Oftentimes, I arrive at my blog either void of anything thoughtful or provoking to say, or full of things which have been occupying my mind for hours; thoughts or grievances or gratitudes that have spent the day swirling around my brain.  Sometimes I’m in the car, and I realize I haven’t heard a word of my book, or a word of the story on NPR because I have become so caught up and lost in my thoughts.

Sometimes, despite my fingers itching to type, I put a lid on it; knowing that the blog isn’t the proper forum to address certain issues.  Other times, by the time I find myself with time or motivation to write, I’ve lost the passion or intensity of what I wanted to say.  That’s always sort of a bummer.

Today, I’m in a gray area, sort of able to know what I want to say, and sort of unsure if I want to put it here for anyone to read.  (PS.  I know I don’t have a ton of readers, but I have a few … and those eyes are precious to me).

Last night, as the husby and I settled into the sofa to wind down the evening, he said something sort of assumed, but also sort of shocking.  He said we’d never leave the Pennsylvania area.  Despite knowing his answer, I asked why.  His response was as I expected.  And then the evening moved on, the sentiment was forgotten and we enjoyed a sitcom marathon before heading to bed at the lame hour of 9pm.

It wasn’t until I was driving to work this morning, my mind full of all sorts of things having to do with the company I work for, my future and the business’ future, that I remembered the man’s statement from the night before.

And I got annoyed.

Weird, right?

His reason for committing to Pennsylvania was neither wrong, unexpected, misguided or untrue.  And yet, it made me feel trapped.  It made me question who I was making life decisions for: myself, or others.  I realized, as I intensely chewed on this train of thought, that I wasn’t ready to start making sacrifices or life compromises for anyone other than myself or my husband.  I wasn’t ready to close the door on opportunities or adventures for any reason that didn’t stem directly from me.

And I thought how selfish that was ~ but somehow couldn’t stop feeling that way.

I thought about how every single person who chooses to become a parent inherently makes the choice that some other human is prioritized above themselves.  I thought how amazing that sort of commitment was; how altruistic.  And then I wondered if I could ever do it.

I still can’t seem to get my head around it, come to terms with all of it.  At some point, we all inherit responsibilities that weren’t ours to begin with; that’s sort of the way of life.  It feels unfair that some people shoulder these burdens at a much younger age than others, but there it is.  I know that my husband is a much more generous, giving person than I am; that is who he is, has always been and will always be.  That is how he understands the responsibilities we have moving forward and embraces them the best he can, while I squirm and pout and get resentful.

I haven’t found a way to accept these things yet, but I know I will eventually; I don’t really have a choice.  I guess what makes humanity beautiful is that we are each individuals and we all have our virtues and vices.  For me, this is about facing the ugliness of my soul, and figuring out how to change it.