Narcolepsy and New Resolves

I'm sure I mentioned this before, but I'll mention it again . . . just in case . . . as a child, I was somewhat riddled with anxiety.  Like I woke up each morning convinced that this day was my last.  My poor mother.  Bless her heart for dealing with my crazy.

At some point, maybe around 12 or 13 I begin to realize that this daily terror was affecting my life (yes, it took me a minute).  Everyone around me seemed to get into cars without the least worry.  They'd leave their love ones daily and not fear and tremble that it would be the last time they'd lay their eyes on their dearly beloved.  Not to mention, they did fun things . . . like all the time.  They biked, swam, ate adventurous food, and well . . . lived.  

Now, I'm going to get side tracked for a second, and mention that my fears were founded on fact.  My brother was seriously injured in front of me, my mother got ran over as I watched (both stories for another time), and literally everything that could go wrong would around me (ask my brothers . . . they delighted in watching things veer mid air to crash into my head . . . every single time).  I was also a child with asthma and wholeistic (sp?) parents who believed that herbs and our body could heal everything (they have since realized this is not exactly so . . . again, another story for another day). So in short, I was a sickly, traumatized child. Yes, everyone ended up fine (injured but back to full health in the proper amount of healing time) so I knew that good things were possible, it just seemed that there was some sort of black cloud hanging over me . . . and if I did one or two things oddly enough . . . the whole world would crash down around me.

Yes.  I was pretty much crazy.  Bless anyone who took two seconds with me.

So at, lets say, 13, when my body grew and my asthma diminished and I began to look around me, I realized that if I was going to die, at least, at the very least, I could do a few things before I went on to the next life.

I pulled out an old (and I mean ancient . . . like I have no idea where they came from . . . but when you're the seventh of 8 children, there are a lot of strange things hanging around or left by friends etc) pair of running shoes and ran down the long straight road to the stop sign (a mile).  I didn't die.  My lungs didn't close up and I collapsed, gasping for air.  Nope.  In fact, I felt a little bit like I was flying.  I ran again the next day . . . a little farther.  The day after I added a little hill.  And I was fast.  Like good at running.  Who would have guessed? And so began my exploration into the world of the living . . ..

Next, I gathered up all my babysitting money (homeschoolers babysit a lot), and went down to Western Auto in our tiny teeny town and bought one of the three ten speed bikes they had in the window and I began biking.  No one hit me (there may have been a few close calls).  My legs didn't give out when I pushed up and down those huge long and steep New England hills.  In fact, I went faster and faster and faster.  And farther and farther and father.  I'd be gone hours and hours.  Thank heavens for being seventh.  My mother was too busy with everyone else to worry about me.  And so I discovered freedom and all the towns around where I lived.  I still dream of biking through them.  It's what I want to do every time I go home.  Bike.  And run.

And then maybe I went a little crazy.  I became the official YES! person.  I mean, if I'm going to die, I'm going to live before I go.  I literally tried every sport (very very bad at volley ball and golf), dance (loved it!), musicals, plays, art class, race, EVERYTHING.  And it hasn't stopped.  I still wake each morning really happy I'm still here and I think, well, if it's my last, let's make something of it . . . ready . . . go!

Yes, it's probably mostly stupid.  Maybe I traded one crazy for another, but, I have a LOT of adventures, so, thank you, crazy.

This summer was no exception.  

In fact, it should probably go down in the books as the most jam packed summer in the histories of summer.  And it didn't disappoint a bit.  In fact, I sort of kind of loved every crazy sleep deprived minute of it.  I'd do it again in a heart beat . . ..  I thrive on living.

It also totally tires me out.  Like right now, every single time I sit down, I pretty much instantly fall asleep.  One minute someone (usually the kids) are talking to me, and then, boom, I wake up blinking my eyes, to find myself alone.  You know it's been a good summer when you're too tired to move.  Literally.  I don't think I could have fit one more thing into my summer.  Life well, well lived.

But I've had a week now of the kids going back to school and I realize that for the first time . . . that my children will really and truly will be leaving this nest of ours.  Henry's gone.  Phoebe's on her second year of school. Celia is a senior.  Piper and Finn . . . well they have a minute, but they are independent little beings that require almost no care (just hugs and eggs for breakfast).  I've been thinking about what I'm going to do now that I've discovered myself again.

And I find that I am afraid.  I feel like a 10 years old again.  I don't know if I should do anything crazy because this world I've created . . . it could like come down around me.  I wake up sometimes and I can't catch my breath.  I say good bye to my children and sometimes I wonder if it's the last time I'll see them.  I look around me and see all the possible things that could go wrong constantly.

I'm reverting.

Because, I'm scared.  I've done one thing for the last twenty two years.  Make and keep alive babies.  It's like the hardest thing ever, and I've gotten the hang of it.  But . . . I've lost touch with what I used to do . . . or really dream of doing.  I had babies before I ever got to DO anything.

So what do I do now?  I know, I sound like a 1950s wife. That's me.  I don't for even a second regret my choice to stay home and raise an army of mildly crazy children (apples never do fall far from the tree now do they . . . ).  I have torn out my hair, gone through years of extreme worry and felt my heart fill up to bursting with pride at the fast that we've all survived(ish).  I've loved this journey I've been on . . . but now I'm on a new one.  I can feel that.  My wings that I've kept tucked away are twitching and ready to spread.

That's where I am.  I'm on the look out for my next journey and adventure.  I'm scared.  I'm looking through my mental closets trying to find old running shoes and gathering up my resources to see where I might throw all my learning into.

I'm welcoming you all on this journey with me.  It may be bunch, but for the next 60 days, I'm going to write every day about what I'm thinking and doing and feeling and figuring out.  And I'm going to need a village to help me.  And if you're in the same boat, lets help each other.  Surely there is a place for amazing women/men like us?  Let's find it.

Now I'm off to yoga . . . I'm exploring all the yoga classes around.  Trying to find the perfect one . . . because who knows . . . that might be my next adventure.