1 April again.
My second transition anniversary passed less eventfully than the first. I mowed the lawn with the push mower and cut down a dying spruce and dead rhododendron. The day before I cut down two dead fir trees, a bush I’ve hated since I moved in here, and started to clear the invasive Himalayan blackberries and English ivy from a corner of the garden.
It’s felt good to be outside moving my body and seeing the riotous spring hues of green. A baby tree frog in the cut grass caught my eye and I picked it up after it tried to hop away towards longer grass. Its wet, yellow-green skin pulsed in fear as I moved it out of harm’s way.
The weather was pleasant; overcast and cool. The sun came out for the last few minutes of my labors, making me sweat and laugh at my good fortune to be here to enjoy it. Leaving the grocery store later in the afternoon my kids and I dashed to the car through hail while the mountain passes saw six to twelve inches of snow. Spring in Seattle!
Clearing away the old to make way for the new seems to be my current jam. It’s way overdue.
The other week I purged old computer gear and cables I’ve been schlepping around for years, consolidating four bins down to one and a half. Clothes on my hangers that don’t fit, or I haven’t worn in forever, or have energy that doesn’t belong in my house anymore go in the donate pile. After patching a few dents in a wall put there by an angry kid I’m pairing over the dull tan with a bright green.
My mom’s car was towed away Friday for the donation auction, and I’ve shredded enough paper to fill a forty-gallon lawn bag and have started filling a second. The garage is slowly being organized into the new shelving I’m building, helping to accelerate the purging process and making way for the vision that is my new business, which will require a more organized space with space to grow for supplies out there.
Things I thought about myself, or that I thought I should have thought about myself, that don’t align with how I want to live my life are falling away. Sometimes it’s a relief and other times it feels like peeling off burnt skin to leave a raw patch and hoping it doesn’t get infected before it heals.
The self-reckonings of some past words and deeds leave me in fear of flesh-eating bacteria. The shedding of expectations placed by those dead or otherwise gone leave me shivering like a bough sloughing snow in spring. It’s a give-and-take situation for sure.
The life I used to lead two years ago and that sustained me for a quarter-century, tech dude, feels like three lifetimes ago. Now I’m a single, unemployed, part-time mom, living off my dwindling retirement funds as I struggle to care for my eldest.
Their autism is starting to intersect with puberty in ever more challenging ways, and I’m scared to death my mostly-work-from-home-business-so-I-can-be-there-for-them won’t bring me enough cash fast enough to stave off having to sell the house. But I’m a risk-taker and if I can transition, I can start another business and make it work. I always seem to find a way. Even if it is the dumbest, most painful way.
While I don’t have all the past I wanted, I do have the opportunity to make a past I do want from the now into the future.
How lucky am I to be a fool?
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