We are all familiar with the concept. Maybe have even written one ourselves. The list of things we want to do before our lives are over. A list of accomplishments we want to strive towards. Some may be very arbitrary, others may have deep meaning behind them. Superficial. Life changing. In our control, or out of our control.
But Rene was talking about a bucket list just for this year. No long term goals. Nothing unattainable. But a list of realistic expectations for the next year of her life.
I've been struggling to regroup lately. To find my pace, my stride, in the chaos of my life. Going through the motions of a full work day, maintaining a household, keeping track of responsibilities. Judah's smiling face reminds me of the little joys in each day. But the pace... we have to find the pace.
This blog has been a metronome. A place to come to calibrate, to re-evaluate. Through international travel, through degree seeking, through urban ministry, through pregnancy, through new motherhood. This is where I come.
And I realized the night at Pazzo's, I need a bucket list. Something written down, something expressed. A voiced goal to work towards, for the year I am 25.
I have such good intentions. I mean well, I want to do better. Be better. But expectations are sometimes set too high, the obstacles are sometimes too big, my faith not big enough. There is often so much fear. Fear of large change. Fear of inadequacy. (That I might try, give it everything I have, and fail miserably as I so often have.)
But. I want Judah to grow up to be the kind of man who understands the connection between his actions and the harvest, who understands consequences, who believes in himself. Whose reach exceeds his grasp. How beautiful it will be, to watch my little boy grow up to be that kind of man.
I watch him now as he is trying to learn to walk. He pulls himself up on a couch, a chair, an ottoman, smacks it with his hands and quarrels at me. He is proud of himself. Closely I watch as he sets his eyes on another piece of furniture next to him and reaches. Little arm outstretched, adjusting his feet, and reaching. Every once in a while he will realize the other piece of furniture is too far away and he will lower himself to the carpet, scoot himself over, and pull himself up. But he does not quit. He is too small to let the fear of falling keep him from trying.
It's amazing what I am learning from my 8 month old.
So I will reach.
And maybe my arms are not long enough, maybe I do not have enough balance.
But I have to try. Because progress needs to be made. Change needs to happen. A life must be built.
I have chronicled my life here.
A few years ago, I had entitled this blog "in medias res". A latin phrase, meaning "in the very middle of things". A literary term meaning joining the story in the very middle of it.
I have returned to this blog title, because I know nothing that represents this stage better. I am in the very middle of things, learning how to be a young woman, a mother, a social worker, and a healthy human being.
Hopefully, by the time it is time to wrap up my 25th year, I will be able to tell you about progress. I will be able to tell you about growth. I will inevitably have hurt and heartbreak to share, but it is time for victories.
Even if they are small ones.
My list is not complete. But tonight I wanted to share with you what I'm working on in my head. Know that this blogspot will be used to chronicle this journey as well -- every aspect of it, in all its spirituality, crudeness, texture, and whatever grace I have left. Which means I may share a recipe and a poem in the same day. A product review and a prayer. We're in the middle of the story here.
I'm trying to write a good one.
So far all I have is:
- Start grad school (I've applied for a program, set to begin in August)
- Find a new living space for Judah and myself (with a washer and dryer)
- Meet predetermined weight/BMI/strength goals