So it’s seven thirty p.m. or so on a Monday night, and I find myself with a few moments on my own, with the hubby at work. (Blockbuster. We find it’s most fiscally responsible to work for those companies who supply our vices).
It’s been a bit of a tough month. Starbucks is a wonderful company and I have pretty much the coolest set of coworkers that one could ask for, but the truth is that I’m not sure I fit in the high-caffeine, high-speed, high-maintenance world that is the Siren’s domain.
(Another sad truth is that I’m fairly ready to strangle anyone who crosses my path when I’m still at work rather than in my bed at 11.30 p.m.).
I’m sticking with it, trying to give myself time to learn all 5,000 drink modifiers and trying to work on my inner attitude a bit. We’ll see.
I’m fairly sure that much of the frustration has to do less with mopping at 11 p.m. than it has to do with still not being sure what I want to be when I grow up. Feeling stuck between knowing I want more than serving an excellent double-tall-three-pump-vanilla-soy-extra-hot-no-foam-latte — but not knowing what that more consists of, and not having a good sense of how to search it out. I mean, the glorious executive title of “Mom” is in there somewhere, God-willing, but, God-willing, we have several years before I jump into that role, and I find myself wondering what to do vocationally with the interim.
(By the way, we got a quick note from Justin’s grandpa down in California, and we laughed out loud when we read the following: “How are you two doing. Is Stacey PG yet? Well sometimes it takes time. Don’t give up…” I see a troubling genetic link with this twisted sense of humor…)
That’s the hard part.
But there’s also a very sweet part to the season in which I find myself. March 11th I’ll have been married to my best friend for four months. On March 18th it will have been exactly one year since the e-mail that started it all, with a simple, “I’m on your side and I’m cheering for you,” and an oh-I-used-to-like-you-back-in-the-day. I look at the past year of my life and I am amazed at what has transpired.
One moment, I’m living in the Little Blue House, wondering if it’ll ever happen for me, if I’ll ever find my match. (I moved out just in time too. I hear the LBH has also become home to an otter right below its floors, and a urine odor has forced the poor new tenant to flee in horror and disgust.)
The next, I’m living in the Little Grey House in Bellingham, a bit sleep deprived (I’m a light-sleeping sprawler married to a 6′5″ cuddlebug who doesn’t snore but whose annoying habit of simply breathing keeps me awake), but so blessed to wake up to an “I love you” and a “You’re beautiful” each morning. When truthfully, I am neither beautiful nor lovable when first I wake.
Usually, I’m a little on the angry side, especially when working early morning shifts.
Given the choice between wondering what I want to be when I grow up, or wondering who I want to be with when I grow up, I’d pick the former any day. It is a pretty special thing to be able to be frustrated, be searching, be a little lost, even — and be held tight until the torrent of tired sobs and tears is soothed for the moment. I always — ALWAYS — felt bad for my teary response to life’s overwhelming and wearying moments. No more. Justin jumps right in there with me and is unafraid to let me fall apart for a while, knowing I’ll be better for it once I’ve felt sorry for myself for about a half hour. He’s good. He knows how to be there, how to love me when all I am is a bunch of I’m-sorry’s for not having it more together.
It’s not something I would have known how to search out in someone, not a personality trait that I’d have been able to see in him before I chose him, not even something I knew I needed, but it’s there, and it is one of God’s biggest displays of grace to me that I’ve yet seen. And I get to live with it. Laugh with it. Struggle to fall asleep next to it.
I wake up in its arms.
March 18th, 2006-March 17th, 2007 has been the best year ever, and we’ve only just begun.
Okay, off to bed with me. It’s 8.10, and I work at 4 a.m. tomorrow morning. Early morning coffee drinkers, watch yourselves. 
2 Comments
March 6, 2007 at 3:05 pm
Ha. You don’t know what you want to be when you grow up. And neither do I! And I am in school!
March 7, 2007 at 12:43 am
Sounds like an…. um…. interesting year. This year should be interesting, too!