Memories of me

It's Memorial Day.
We've spent the day with family. Very nice. Very blessed.

As the "unofficial start" of summer, I often spend this weekend contemplating the summer's activities. How can I work as much fun into the summer as possible? Can I get all the projects done I'd like to get done? How can I use this unstructured time to its highest potential?

I might spend an hour or a day planning, fussing, contemplating -- but is it worth it all?

Would it be better to just take each day as it comes and not get over planned?

Is there a balance?

The last couple of summers have been difficult at best. I have a good feeling about the coming season and don't want to get any more overcommitted than I normally am. There's so many things I want to do -- projects to finish, adventures to share and as usual I'm having a hard time controlling my ADD. I want to do it all. Do it well. Do it now.

So I spent the better part of the weekend nestled on the deck of our cabin in the woods and lost myself in a book. I decided distraction would be the best way to avoid over planning.

I am aware that I can set myself for disappointment -- usually by trying to get more done in a day than most people get done in a week. Then, wondering why I'm not getting all the items on my "to do" list done.

If I could just relax this summer -- do the things that bring me joy -- wouldn't that allow me to get the best of my "to do" items done? Wouldn't that allow me to do so without killing myself and making those around me crazy?

Here's the problem -- I suck at that.

I thrive on chaos. I keep reminding myself about my "Opposite Day" plan. Surley, somewhere inside me is the ability to embrace the "now" to do the things that bless me and not those which only feed my ego and the chaos!

Here's what I know -- in those moments when I have, in fact, allowed myself to pursue joy and follow my bliss -- great things have happened. I've felt great -- doors opened to new opportunity -- and then -- I can't really put my finger on what happens... I stop.

It's as though I have a fear of success.

I used to think the fear came being afraid I'd raise expectations -- and then not be able to live up to those expectations -- but these days I'm not so sure.

After all of this time -- all the things I've been through in the last few years -- could it be I'm still not comfortable enough in my own skin to allow myself to just ...be ... me?

Sometimes I wonder if it's my marriage -- which is never very stable. My husband does, indeed, make me crazy.

But I keep thinking I can rise above that discomfort -- I want to exist outside of his expectations or anyone elses for that matter.

Are my own expectations too high -- is it me self sabbatoging?

What would be so wrong - what's there to fear about being me?