Holy Moly It’s Almost Thanksgiving! (I might borrow a red sweater)

The moods are coming and going so fast these days. I’ve been staying busy trying to outrun my feelings - the ones I don’t like - the sad, mad, disappointed ones that lurk like lint under the bed.

I don’t want to look at them — didn’t I clean under there already? Yes, so many times. And yet still, those yucky feelings are there. Can’t I just enjoy the lovely pillows and blankies on top?

I see myself indulging more than usual in my chosen numbing mechanisms: Netflix, sweets, kitchen re-design Pinterest, Zillow. I know that means I’ve got emotional lint that’s not gonna clear itself.

So, holidays. The loneliest time of the year whether I’m actually alone or not alone. The time of year when no matter what I do Evie my evil inner critic has plenty of opportunities to compare/despair. To tell me I need to buy new shoes and new outfits to feel better, to be better.

Maybe get a new kitchen, and then I’ll have a life where merry friends come around for nog and cider.

I know for me the feeling better doesn’t come in festive packaging. I wish it did. It comes from looking under that pretty bed and realizing — oh yeah, I’m sad. I’m mad. I’m lonely.

And then why all these not-merry feelings? Oh right — because people and things are not exactly how I’d like them to be. I’m not exactly how I’d like me to be. My shoes, my kitchen, my moods, my loved ones, my income — all highly imperfect!

But then - gasp - the happy realization that even with all this imperfection I’m okay anyway.

I’m not that sucky, neither are they, neither is any of it. In fact, I’m gonna congratulate myself right now for making it this far, this way, given all the chances I’ve had to sell myself out,  to bail out, to do it in a way that maybe “looks better on paper” but keeps me in a striving prison and terrorizing myself and all around me to be better or different than we are.

So for me, for the next six weeks or so, I’m going to focus on breakfast, lunch, dinner, walks, naps, my routines, and staying connected with my peeps. They are all so human and so am I.

I’m not gonna be afraid to look under the bed. I’m going to show up as honestly as I can, looking for human connection as authentically as possible, with all the uncomfortable vulnerability that entails. I might borrow a red sweater. I’m gonna keep going.