Try, try again.

That’s what I told myself on the treadmill tonight when I checked the display and I’d only traveled 1.42 miles. On Saturday, my three miles felt like a breeze ~ not so today, after a long day at work, the threat of a headache (most likely caused by the neckache I kept trying to alleviate all afternoon by stretching … I failed miserably) and a beast of a commute home.

Every Monday I like to “start fresh” (it’s my understanding that I’m not the only person who feels this way …) so I get up on time (aka, after the first snooze button), we get to work ‘early’ (I use that term loosely), we go to the gym at night, and I try my darnest to get totally caught up with work, and blog.

It might sound odd that I linked blog to things that, more or less, can be viewed in the gray area of the fun/not fun Venn Diagram.  I don’t think of blogging as work (well, not all the time, but when I start to panic, everything feels like pressure!) but I do like to keep blogging and make sure that it doesn’t get squeezed out of my routine.

Blogging is stress relief, but I love it best when I’m typing alone, the only sound my fingers tapping on the keyboard.  That doesn’t happen often in our house, because we keep pretty much the same schedule.  So now, while he’s taking a relaxing shower after the gym, I’m sitting here, just me and my bazillion thoughts.

Right now I feel as though I’m sitting on fence.  I’m thirty-one … very soon to be thirty-two.  I’ve finally found a job that I don’t cringe at when I have to tell people what I do ~ in fact, I enjoy it most days (today was not one of them, but ah well, nothing’s perfect!).  As a little person, guided -I must confess- by my brilliant mother’s words on living an independant, self-sufficient life, I dreamed of going to work in well-cut business suits with crisp, white-collared shirts and gorgeous shoes … not so much about a white dress and an aisle.  As an adult, I’ve absolutely had my ‘bride’ moments … when all I can think about is whether or not I’ll be married one day, and have children.  (And a dog. Obviously).  At thirty-one, I’m sitting on a fence, feeling as though I have to make a choice.  And sometimes it’s exhilarating.  And sometimes it feels downright unfair.  And sometimes it feels suffocating.  And overwhelming.

I’ve heard the arguments.  “You won’t understand until you’re a parent,” and “It’s a completely different type of love,” … and I see my friends’ beautiful children, these little miracles that they created and cooked and brought into this world, and I am in awe.

And then I wonder if I’m ready to give up the independance of a career.  The excitement and the challenges and the learning … and the freedom.  And I feel as though men can’t possibly understand this impossible crossroads.  And I’m not sure that all women feel it.  But I am the product of strong women, women who tried and mostly succeeded at doing it all.  It’s a heavy weight on my shoulders to follow in their footsteps.

So, as I said, I’m sitting on a fence.  And it’s quite the conundrum.