I had a weird revelation today.
I’m no longer freaked out by free time. Which is good, because I’m finding quite a bit of it as of late.
I used to both crave free time and be completely discombobulated by it when it actually came around. I would fret about all the work that I wasn’t doing – fret so much that I didn’t enjoy my free time, which wasn’t free at all. It was stress time. Time I was held captive by supposedly relaxing.
Now? Now, I am really enjoying my couch. I’m chillin’ with Foxie Doxie. I’m sleeping. I’m seeing friends and doing The Target Stroll, pushing my cart up and down every aisle because you just never know what you’re going to find, especially on those clearance endcaps.
I was always the kid who fretted about what I was supposed to be doing. I played the flute for a month in fourth grade, and when I decided I didn’t want to play the flute, I cried because I thought it made me a quitter, and that the band teacher would be mad at me. And, I’ve followed that same pattern in different variations throughout my life.
I don’t know if it’s the antidepressant, getting more in touch with my real self, finally wearing out the Cha Cha Who Tries to Be Perfect, or some combination thereof, but … I just might be learning how to just be.
It’s a skill. I am just in the training wheels stage. But it’s a bit of a rush.
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