I've realized that I'm really bad at the taking time to chill thing. I realize that this is pedantic, but last night the truth of it really hit me.
Not that I know how to change it at all.
Five hours alone with myself in a car, no cleaning to do, no work to read up on, no plants to take care of, no brownies to bake, no laundry in the vicinity, and all I did was talk to myself, conversations I haven't had in way too long.
By the time boredom had kicked in (I'm very easily entertained in my head) I was already at the Quebec border and a lot clearer about a lot of the things in my life.
WHo I am. I remembered why Kristen called me a lighthouse. I remembered that someone thinks that I shine. By the time that paragraph was over I remembered how to believe it.
I remembered a lot of things, remembered why I used to think I was wonderful. Remembered some of the smiles I've beaten onto other people's faces. Remembered a lot of things that should sit firmly ensconced at the back of my consciousness at all times, but that in my characteristic race to get everything done right, right now, forget. Too easily.
And taking a bath at home doesn't always work, because I sit there and vibrate until fifteen minutes are up so I can go do something productive.
I so rarely take the time to remember just how much I've already done, every day, for so many years. I know all the words, how far I've come, but last night I heard myself speak them.
Last night I drove into Montreal on invincible wings, drifted into a party to find my princess, and tore laughter from faces I'd never met before the way John and I once taught ourselves to do.
Last night I drove streets that still haunt my dreams some nights, and held all the wrong fingers up in defiance.
I have come so far. I carry so much strength. And deep down I know, I can still survive anything.
This morning I survived my mother's barrage of insults at my choice in men, defended him in honesty. This morning I challenged my mother -- "you're angry because I did better than you"
and she admitted it.
And since then (don't tell Dave) she's been hunting for present for his birthday in August, telling me I should wait about a year before we have children, been giving me advice on how to refurnish our house (she actually asked to hear what it was like inside...), and planning a trip to spend the weekend this spring.
She's asking about our life, and not asking just so that she can find things to fault me with.
Something snapped on the drive in last night, and despite a night rife with "I'm in the home I suffered in" nightmares, this morning is filled with the wonders that only quiet confidence can create.
Oh, and I make kick-ass pickled beef.