I have been feeling melancholy lately; stuck in a wishing of things that were.
I find the most accurate term to be “homesick”, but the truth is that I am wishing for things that are no longer. Past-sick might be more accurate and I’m finding that my definition of home and past are so intimately intertwined that I can no longer distinguish their separate attributes.
An unrequited longing for a different story line or at least a review of crossroads seems to be my private midnight movie each night as I try to silence the mind that holds me captive, brings me words, and over analyzes choices.
I’ve been planning as though my life depended on it; planning for my husband’s upcoming 30th birthday and my son’s upcoming 4th birthday.
And perhaps, in my somewhat fragile state of mind, my life does depend on it; depend on the planning of momentous celebrations to remember that there are occasions, monumental occasions, that require attention and dedication that I am, truly, thrilled to honor them.
I have a surprise planned for my husband, a big one that I know (hope?) he will love because even though he doesn’t like to make big deals of things I like to, and turning 30 isn’t just something you can brush under the rug.
I know myself well enough to know that this is not depression (I’ve been there) but rather a valley, a passing of emotion that will fade as quickly as it appeared, mysteriously drifting in and out of my consciousness.
And I also know that it’s a fear. A fear of the reality that my son will be 4, because every year that he gets older is another year that he is growing up, just as he should.
And then I know, I’m having a slight fear of turning 30 myself, because in all of my intense planning of the celebration of others I can not seem to think of how I would like to celebrate myself.
And I’m doing silly things like going to a tanning bed (just the spray kind, not the terrible kind) and whitening my teeth and working out because I’m trying to capture, grasp, hold on, to some part of what it meant to not be 30?
Even though I’ve said for a long time that I’m ready to be 30. And I am. And I’m going crazy all at once.
I’ve talked to some old friends lately that I haven’t talked to in a long time, and at once I missed the phase of life I knew them in and wished they were more in the phase of life I’m in now.
It’s interesting to remember who you were before you became who you are.
Because you used to be oh so very different in the midst of your sameness.
Finally the birthday parties are planned and the to do lists are (almost) crossed off, and on Friday my husband, son and I are leaving for a trip to Georgia for a week full of family and birthdays and busy-ness.
And though I usually hate the craziness of trips to Georgia, this time, it feels a lot like going home.