I hadn’t realized just how long I’d allowed myself to stagnate. Maybe I had and just hadn’t wanted to realize it, I can’t be sure. But the process of purging most of my closet forced me to really stop and take a look at just what it was that I was holding onto.
The answer is: nothing.
When I “became a grown-up,” I tried to live my life the way that I thought a grown-up should live. I never bothered to take into consideration that despite my age, the number of crotch parasites scampering about my feet, and my mortgage, underneath all of that, I was still Your Aunt Becky. The product of two alcoholic parents, I’d never had someone to teach me how to be a grown-up, how to live a life where I was responsible for anything beyond a fish tank, so I made a mash-up of what “grown-ups” did in my mind and I did that.
It never worked for me.
I’m not the person that can hold onto twist-ties “just in case” because I’ll end up storing them in the toilet tank. Extra crap stresses me out. Always has. And yet, because holding onto “just in case” stuff was one of those things I thought that I should do, I did it for years.
Undoing that has reminded me of all of the other things that I’ve been doing simply because I felt that I should.
Every single thing that I remove from my house reminds me that I’m moving on to start my own new life as Your Aunt Becky, not as who I think I should be. While it’s undeniably a positive step, there’s a lot of grieving I’ve been doing along the way.
I suppose this type of purge removes stuff from your mental closet, too. I’m pulling out all of my skeletons and teaching them the motherfucking tango. My skeletons, in turn, are teaching me the waltz. It’s a fair trade, I think. I have to learn from my past or I can never move on.
And I must move past this Waiting Place; this stagnant place I’ve found myself in.
So much of what I want to do with the rest of my life relies on outside forces and while I’ve set the wheels in motion, I have to simply sit back and wait. I’ve been waiting for so many things for so long. I’m ready to move on with my life.
The Waiting Place is a terrible place to be sometimes.
I’m ready to move on with my career, or at least, make one for myself. I’ve got the tools at my disposal, I’ve got the dedication and Lord knows I have the drive, but I’m stuck waiting on outside forces to allow me to move forward in such a manner that I can do something with it.
The Waiting Place is exhausting me.
So instead of focusing on the negative, I’ll see what other tricks my skeletons have to offer me; what else I can learn from them. Something will come to fruition, it always does. And if the past is indicative of the future, it won’t be anything like I’ll expect.
I hope that The Waiting Place soon turns into forward movement.
It’s what I want. It’s what I need. It’s what, eventually, I’ll get.
Once, I’d guess, my dance repertoire is complete.