If you look in on my life, it’s prefect.
Every Tuesday I dust, mop, vacuum and clean the bathrooms. I’m teaching Leila to read, as we sit, cuddled together on the couch. I chase Alena, laughing as she giggles, through the kitchen and around the hallway. I get good grades. I’m in shape. My children are usually well behaved. I have a nice car, nice house. Perfect husband.
How is it, then, when everything is perfect, that I can wonder what I’m doing?
How can I be a mother and a wife and a grown-up and still not know what the hell I want. And why does feeling this way make me feel like such a fraud?
Should, should, should, I think to myself. You should know by know. You should be certain about what’s going to happen. You shouldn’t feel this way.
Maybe what makes being a grownup so hard isn’t the bills and the responsibility, maybe it’s that nothing changes unless you make the change. Maybe it’s the monotony of your job or your life, doing the same damn thing day after day after day that makes you feel out of control. Because the changes that happen, those times when we grab life by the lapels and tell it what we want, they don’t happen without fear or persistence. you have to jump off the ledge and hope to be caught.
Something is missing. Something needs to change, I think. But how can something be missing when I already have everything?