Snakeskin.

With the advent of a personal audience, I think it’s worth noting a few things about myself, my husband, and this blog.

Yes, it’s heavy. Yes, it’s a little crazy. Yes, sometimes even I can’t believe I’ve just shared certain things with the Interwebs.

But here’s the thing: these are the thoughts that are breeding in my brain on a daily basis, and I can’t shut that off, no matter how hard I try. I pride myself on integrity and honesty. A liar, I am not. I don’t believe that I’m being dishonest by not always sharing the dark thoughts that hide in the shadows of my life. Sometimes it’s self-preservation. Sometimes it’s the fear of being judged. For the most part, I am an optimistic person. I look for the best in life, I have high expectations of myself and others, and I know that as cliché as it is, a good attitude makes a world of difference in untoward circumstances.

I really am very much looking forward to this move, and very, very much to reuniting with my husband on a permanent basis. It’s not an ideal situation, obviously, but right now, it’s what we need to do to give this experience a shot. And honestly, I’m about to say something shocking. I don’t know if it would be a good idea for us to be living together right now.

My husband and I have been a unit for almost nine years. We are always learning about each other and growing, but for the most part, we can accurately predict each other’s thoughts and reactions to any given situation. {Yes, we’re one of those annoying couples.} I know that if we were together right now, he’d be worried about how I was adjusting and not enough about himself and his training. And I’d be so worried that he wasn’t focused on training, and that he was squandering his once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. {We’d be really good at the Newlyweds game.}

But now he can focus completely on training and immersing himself into the world of professional athletics. {Which, by the way, is as crazy as every sitcom and reality show makes it look.} He can rest assured knowing that despite the challenges that our living situation brings, I am home, safely, with my family and friends. And I can commit myself to a difficult situation, ultimately knowing its impermanence, because it truly is for the greater good of this opportunity. It’s not every day that your husband gets a phone call inviting him to train for the Olympics in a sport he’s never competed in before. And it’s certainly not every day that this phone call also offers a paycheck, the country’s best coach, and teammates that are the best both inside and outside the gym. It’s enough to make me consider using the word miraculous.

It’s also really, really strange. Why us? Why him? Why now? Just when we thought our life was headed due North, the road winds and we find ourselves completely turned around. After fighting through the tough economy when jobs were scarce, my husband was finally staring down three full-time offers, all in positions that he would have loved. The decision was going to come down to money and commuting time. And then the phone rang and everything changed. Three months ago, I sat in my home, the first place that we shared together. The house that was adorned with our wedding pictures, a chunk of coral from the snorkeling trip on our honeymoon, the wine collection we’ve painstakingly built from our travels. Tonight, I write from the four-poster twin bed that I used as a child, ambling about in a home where I feel as equally comfortable as uncomfortable.

It’s hard to put into words what a tailspin the last few months have been. Up feels like down, right feels like left, inside is colder than outside. And not in a bad way, not at all. We are most certainly blessed. I am lucky. He is exceptional. But we are also processing. The next few months might be ugly. We’ll be shedding our skin just like we shed almost half of our worldly possessions. And so, my words might be scary, but I write them in the hopes that I can leave them here and wriggle away into the sunshine, feeling the warmth of miracles and hard work shining upon my fresh new skin.

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One thought on “Snakeskin.

  1. Nicole says:

    frickin’ fantastic!

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