Absolute

 

It's that time of the day when the baby has gone to sleep and the husband is off of work, and so am I. I've completed all my day's tasks (and taken a little nap) and am now seated on the recliner, trying to write this masterpiece. It's been a full day––I fed the baby two solid meals, we had a nice brunch at home (I made parathas with ghee), a walk was had and so was some coffee, and all the laundry got folded and put into its place. Of course I'm forgetting the dishes that were washed and the very dry hands that were consequently moisturized.

Every time I tell someone to not be so hard on themselves, I have to remind myself to say the same thing to myself. I would like to say it's going to be a year of change but I don't know how. There's so much in my routine that I want to fix: I want to eat cleaner, to go on many walks like before, to take my baby to the library, and to be able to manage the home better. I have no idea how to get there but I'm taking it one week at a time. Like this week. This week the baby and I went for a nice long walk and I didn't get anxious. It was fine and she was fine and I, too, was fine. I also cooked more meals at home and am planning the next few as well. I thought I would be regular with my workouts but that hasn't happened and we're knees-deep into May.

And yet there is hope. In whatever I do or don't, hope is absolute. Sure this one particular thing hasn't happened yet but it could happen tomorrow, or next week, or next month. There's this echoing voice in my head that repeats as long as there is life, there is hope.

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There's no such thing as a plan. But this was planned (in my head). I saw him, we met, and I knew he was the one. It was absolute. Except the minor detail... he didn't seem to think so. And yet, I deeply believed that we were meant to be partners in crime and otherwise. So of course, I was right, and it happened, and we were. And we are. And even when it doesn't seem to be so, I thank the lord for you everyday, and for this life that we have been building together.

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It's been 10 years since the last time I got in touch with her. I used to call her "Meow" on here because she reminded me of a cat. I was 18 when I met her and we were great friends for two years. That is, before I decided to take the plunge and ghost everybody I had ever met because I was d e p r e s s e d. That was a long time ago –– a lifetime, really. I found Meow on the interwebs recently and she sent me a text to which I responded, of course. While I'm still waiting to hear back from her, I just wanted to say: what a feeling it is to get in touch with an old, old friend. The last time I told her how I was doing, I wasn't in good shape and wasn't sure how I'd ever be. I'm so grateful for how things turned out even though everything went unlike whatever I had planned for myself. Sometimes, it really is better to fail and to fail fabulously at that.

And having said that, I'm pressing publish on this one.