For 8 months, my life was akimbo, with free days and lost hours. Now dragged, only slightly with a fight, back into the world of corporate-dictated work, I train my gaze on something other than regret. Just 11 short months ago, I disengaged from the only world I knew entering a fairyland complete with the dragon of worry and the evil step-mother of fantasy shame. I had thrown myself to the rubes of my imagination thinking I could write a novel, a bestseller in some circles, that would allow me to live out the life of a freelancer. Steered toward this impossible task, I was blind to all the other wonders that now further instill in me a sadness at the Monday morning alarm, even if the inevitable is serenaded by Elvis Costello.
My puckered Happy Face balloon hasn’t burst yet. I am grateful for what I have; a job that is both creative and challenging, a place for me to learn new skills and hone others, with some cool people to work with and a steady paycheck that allows me to have my home, my cat and my “freedom” after 5pm.
But sometimes, like this morning, it is almost unbearably difficult to extinguish the barks of regret. Like they say in RENT, “Forget regret or life is yours to miss.” I am creating a new me with no blueprint and no safety net, (well a small one, I knitted it out of cheap yarn, but it looks nice).
There is no plan of how to freelance again, to be an artist or to even know what is for dinner. But that is OK. I have lived by plans all my life, and though it gave me many things, and I am grateful for all of them, I like playing it by ear. Like when my car decides to scowl forcing me to take it in for service.
This morning was punctuated by a trip to the Saturn Service Center. I haven’t been the best auto mom and it was time, but once again, I had other plans for the money this may cost. By way of an answer to my plight however, I did get to check out the SKY a bit more and love it. I don’t know how or when, but that is going to be my next car. And I look good in it. Though the cost of my unexpected car repair isn’t enough to deplete my serene aplomb, it does set me back on purchasing a new one.
But everything happens for a reason. When I went to pick up my car, I saw a friend I hadn't seen in more than 3 years, Miss Monica D. She was picking up her car too and we chatted for a while. I miss working with her and hearing all her wild party tales told in both astute English grammar and Southside jargon - Hip Hop meets Jane Austen. She is doing wonderfully and confessed that she is very happy, which is something new. For both of us.
All is well in my world.