noise. Less TV. Less wine. Less online shopping. Less one
more thing one more thing one more thing, whether that one
more thing is a trip or a movie or a boat ride or a playdate.
Less cramming 36—or 56 or 106—hours into a day that has
only ever held 24.
One night with friends, we were talking about the future,
about how to see what’s next, how to know what change
your life is leading you toward. One friend said that a way
to get at your desire or dream is to answer this question: if
someone gave you a completely blank calendar and a bank
account as full as you wanted, what would you do? The first
thing that leapt into my mind: stop. I would stop. I would
rest. I would do nothing at all. I would sleep. The thought of
it almost made me weep.
The important thing is not how much I did this year, how
many trips I took—for fun or for work—or how much the
baby did or didn’t sleep (although didn’t is the operative
word). I want to tell you all those things. I want to make a
case for why I’m so tired. I want to run you through the list,
partially because I want you to feel it, to feel as tired and
glazed and undone as I feel.
But also because I don’t want you to think I’m weak.
Not just any little thing could make me this tired. Not just a
baby or something. Not just a book. I’m not one of those
normal people who just gets tired sometimes. I’m so strong
and full of energy. I’m so extra-capable and phenomenally
tough.
I’ve been so committed to prove (as though anyone
grace
(Grace)
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