What Would an Adventurous Gypsy Do?

Not feel sorry for herself, I can tell you that...

I made my big scary move...and now I'm here. Waiting. Waiting for it all to start. I certainly didn't think I would jump right in to a fully functional adventure...however, this does not dissuade my eagerness for some purpose. I am in life limbo and attempting to enjoy it like they say you are supposed to. Of course that never really works, does it.

My excitement and vigor is as volatile as teenage hormones. I enjoy the good things for as long as they feel enjoyable. And then I get bored. What else, what else? An Adventurous gypsy would think outside the box. She would make her own adventure. It is this realization that reminds me that I am trying very hard to play a part that wasn't originally assigned to me. But I want it, so I'm getting into character.

If all else fails, I work out, and then I clean. Thank goodness for busy work. As much as it has cultivated a large amount of disdain for EVER being a stay at home mom, it is keeping me...useful. As I am a welcomed guest in a very not-mine apartment. I have a very sweet boyfriend who speaks in inclusionary statements, lots of "we" and "our." That takes a large amount of the edge off but doesn't change the facts.

This adventurous gypsy needs some purpose, a good story and a better, more flexible attitude. Although I knew the adjustment to my new "normal" would be slow, I can't help but think I am missing out on an opportunity to make the most of it as it can at times feel so "less than." No more. An adventurous gypsy doesn't wallow or whine, she changes things. And she drinks a glass of Syrah while doing it.

A kick in the stomach...the good kind

They say you should do the thing that scares you. Supposedly that is when you reap the greatest rewards. So I did. 

I am a gal of familiarity. If it were a drug, I would OD on it. I love knowing what to expect. Unknowns are no good. Obviously this is something that no one could ever avoid entirely. Trying new restaurants, fun. Going to new places, great. Meeting new people...ehhh, it's alright. Picking up and moving to a different state, without a job, an apartment, a sense of regularity, the comfort of ummm... well... anything familiar really, instant nausea followed by panic. 

Despite this, I started to realize my "regular" didn't fit anymore. I felt like the winner of The Biggest Loser who was still trying to wear the same, oversized, ill fitting garments. Unlike dramatic weight loss, I was changed on the inside and refusing to change anything on the outside. I started to think about what I could be missing out on. I felt envious of people like my sister who really lived life. Sometimes recklessly, regardless, she was getting everything she wanted out of it and wasn't afraid to push for more or go a different way. She wasn't afraid, period. And here I was spending all of this time being afraid...of being afraid. Afraid of potentially making a choice that would put me in a spot of uncertainty...or realizing that I shouldn't have made it at all...or failing. 

It took me long enough, but I decided I had to start living out my facebook statuses and toasts made on New Years and friend's birthdays, "If not now, when?" "Life, as it should be." There had to be more for me and I absolutely could not waste another minute stagnant in "normal." Potential failure didn't stop anyone else, why not me. I'll figure it out, make it work, make it happen. No more "one-size-fits-all life." F you failure. You don't scare me.