Three days ago, I was singing a joyful song, celebrating the one year anniversary of This Being Alive, feeling kicky in my red dress, all smiles, arms wide open.
Remember her?
Then came yesterday.
"What's the point?" I said to Michael.
This is not a great place to land, but it happens. I wake up and the world feels skewed. I find myself saying I don't know what to do, as if there's some formula for this life, if you just follow these steps, isn't there a pill?
I rarely do this, the guilt alone, but I lay down on the couch in the afternoon and sank into my droopiness. Earlier, I'd had a full-blown weep while Michael listened quietly. He is a very good husband this way. He tunes in, especially when I am walking around the kitchen, sponging the counters, sitting at the kitchen table, head in hands, questioning myself, crying. He pays attention.
"May I make an observation," he said. "A suggestion? Stop waiting to do what you really want. This whole thing is a risk, honey. Going to law school was a huge risk for me. Moving across the country to be here with you and Jesse. A huge risk. If I had failed, I would've done something else. Without risking, you'll never know. Whatever it is, you have to take the risk. If you fail, it won't be fatal."
