Tip of My Iceberg

My brain is bothered.

Maybe it’s my heart. Possibly not bothered.

Weary.

Not that this is unusual. Much of that bothersome weariness comes from unimportant things.

I don’t usually choose to focus on the non-essentials. Quite the contrary. There are many serious things in my life that need my attention.

Those are the things that push me to bothersome weariness. And I begin to wander in the recesses of my mind.

My mind rabbit-trails along fanciful paths. Daydreaming.

Avoiding the need to deal with the issues at hand. Decisions that need to be made.

Recess is a good word. The inner me wants recess. To play without responsibility.

Not very adult of me.

Not really sure I want to be one now.

My responsibilities are starting up again back here in O-Town. I’m truly looking forward to the folks I’ll meet and get to know. The women I’ll have the privilege of coaching. Relationships that develop quickly, bypassing shallow and heading to the deep waters of conversational reveal.

Truth moment: I’m nervous that I’m not my best me right now. That I’ll show up a few fries shy of a happy meal. That my capacity for compassion didn’t leave the mountains when I did.

Hence the daydreaming. My mind is in the books I’m reading. (I’m in the middle of three right now. Clearly focus is an issue.) The movies I’ve watched. (Mostly chick flicks with my sisters. Deep, pithy conversations there.) The mountains from which we’ve just returned. (I walk into the  humid air of Orlando and all I can think of are craggy peaks and cooler, drier weather.)

This is avoidance at its finest.

I know what it is. I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint people who don’t know me yet. Who come into this year with an expectation of qualified coaches and wisdom willingly shared.

Who, me?

Part of this is having a very high expectation of myself. With my sisters here this past week, we shared our unrelenting predilection for responsibility. Baby Boomers. Add to that parents whose values centered on responsibility and you end up with people who own responsibility for everything.

I punctuate sentences with “I’m sorry.”

I’m learning. I know that God is fine with me the way I am. I can’t earn His favor–He’s given it to me out of love for me. Knowing fully who I am and what horrific things I’m capable of. It’s the result of Jesus willingly paying the price for my wrongs on the cross. An incredible act of love.

I can’t add to that.

So why am I stressing over what hasn’t happened yet?

Habits are tough little buggers to break.

I’m trying to corral my thoughts and work at telling myself the truth. I’m God’s child. Created purposefully. Chosen intentionally. Cherished eternally. Celebrated with delight by the One who made me.

There’s a focus worth eyeballing.