In Transition

I am in the process of moving into my mom's house. I'm not at all ashamed of moving in with her, as I don't feel entirely irresponsible and will be paying her some rent (about half of what I've paid for the past few years, but some). I also feel like her house, the house she bought after the divorce, is kind of a safe haven. I feel like it's got some kind of slow-dripping peace about it. A cool, soft evening peace about it.

I've been gradually moving things: one stack of books here, a load of clean laundry there. While I'm moving these things I have this distinct feeling that her house will help make me new. That, when I finally get my desk in there, in front of the lovely front window in the room she's giving me, I'll keep it uncluttered, spotless, excepting the occasional post-it which will list all sorts of things I will actually do. I really, deeply believe this. And at the same time, I have this awful gnawing that maybe I won't be perfect when I walk through these doors for the last time. I know that when I realize I have left my room a mess at my mom's during the first couple of months I'm there, I'm going to feel so disappointed in myself. Like, I'm totally incapable of ever cleaning up--of ever really being an adult.

And my mom is the best. I know my room won't be awful, and I know I clean up after myself in general areas of the house, but I think a lot of this is stemming from this terrible feeling that I'm not getting anywhere--that I won't get anywhere.

I know I'll likely have a decent career someday. And hopefully I'll get into graduate school. I'm already starting to prepare for that. I'm working on my writing again--scribbling everything that comes into my head, and I plan on sending some new poems out to literary magazines this summer. But, I feel like there are other areas in my life--other deep deep desires I have, that I'll never see actualized.

For instance, every time I come in contact with an individual who has a great marriage, I wonder when they met. I want to know, "Is there still time for me?" I really don't want to be married this instant, but, I want to know that I'm capable of that--that that's a possibility for me. That I may eventually find a real sweetheart to share this journey with.

And then, within this past year--more and more--I've felt that gut-wrenching maternal instinct. I finally love children. I want to hold them. I may not be overt about this. But I feel this very deep, welling tide inside me to have a child someday. Though I have plenty of time for that, and really do not feel as if I'll be prepared or will actually want to be in that sort of situation for ten years or so, I want to know that perhaps one day, I could be. I want to know that these dreams are not elaborate, fanciful things, but really are possible. And not only possible, but legitimate.

I want to know that I can want these things. I can hope for them.

I was reading Shauna Niequist's Cold Tangerines (a deliciously refreshing read--I'm worried I'll finish it so soon and I'll miss it terribly once it's over and not new anymore), and found this:

"I wear my ugly pants , the saggy yellow terry-cloth ones with the permanently dirty hems, and I walk around my house, looking at all the things that I should fix someday, but I don't fix them just yet, and I imagine God noticing all the things about me that should get fixed up one day, and lloving me anyway and being okay with the mess for the time being."

I loved reading that. It makes me want to spend more time with myself--just myself--appreciating my own art, and my own unique existence, and perhaps being really brave and talking to God about some of these big worries on my heart. I want to trust that maybe he does hear, and I am not sitting alone in a giant void that so happens to be hosting a very beautiful sunset at present.

I have so much to learn. I have so many rooms in my heart that need deep cleaning and turning over to Something that will love them better than I have been able to on my own. I think this will be a good year. A very hard year. I have a feeling it may feel like a very dark tunnel of a year. But I'm going to put all of my effort into it, praying that because of the darkness, I'll come up again fresher, and more at peace with what I've got.