to a new time zone, getting good at the bus schedule, knowing how much things cost and settling in to something that, 10 days ago, felt like too much to absorb. Now, I’m here. I’ve unpacked my suitcase. Let’s do this.
And yesterday wasn’t the greatest and also it was really good. I had off-plan eats, I got really really foggy, it was the first time I have eaten after dinner in weeks (which really isn’t earth shattering at all, but good information for my lab coat scientist). I sat in church beside my teenage sons in a dress I took from my mom’s closet because she hadn’t worn it in years, and reflected on how I cannot free myself from my sinful condition and asked God for forgiveness. I lean toward the melancholy like a good Enneagram 4. I take comfort in certain kinds of sadness and crying. I know that. I can allow the mournful tones of Morrissey (he rules. he gets me) to eclipse what I know to be true- I am forgiven and set free and my past is not my prison thanks to a loving savior who keeps no record of any of it. He never says, “You should smile more.” He never says, “Look on the bright side.” He lets me be completely me and waits, sometimes, for me to push at the prison door to realize it’s not locked. I’m not locked in. I never was. I can walk away whenever I’m ready. He’s in no hurry like the rest of us. He doesn’t feel that same discomfort of discontent that we feel nagging at us making us desperate to skip the middle and jump to the end.
So there I was. In melancholy, having forgotten the freedom that is mine, drenched in what I finally called, “purposelessness” on my walk around the square, by myself in late afternoon. Purposelessness lead me to foggy thinking. It lead me to eat things just to eat things. It lead me to question everything as if only I were in charge of this beautiful life from top to bottom with full knowledge I haven’t the skill or the talent to do so.
And now it’s day 10. Day 9? Not great. Day 10? I am clear about purposelessness leading to only one conclusion: more purposelessness. It does not magically morph into meaning. Ever. I am clear that, in the course of 23 days, I will be asked to live all the feelings and think all the things. CHeck and check and then, in its time, come to the question I must answer over and over again. Is this what will help you get to where you’re going? If not, what’s another thing you could think or do or pray to God for help with that might actually offer some relief?
I prayed to God on my walk around the square by myself in the late afternoon. I cried ‘uncle’ confessed my desire to control it all and asked God to fill in the parts that I can’t do on my own (which is all of it. The more he fills in, the better. The more I let him, the better). That’s His deal, really. He fills in the holes, steps in to help, completes the puzzle and off we go. Off we go to Day 10.
Day 7-9 were meant for some processing. They were meant for water consumption, throwing half my lunch away and crying over old hurt that never got a turn to exist in the world. Day 10 is meant for that ballsy broad with no need to explain herself, to saunter in and tell the world what’s what. My past self would’ve hated myself through having to look at the old hurt, regretted saying anything in the first place then beat myself up for being so weak and pathetic as to need to do any of those first two things. THIS PRESENT DAY 10 version of myself doesn’t feel anything like that. My only thought is I should ask God for help on day one of processing instead of feeling like I have to go it alone. (But also hyper independence and never asking for help is a trauma response so….).
Today I’m thankful for growth, renewal, healing and the radical freedom that is changing my mind and doing something cool instead of painful. Don’t worry, the pain’s got its own plans for pooping on the parade so may as well have some fun before it slinks back into town. Day 10 is for banana stands, good walking shoes, prayer, purpose, and throwing half my lunch away. It’s permission to be here, permission to lay aside one thing and take up another. It’s deeper trusting in self and in life believing we were created from love and for love. High five.