What is this half-life?
This life of hopes and ambition, limitless potential that has turned to dust. Dust on the mantle. Dirt on the floor. Laundry. Laundry, endless laundry. And dishes. So many dishes. Long sleepless nights. Teething and diapers. Ear infections and colds that won’t end. Mornings of rushing and stalling and shouting and tears.
How did this happen?
Each decade is smaller than the last.
The first decade: so full of firsts: first words, first thoughts, first cartwheels. First booksread, first friends made, first memories. The memories that last. Ambitions: I will be president! I am the long lost princess, and they will find me! I will be a famous singer. A saint. A mother. A writer. I will be something. I will be something the world has never seen, something the world needs.
The second decade: first loss, first grief. But there is accomplishment. There is ambition. There is talent and ability and belief. There is hope. There is so much pain, but there is hope. There is potential. Bursting potential.
The third decade: loss after loss. The world grows smaller. The potential becomes focused, proven. The path becomes clear. Career. Marriage. A life takes shape. But it is all a lie.
The fourth decade: let go. Move on. Reinvent. Find love, real this time. Find a new path.
Where is the path? Is there a path? I’m not sure I can find it. There are dishes to put away. I need a nap.