What I Can Do

Sometimes it really feels like "What I Can Do" doesn't amount to a lot.

I spend a good deal of time these days randomly hopping blogs. I started blogging almost a decade ago on LiveJournal, and while I have loved my LJ I find myself not really using it to spur me on, anymore. Perhaps I'm ready to stop being afraid of this here computer and start blogging like a big girl. I don't know.

I have this habit that I really despise, and that's letting myself feel insignificant when I look at what others have accomplished in relation to what I've accomplished. I have this routine each night. I sit down to read my LJ and to think and to enjoy the quiet in my house. I call the dogs and they sit on my feet, and Dexter tries to help me type. I go to one of my favorites, and then start clicking links they post, people who comment on their blogs, people who comment on blogs and so forth. Instead of feeling inspired or uplifted or creative, I look around at all of these women who are living as artists, who have given up working for someone else and are living their passions, and I get so ridiculously discouraged. I look at my messy house (that still, for all the mess, doesn't really look like my husband and I really live here) and I think of my job and my time and how I spend my days, and I feel so mediocre.

Why do I let myself feel that way? Why do I live with envy in my heart of other people's lives, jealous of their talents, beauty, and peace? Is it because I don't have that peace for myself yet?

Yesterday, Chase was driving me somewhere and it hit me that for as much as I complain about how hard living with John can be, I actually have a lot to be thankful for. John is stabilizing, something I didn't think he'd be able to do so quickly after his break in October, and that alone is something to be grateful for. He's found a job where he likes his co-workers and likes the job enough that he'll continue to go every day, on time, work hard and be accountable. That's a lot more than many people who struggle with Bipolar ever accomplish. In fact, in John's support group there are several people who will never be able to lead a semblance of a "normal" or "productive" life, let alone hold their marriages together or hold down a job. John works every day to remember to take his meds. This month he realized he was running low on his pills before he ran out, and he took the initiative to order his refills. It may seem like a small thing to celebrate, but I've learned in the last 2 years being with John and last year as his wife that the small things are the things to make a hoopla about. He'll remember that celebration of effort and how good it felt to be accomplished at something, and that will carry him through the next time the same task needs doing.

Last week, I got notification that my financial aid had been cancelled, mainly due to me following bad advice from my school's advising office. Now, in order to maintain my credit load and continue my education this quarter, I have to jump through a series of redundant hoops to convince the Financial Aid Advisory Committee to reinstate the federally funded LOAN I'm getting. (That's the real rub. I'm not on a grant. This isn't money they're GIVING to me. I HAVE TO PAY IT BACK. It's like a bank saying "Well, you were approved for the loan, and you still owe us the money you've already used, but we've decided not to give you the money we allotted for you to pay us back later because we don't think you should use it in the way you've chosen...") I don't know when the letters went out but I got this notification last Friday, December 28th. The completed appeal packet (including a cover sheet, a letter from me stating why I should be reconsidered for financial aid, supporting documentation, letters from John's doctors and my instructors from last quarter, complete transcripts of every place I've attended college, my grades from last quarter and my schedule this quarter) had to be turned in by noon today. The financial aid office wasn't open on Monday the 31st or Tuesday the 1st. Yeah.

I got the letter and burst into tears. I let it fall to my lap as I looked out the car windows at Civic Field. I watched two small children, both heavily wrapped in layers of coats and mittens and hats and scarves, chase each other in circles in the middle of the frozen and muddy ground behind the chainlink fence. My breath made little circles on the window where my mouth almost touched the glass, obscuring the children in the field behind a fog that dissipated quickly in our overly warm car. I felt so horribly heavy, so ready to quit. "What are you going to do?" John asked me in a demanding tone, and I shrugged my shoulders and said "I just give up. Everything is so hard, all the time...I failed." John, of course, thought this was ridiculous, and responded that he wasn't listening to that sort of drivel. He snapped at me that I wasn't allowed to give up, that by God I was going to go home and write my letter and fill out my paperwork and stop this self pitying whinefest. I turned away from him, leaning my forehead on the cold window again, letting my tears hit the door.

John got mad. He eventually left me in the car feeling sorry for myself while he went into the Drop to get me coffee. He came back to the Jetta, opened the door and leaned in to give me my cup, and sat down. He apologized for snapping at me, and reached out for my chin. He told me that he gets frustrated when I come down so hard on myself, because he thinks I'm utterly fantastic, which is so hard for me to see. He pep talked me and wiped my tears and kissed my cheek, and reminded me why he loves me and why he believes I can do anything.

So I did my paperwork and today I went to school, and after I turned in my packet and I finished my shift at work, I went to Spanish class. I left class feeling fairly empowered, and then I got home and settled down to look at these blogs.

Now I'm back to where I was when I started this post, feeling pretty unimportant and uninspired. John is watching "Venture Brothers" and I had a good train of thought going before he put it on, but I have to admit that I have a love for Brock Sampson that I just can't deny.

Before I go watch more Brock goodness, I'll just say this: I think that my goal for this year is to gain more confidence and search for a way to have peace in my heart with my own gifts, and to feel like I am enough on my own, not compared to anyone else.

Also, I want to sew some more stuff and decorate our house to feel like we really live here.

Brock is calling me.