It is that time again…Sunday night confession time. Maybe it’s the lapsed Catholic in me (sorry, Mom) but Sunday always makes me introspective and quiet. Especially Sunday night. I’m exhausted and ready to curl up in bed. But if I do, then Monday will be here that much sooner.
OK, so I know time doesn’t work like that but Monday will seem to get here quicker if I sleep the night away. And what will those extra hours of sleep get me anyway? I mean who wants to be well-rested and ready to go on Monday morning?
So anyway, I’m sitting here not doing the work that is waiting for me in the computer bag I lugged home Friday afternoon, deposited next to the door and didn’t budge all weekend. Yay me! That is actually a personal victory of sorts–no work (for the job that pays me) this weekend! Let’s ignore for the moment that I’m feeling totally guilty about that untouched work and thinking how much worse tomorrow will actually be for it. It’s too late, I’m too tired and feeling too ____ (fill in the blank) to do anything about it now.
This week I’m wallowing in the Sunday Night Blues thinking about a question my husband asked me last night. It is going to sound weird out of context so just go with it: “What are you good at?” He wasn’t asking it in a mean way, which you could totally think by reading that. He was asking in an inspiring, motivating, focus on what you want to do kind of way.
The sad part of this tale–and the Sunday Confession teed up in the first paragraph– is that I couldn’t really name anything. Everything I could think of had a “used to be” in front of it.
Since then, I’ve come up with: I’m good at my job. Though there are some parts of it I’m not as good at as my peers. I’m good at working with my clients. I’m good at writing emails, and memos and sometimes copy if I don’t get caught by the copywriters who are actually paid to write, um, copy. I’m good with my boys, sometimes, when I’m not totally stressed out and snapping at them. I’m good at building relationships with people though I think it is harder to make friends as an adult.
I’m good at coloring. I am a kick ass colorer. Give me a box of crayolas and a Winnie the Pooh coloring book–or better yet, those skinny markers and one of those stained glass designs type coloring book–and I can create a masterpiece like nobody’s business. I can choose just the right shade of blue (don’t ever go with the Cornflower, it is too light) and pair it with the right shade of pink to really make Piglet’s scarf pop! (It’s probably because I have perfect color perception. Do you? Take this test to find out.)
Anyway, all those skills and talents came to me today. Last night, I came up blank. I think it is sometimes hard to remember who we are without the human accessories. Who was I before I was Mrs. or before I was Mommy.
I spend so much time performing at work and then at home that I forget who I am. What do I like to do? What am I good at? If I had a week to myself–no job, no kids, no husband–what would I do with myself? What would make me happy?
I guess some of this introspection is why I found The “I am” Project over at Babble Voices so interesting. I’m trying to think how I would describe my own self portrait. The truth isn’t always enough.
I am exhausted. And yet I am so much more.
