It’s late.  I should be in bed.  But instead I’m writing here.  Worry.  It’s an interesting thing.  Is it even a thing?  What is worry?  Why do we put ourselves in a position to do it?  I have a few worries on the brain tonight.  Just little ones, nagging away.  I thought maybe if I let them out here, they’ll go to sleep so that I can get a little rest myself. 

My son.  He’s almost 3.  He’s … amazing.  So handsome.  So happy.  But I work.  I date occasionally.  I travel occasionally.  I go out and see friends or stay a little late with a coworker.  All that time away.  Then the weekends he spends with this dad.  More time away.  I’m jealous of the people who get more time with him.  He’s my miracle.  And I spend so much time away from him.  Does that make me a bad mom?  Am I neglecting my kids when I’m working or trying to figure out life?  Here’s a confession.  I’m struggling to get him to bed at night.  He doesn’t want me to leave the room.  He’ll let Chris put him to bed with no fuss.  Me?  It takes me easily an hour.  I hate the struggle every night.  I hate the tears.  I treasure every moment I do have.  We dance, and sing, and cuddle and read.  We pretend to be dinosaurs and stomp round the house.  We eat dinner every night.  He runs to me when I come home with lots of Mommy!’s and kisses and hugs.  But is it enough?  Maybe everyone questions this about themselves? 

I look at Alayna, my daughter, and see a little girl who’s not so little anymore.  She’s 11 going on 20.  The more she blossoms, the more proud I am of the young woman I see her becoming.  She’s clumsy still, shy, doesn’t know what she is yet, but I can see it.. she has spirit and heart and depth.  It’s like my roses.  There’s always many beautiful blooms, but sometimes you’ll see a bud that hasn’t blossomed yet, and you know that it’s going to be the most beautiful of all, it just hasn’t opened yet.  She told me recently that she’s an observer of people.  Her words, not mine.  I was a bit dumbfounded actually.  I’ve always felt that way about myself.  Odd, here’s another confession…that would be the exact definition of me.  But i’ve NEVER thought to word it that way or even to put it to words. 

I am fascinated by people.  It’s why I started my degree in psychology.  I loved it, thrived on understanding why and how people think and act the way they do.  Who are they behind all their masks?  What’s deep down inside?  What I didn’t like about psychology was that it always had a tendency to delve into the dark, or pain side of things.  I also wanted to understand the bright lights of the world.  The successful, the creative, the various different people of the world from all their cultures.  Who were they inside?  What made them who they are?  What drives them or motivates them?  I suppose that’s why I’m good at my job.  I get paid to get inside a group of people’s pyschy’s, figure out what they want and work to make it happen.  But I do it everywhere in life.  Anyone who I let into my circle can tell you that I will get to know them on a personal level.  People share with me.  I don’t know why.  I don’t know if it’s something that I do or say.  It doesn’t typically take long for people to open up with me.  I love it, truly connecting with people.  I’ve met some truly amazing people.  some crazy and twisted characters, some diamonds in the rough, some amazingly bright lights and more.  I cherish them all for who they are, at their core.  And I can say, not many people are willing to let you in to see that side of themselves.  But I worry that maybe there’s something wrong with me? 

I was talking to my grandfather about how sometimes I feel like I climb inside someone’s head or heart and learn all I can.  And he got a little upset with me.  Ok so it’s not the best analogy.  But still.  He said “Jenny, you just can’t do that to people.  They can’t handle it.”  I didn’t fully understand, but I dropped it.  It wasn’t the time for that type of conversation.  We as humans, don’t want to feel alone.  Instinctively even, we group, even if only for mate purposes (hehe).  When we put on masks, and we put up walls to guard ourselves, people don’t get to know the full “you”.  Why wouldn’t you want to share that with someone; To connect with someone on a deeper level?  Maybe it is too much.  It’s not that I do it with EVERYONE.  Only the select few who make it into my circle of friends… or relationships… or people who fascinate me lol. Am I in the wrong?  Should I only stay in shallow waters and not connect with others at deeper levels?  That sounds so unsatisfying and empty.

What if I connect with people because I long for someone to connect with me?  For someone to see past my masks and tear down my walls slowly so it’s not painful, and get to know me.  Not because they want anything other than just to be around me.  I’ve met a couple of people in my life who’ve been able to read me.  It’s rare.  I’ve got a good “firewall”.  hehe – sorry, what can I say, I’m a bit of a geek.  Every now and then, it’ll crack and an emotion I don’t mean to share will show.  Whatever it may be.  Could be anger, sadness, surprise, love, worry …. whatever.  Heck, being kind of stressed over surprise garnishments had me in such a spin I cried at work today. All it took was a “Are you OK?” from the person.  She reads me well, always has and is a friend outside of work, so it was OK, but STILL.  I see crying as a weakness, and I do my best to not show weakness.  This of course doesn’t mean I don’t share my emotions, believe me I do.  I am actually quite full of them.  I think that’s why I try and suppress them a bit.  I worry that I’m overly emotional.  And quite frankly, I’ve never wanted to be one of THOSE women.  And thankfully, I achieve that goal most of the time.  But where is the balance?  Would love to know what you all think about any of this. 🙂

I know I’m getting tired, so I suppose I’ll end this ramble and hit post before I rethink it.  Goodnight all.  Sleep well.