Moving out of the mediocre middle
I have poop somewhere on my shirt. I never thought I’d be the person who can’t figure out where the smell is coming from, only to realize in a moment of horrifying clarity that they are the origin of the smell.
It’s me.
Somewhere on my person, there is poop.
There’re also five or six applesauce handprints on me, but those aren’t so offending. This would all be much more concerning if I had started with “I don’t have kids…”
I don’t have kids, but I do live with some kids. Let me explain.
Two months ago, I packed up my Atlanta-based life and moved to the Western middle-of-nowhere in small-town Georgia. Which continues to be a shock daily since I’ve lived in downtown Atlanta as a single woman doing what I want when I wanted for the better part of a decade. Now, I live with two tiny tyrants who call the shots.
When I moved in with my brother-in-law, sister, and their two kids, the purpose was twofold: help them with the kids and figure out what I wanted to do next.
I had climbed a corporate ladder and realized (perched somewhere on the mediocre middle of it) that I wanted nothing to do with the job I was doing. I walked away, and am now, at 35, starting over. Now instead of buying the newest Kate Spade bag because I felt like it, I have to budget if I want to get crazy and go out to dinner one night.
This strange experiment has taught me two things; I'm not as patient as I thought I was, and I am pretty selfish. Moms, I have the utmost respect for you. You barely get a second to yourself from sunup to sundown. And that’s maddening. I’ve barely had a taste of the two-kid life and I am ready for a nap that goes on for months. And maybe a spa day. Definitely a spa day; I had better start saving.
Moving has definitely changed my geography, but it’s also completely rearranged my life. I wear lots of shirts with skulls on them. I like to play pretty violent video games. I do not have to most PG vocabulary. Guess what you have to watch around toddlers? All of the above. Hence the aforementioned selfishness.
“Sometimes I don’t want to watch Baby Shark for the one-millionth time. I want to watch a serial killer documentary on Netflix while drinking three-dollar wine straight out of the bottle.”
Sometimes I don’t want to watch Baby Shark for the one-millionth time. I want to watch the newest serial killer documentary on Netflix while drinking three-dollar wine from Aldi straight out of the bottle because I’m a garbage human. Like I said, selfish.
In case you’re getting the wrong idea, I absolutely adore my nieces, and I’m so glad I’m here for this part of their lives to see them grow and thrive. I’m just in this very odd part of my life where I’m starting over with no idea what I’m doing or where I’m headed. And to walk away from my career and move to a tiny town was my choice, so I’m ok with that.
But I feel ridiculous. I defined myself by what I did, and that was my justification for not settling down and starting a family, etc. But now I have neither career nor my own family to explain myself with, so now who am I?
There’s no grand conclusion to this story where I tell you I was whisked away by a lovely person or decided on the career I was super passionate about and landed my dream job within a matter of weeks. It doesn’t really work like that outside of Hollywood. I can only assure you that I’m working on it, and it promises to be an adventure.
But don’t worry, I changed my shirt.
