I think I'm okay with that.

I can't sleep tonight. So to entertain myself, I hopped on a friend's blog about an hour ago (Ellen - amazing woman, amazing wares), and once I caught up on her posts, I started hopping to the links on her site, and a lot of them are blogs by girls we went to college with.

One friend in particular is really funny. I read a few of her posts and the little anecdotes about her kiddos sprinkled throughout, and they were so funny.

Well, it was funny 'til it wasn't. I was laughing. And then .2 (that's "point 2" not "2 tenths," though I guess if you wanted to read it "2 tenths of a" that would work) second(s) later, I was crying. Not boohooing, per se, but there were tears. I want to blame it on the hour, but I know that's not it.

I guess I'm just in this place that feels marked by longing. Not that there is some longing in the mix, but that this whole season is just fundamentally marked by it. And, as it turns out, I adore my life right now.

I think you can be content and still long for things. And that kind of longing? The kind that exists, even permeates, in the midst of to-your-toes-contentment? I don't know. Somehow it's a restful place.

So tonight, while I may not be sleeping, I guess I am resting in my longing. Hurting, but resting. I now refer you back to the title.

Sweet dreams.

Hero to Zero

A few days ago, I was watching a documentary on a group of creatives. These are the totally-out-there-really-living-it-everyday-seriously-what's-wrong-with-you kind of creatives. They made really weird art.

This one guy was explaining this piece of abstract art he'd created, or rather that he had to create. And he explained it. I kid you not, he ran his finger along the lines and stated the thoughts they represented.

I wanted so badly to be cool enough to get it. I wanted to understand his mind in that moment.

I've never felt so lame. I went from fabo to flabo in exactly the amount of time it took for that guy to explain his painting.

To be confronted with extreme creativity like that can be a slap in the face. Or maybe it's giftedness or athleticism or beauty, but seeing in extreme quantities anything you desire to be can be overwhelming.

But I think it's a good thing.

I think it reminds us that we want to be great, even though we convince ourselves we don't. It pushes us to try when we'd rather just tell ourselves that it's lame, or it won't work out, or we can't be that good at something anyway.

I don't know. Take a class. Write something. Get organized. Wear makeup.

Just try.

Bulldogs and sore thumbs

So I was recently in a brainstorming meeting to make some plans for next year. Just to be clear, I was not only a peon in this meeting, I was a guest.

I love nothing more than giving input. Gooood gosh. I remember one time when I was 8, I told my choir teacher at church that she wasn't any good at teaching us. "I'm bored," I believe, was what I told her specifically. (I'm still sorry, Jorinda.)

She kindly relinquished her post for the night and let me run the show. It was more of a circus than anything else, and somebody quickly put everyone out of their misery. Except me, of course. I wasn't miserable at all.

When my dad got home, I got my hide worn out.

Those hide whoopin's come in different form as an adult. Usually I end up looking and feeling like a fool. It's worse, and it feels bad a lot longer.

This week, it was my desire to give input that clouded my judgment. Had I shared an opinion and moved on, it would have been fine. Instead, I dug in my heels, fought like a bulldog, and stuck out like a sore thumb.

Strong desires tend to cloud our judgment in certain situations, and when that happens, the best we can do is own our mistake, apologize when appropriate, learn from it, and then...let it go.

Check, check, check and...yeah. Check.

The Mommy problem

My team at work had our holiday celebration today with a Thanksgiving potluck lunch with Christmas music in the background. It wasn't a classic party, per se, but it was a good time.

As we were finishing lunch, my boss suggested we all say something we're thankful for. There were some lame answers (you know who you are), like "lots of stuff" and the usual, "my spouse" or "my job."

Then it got to one of my female coworkers who came back from maternity leave today. She was gone 8 weeks after the birth of her first child, who is, of course, super cute. I'll give you exactly one guess as to what she was thankful for.

But she wasn't just thankful. She gushed about how happy she was and how she'd always wanted to be a mom, and now she was and it was so fabulous and on and on and on.

It was really sweet.

I understood her dream. I cannot fathom her reality.

We all have times when we are confronted with the fruition of our dream in someone else's life. That's not a woman thing, or a young person thing, or a single thing or an American thing.

It's an everyone at some point thing.

We can choose to share in their joy, or reject it in favor of licking our wounds.

I don't always choose well. Today? I chose joy.

Taking direction

I'm shooting a video at work tomorrow. It's a small part, and it will only be seen by our staff, but it's being directed by a girl I work with who majored in theater and directs on the side. For money. I'm just saying, people pay her to do this. She's good.

Her husband is in the video and he gets paid to write and act. The other guy in the video is on staff as well, and he too gets paid to write and act. I, on the other hand, do not get paid to write. Or act.

We rehearsed yesterday and I was a train wreck. Acting is a funny thing, you know. You have to say someone else's words, fake someone else's personality, and look natural being entirely unnatural. It's amazing how people do it. Other people. Not so much me.

I have been super independent my whole life, and growing up, I wouldn't take direction from anyone. I didn't care who you were or how well you knew what you were talking about. I had my own ideas and didn't need anyone's help.

But yesterday she had to tell me to stop bouncing. Twice. Then I was too boring followed by too expressive, or looking away and then looking too intently like a robot (I added the robot part, she was really very nice about it).

But I took it. And was better because of it. It'll be awhile before anyone jumps at the chance to pay me for my acting, but I was better.

Best part about my thirties to date? Being able to take direction while obviously being the least talented person in the room.

And enjoying every minute of it. Cheers.