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Afternoon revelations and the WHOA factor
Jan. 25th, 2008 02:19 pmI've been reflecting a little on how being pregnant has been changing me. I mean, for the last month or so, there's nothing more interesting to me than my pregnancy LJ communities. And I'm really interested in what I'm going to eat next. Reading is rarely that exciting for me anymore.
Whoa.
I think what this is all about it is: I'm being forced to slow down. Whether I like it or not, my priorities are elsewhere, my body - my embodied self - is completely engaged in a project that has nothing to do with my brain. I am tired of trying so hard all the time. It's like I'm not interested in overachieving anymore. This isn't to say I'm not fully committed to the goals I have set forth for myself, but I am a lot less impatient about them. In the now that is. I still think ahead and freak that it might take me 8 years rather than 4 to do my dissertation. And other realities. But there it is. The slow gentle tug of the couch, a book (academic or no), a hot cup of tea, the afternoon light - so delightful! Who cares if I read 100 pages or 10 today? Not me. Not if I can escape from under the giant Should that's attached itself to me (again) since I've gotten preggers.
I'm tired of trying to impress people all the time and Be a Better Me and all that. I'm supremely more interested in who this little being is inside me than I am in myself.
It's like my internal world has gone and turned all topsy-turvy.
It's all just one big WHOA.
Whoa.
I think what this is all about it is: I'm being forced to slow down. Whether I like it or not, my priorities are elsewhere, my body - my embodied self - is completely engaged in a project that has nothing to do with my brain. I am tired of trying so hard all the time. It's like I'm not interested in overachieving anymore. This isn't to say I'm not fully committed to the goals I have set forth for myself, but I am a lot less impatient about them. In the now that is. I still think ahead and freak that it might take me 8 years rather than 4 to do my dissertation. And other realities. But there it is. The slow gentle tug of the couch, a book (academic or no), a hot cup of tea, the afternoon light - so delightful! Who cares if I read 100 pages or 10 today? Not me. Not if I can escape from under the giant Should that's attached itself to me (again) since I've gotten preggers.
I'm tired of trying to impress people all the time and Be a Better Me and all that. I'm supremely more interested in who this little being is inside me than I am in myself.
It's like my internal world has gone and turned all topsy-turvy.
It's all just one big WHOA.