Sunday, April 12, 2015
9 weeks to go + being label-less.
I've been measuring my life in weeks since Trey left for the academy.
Every weekend feels too short. Every week too long.
There are so many things to consider prior to graduating.
Will we love our new town?
Will we rent or buy a house?
Can I really put up with carpet another year of our lives?
Should I buy those Birkenstocks? Kidding.. Sort of.
When is really a good time to start packing?
Is it a good idea to buy all new furniture if we see ourselves not buying a new home?
Should I cut my hair like Camilla Luddington's? Irrelevant, sorry. It really is a pending question, though!!
Will I finally find a career instead of just an 8-5 job?
That last one gets me. On our trip home yesterday, Trey explained to me one of the reasons he's so happy to be so close to his career, is me being capable of (and having more free time) to find my own. I am one of those people that just wants to do about a thousand different little things, just to be sure it's what I really want to do. I hope by the time I'm 90 and close to death that I've tried every single thing on my list and have been content the years I've spent attempting each career path. I don't want to be labeled one thing forever. I think I've always struggled with labels. They are so daunting. Who wants to be one thing forever? Not me. And maybe you do. And that's totally cool. I have always envied the people who didn't have to second guess what they wanted to be in life. I told my parents when I was seven that I wanted to be a priest. It's changed every year since I can remember. I struggled so bad in college choosing a major that I changed mine three times and then once more my Senior year, six months before graduation.
For the next nine weeks I will try my hardest to work on these questions and find answers for our next chapter. Check back again for whether or not I actually followed through with the Birk purchase and if you see me any time soon, I'm sure you'll figure out whether or not the Camilla hair decisions ends in debacle. My hair is always out to get me.