No. 159

Door Number Two...


On August 13, 2022 I published Door Number Two. You don't have to read (or reread it), but I needed to. Also, this won't carry much of  a punch if you don't. Whatever, your choice.

I set this particular post to publish automatically on August 13, 2023 because I wanted to revisit my experience as human being, a professional person, and a mother. August 13 came and went because I haven't been writing much. I posted something the other day and noticed the damn thing had published itself with only this:

Time to revisit.


So here I am having reread last year's thoughts (fully trusting that I'd grow and have this year's thoughts and not a repeat) and I didn't let myself down. I am a bit startled. 


All that mother guilt? I'd like to say it's gone. It's not, but it's in the back seat. Nope.  At the moment it's at the back of the bus. No. It's not even on the bus. It's in the car behind the bus. Fair enough. I don't suppose we ever get a free pass, but maybe that shit stops carrying so much weight. 

Here is the cold, hard, unadulterated, not even remotely spruced up truth:

I love you kids. More than you'll ever know (unless you spawn and then you'll have a clue). I love you more than you'll ever know but then was then and now is now and we're all adults here. What you do with your lives is entirely up to you. Make a mess (or not). Be lousy parents (or not). Off yourself by forty (take a breath, that's always a possibility)(or don't). Die in the street because you got too drunk to make it to your car (or don't). Fail miserably because you inherited my terrifying belief that I would (OR DON'T). Struggle mightily and lose sight of yourself and everything around you (or don't). 

Succeed (I can't define that) brilliantly. Be exactly who you are (whatever that is). Choose. Choose. And choose again. But keep in mind, they are your choices, not mine. 

But here's the thing: You don't get to blame me anymore than I get to blame my mother. Hard stop. Do that and you'll be mired in shit until the day you die. Life lifes and that is that. Get on with it!

That goes for you too, Mom. Let it go.

I love you. This is not news. 

And you're no longer my problem. You are your problem. Happy Trails and all that? What I think or feel needs to be irrelvant.

What you think or feel about me also needs to be irrelevant (to me) and I think I'm halfway there. Maybe more.


The question: Where do you see yourself in five years?

The answer: Alive.

Ask again.

The Question: Where do you see yourself in five years?

The Answer: In an 854 square foot cottage on a six acre flat lot on a dirt road that's likely to be dirt for a very long time. I'll be 1.7 miles from my fiddle teacher who is also my friend and also my personal hub in the music community. Music is very important to me.

My dad will be dead but S will not. If I'm lucky, she'll still be on the mountain and I can walk with her in the mornings. And do other stuff. If she gets fed up and moves into town, well, I know where that is too. Odds are in favor of me being involved in small town government. Highly in favor. As in, why the hell would I not? It's my damn town. All 1,755 of us.

I will be working in technology. OK, shit can change, I've always been open to change (purely out of desperation), but that's the track. 

There might be goats. There will be chickens. I'd be shocked if there wasn't a dog.

There will be massively out of control gardens. 

And also this...

In the last year I've transformed the way I present myself. I don't have a list of jobs and things I accomplished and all that (before 2016 I do but who cares about before 2016? Nobody). I have a CLIENT list and a portfolio. I am Heather Jefferies LLC and Heather Jefferies LLC intends to operate until it doesn't feel like operating anymore. I don't see that happening in the next five years. 

I can't say it's got nothing to do with survival but I can say this:

If I won the lottery tomorrow? Pretty sure I wouldn't quit my job? I mean why? I like my job. It's a rewarding, fulfilling, blah blah blah part of who I am. I might relax a little more into, ahkay, you people suck I'm out. But I doubt it. It sure as shit would change my life, but probably not my career trajectory. I'd travel a lot more and not be so worried about the loss of billable hours when I was out. 

So that's not it. The last time I embraced working/learning this way was with Florkow in 1997. You'll have to look at the photo in the linked post to get the point (or not). I feel that way again, Florkow. I really do. Except for one (or three) small thing:

I'm not responsible for anyone but me. 

I'm scared of/afraid of plenty of things but survial came off the list this year.

Yay. Fucking. Me. 

For real. 


post script: I think it's super important to note that the photo embedded in this post is not of my children/past. it's of my future.