It was only a dream...

I was on my way to the little family New Year celebration, driving up to see my son and his dad (yes, we still do a lot of family things together. Yes, I know most divorced people don't do that. Call me crazy, but it works for us). Without even realizing that it was the time of year to make resolutions, something of the sort formed in my head. I will, however, give it a term other than resolution, as it's nowhere near the standard, "I'm going to lose 20 pounds and spend money more wisely" kind of crap.

What do I intend to do this year?

To put it bluntly, I want to start getting this huge stick out of my ass.

I was talking to M about it last night, trying to put it into words. M is quite good at making me quantify things. He's awesome like that. I didn't have it completely formulated then, but I'm getting closer. It's going to take some work before it gets to the manifestation phase.

Here's the thing. I have spent the last several years building credibility. Let's be honest...I haven't always been the most sensible person in the world. I think one or two of you could come up with some pretty good stories about the legendary Christine-flightiness, but I'll ask you to politely keep them to yourselves. They are there, and I remember them all quite well.

So when I found myself in the position of being a divorced parent, it was scary. How was I going to provide a good example for my boy? How could I support our little family, make something of myself, and be a productive member of society that bucked the stereotype of the single mom?

By working my ass off, that's how.

I focused on my career, and on being a decent parent. I drilled down to the details that had previously been of little matter to me. I obsessed about paying my bills on time, making sure that A's homework was done every night, and leaving no stone unturned at work in order to advance my career. I took my biggest weakness - my laziness - and fought it with every bit of strength that I had.

In the last eight years, I have brought my boy to the brink of puberty as a decent, respectable young man. At work, I became the youngest person in my local group by fifteen years (and the youngest female department/company-wide by over five years) to hold an officer title, then pushed things over the edge to head up my own line of business. I own my own house, which I have been renovating constantly to turn into a comfortable home. I have won my way back into the arts, and made incredible connections and friendships.

You know what, though? I have spent very little time enjoying any of it. The fear of failing, of never being enough, has lingered with me. I micromanage far too much, and don't take enough time to look at the big picture of how great my life really is.

So it's time. Time to stop being afraid. Time to stop worrying that the slightest setback will mean I'm not successful. Time to laugh, time to have fun. Time to enjoy everything I have built.

Does this mean I'm going to stop working so hard? Pfffft. No way. It just means that I'm going to try not going to live in the little box anymore. I'm not planning to push myself to exhaustion and illness to prove something to the world. I don't intend to worry about everything, all of the time.

I want to give myself a little credit, and feel free. I am, in fact, a passionate, fun-loving person. I've been suppressing that too much, for too long...it's time to let my guard down and try to have, as I said to M, a calmer mind. Life is too short to have that kind of stick up my ass every day.

So this isn't a resolution. Resolutions are too cliché, and I hate them. It is, again, a realization. It isn't some huge life change...it's simply an attempt to take a different view of what's already there. I want to have more fun. I want to be more fun. I want to live, and love living.

Because love is what it's all about, no?