It’s 3:27 PM on Sunday and the weekly broadcast of this week’s Sunday scaries is well underway. My anticipation of Monday morning is now in full swing. FULL. SWING.
When I graduated from college seventeen years ago and entered the career world, I made a promise to myself that if I consistently dreaded the arrival of Monday morning for more than a month or two, for reasons that were more than just a phase, I’d find a new job. If I didn’t absolutely love my job, fine. However, I vowed that I wouldn’t sign myself up to drag myself anywhere on a regular basis during this lifetime, including work. I’ve kept this promise to myself and have never looked back.
This time feels different. I’m not convinced that it’s the job I’ve had for the last twenty-seven months that’s at the heart of the issue. I’ve been on a personal journey for the last five months, to be reflected on here at another point in time. This journey has left me depleted. Just really damn tired and exhausted on every level. While the chapter that began in January is appropriately coming to an end, I find myself struggling, although I know that how I feel is more complex and consuming than the word ‘struggling’ implies. What I envision for myself is to end this chapter by enthusiastically turning the page to find myself staring at the blank page before me. Cue the Hillary Duff theme song from “Laguna Beach” here and yes, I’m LC, eyes wide, shoulders back, smiling wide as I look into my future. I am acutely aware that right in front of my eyes are endless blank pages, bare and unencumbered by the mental, physical and emotional heaviness that the last five months have carried.
In reality, the page, as I turn it, seems so heavy that I’m unable to overcome its weight. When I’m finally able to turn to a new, clean, crisp blank page and I put pen to paper to write the beginning of the next chapter I’m finding that there’s no ink in the pen. So I push harder. I scribble frantically in endless circles. If these efforts prove successful, it’s only for a word or two and it’s unable to be sustained. These few meaningless words come nowhere close to the representation of the amazing, can’t wait to be lived chapters upon chapters I’ve already written in my head.
As I anticipate the new week just fourteen hours away, I know that there are people depending on me and expecting me to be on, and I don’t want to disappoint them. I don’t want to disappoint myself. The next emotion I feel is fear. Not the fear of what I’ll find when tomorrow comes, but the fear that tomorrow will find me and I won’t be ready.