As I continue to find my footing, my voice and my self in this transformative season of motherhood, I’ve been mostly comfortable living in the middle. Extremes haven’t really been my thing. I’ve been taking in all sides of the story and experiencing a little bit of everything, all from the safety of my moderate mind.
The girl who once jumped out of an airplane and another time yelled at the mailman was a different Jenna who existed in a life I sometimes can’t recall.
When death came marching along on September 29th, it swept the grey right out from under my feet.
Everything is mostly black and white now. No cruising decibels, no cruising – period.
He was here and now he’s gone. I love my daughters, but damn I need a break. I want to be grounded and also free. I wake up in either vivid hope or with anxiety wrapped around me like a girdle.
The comfort of grey is no longer. The luxury of never having received “that” phone call is gone.
How long have I been scooting by in the in between? Now sitting on the edges, is this where I am made to be?
I think everyone feels the magnetic duality of life. We choose one path, but often are half in, half out because of the luster of another way of life. Something feels missing.
Sometimes I resist motherhood, I resist being a homemaker, I resist working, I resist working out, all because I want everything, I want the opposite thing. If we don’t fully embody one of the selves we desire, where does that leave us? Overwhelmed? Stuck? Maybe committing to one of our selves actually creates more mental space and time to embody pieces of our other self.
Unlocked by death, the outlier in me is seeking the winding edges of my path. An undefined, yet seemingly more concrete way of life.