Weight lifting

You don't know what you're carrying until you put it down

Dear Writer,

A few days after I arrived in Colorado, by coincidence my best friend, Dr. Kelly Jones, had a Denver work trip already in her schedule for that week, and we got to hang out for an evening exploring Boulder’s Pearl Street Mall (which I heartily recommend if you ever get the chance to visit.) We had dinner at Pasta Jay’s, sitting on the sidewalk listening to the live music coming from the sidewalk by the restaurant across the street and watching people meander by on the blocked-off road. Kelly looked at me and said, “How does it feel?” and I responded honestly that it felt like a vacation. It did not feel like I live here, among the mountains and the funky bookstores and the sunny weather.

“It’ll take about two weeks,” she said.

She was right.

On Wednesday, two weeks to the day after I got here, Ian and I were driving down 93, heading back home from Boulder where we went to the happiest place on earth (Apple Store) and I kept saying, with a mix of shock and wonder, how light and happy I felt.

I’ve been carrying a lot of weight for a really long time. I thought I was tired every day because of menopause, or because I was just old. Ian used to call 2:30 my “head in two hands” time, because that was the point in the day when I just Couldn’t Anymore and had to take a break from work before going back in and forcing myself through the rest of the day. Now, I’m finding myself hitting 3 p.m. (which is my 5 p.m. as I’m up at the butt crack of dawn doing a full work day on eastern time) and I’ve still got energy to burn. I want to go for a walk or run errands or drive out to Boulder to hit the Apple Store.

I want to do things.

I haven’t felt that way for a long time.

After the last five or so years of jumping from one global dumpster fire into the next, I imagine a lot of us are feeling drained and tired and like we Just Can’t Anymore. And, let’s face it, there are some weights that we can’t put down no matter what we do. I’m really lucky in that the things that were draining me the most were finally put-downable, so I did.

What I wish I’d known back before I put them down was just that it wasn't me. I wasn’t failing to deal. I was just carrying too much, and it was too hard, and I wasn’t giving myself enough space to move slower, because I was constantly comparing myself to the person I used to be before everything got so damn heavy. I remember in the last years of my very dark second marriage wondering why I was so tired all the time. It wasn’t because something was wrong with me; it was because my world was broken, and I was trying to carry on as though it wasn’t.

So I guess this ramble letter, my first back after the exhaustive breakdown and rebuild of my life, is to let you know that it’s not you. There’s a reason why you are tired. If there’s weight you can put down, definitely do it. But if not, acknowledge that the weight is there, and that there is nothing wrong with you.

I’ll be back next week talking about writing again. The new life starts…

…

…

… now.

Everything,

L