Packing the Spiritual Pickup Truck

I want to say that I’ve spent the last month doing something incredible, like composing a concerto for violin and washboard, or knitting booties for poor babies in cold parts of the world. But I haven’t.

Instead, we’ve re-homed Cinco the Chihuahua, who was deeply depressed without his Lucy and cried every day, and then snapped at the baby. There were tears but no scars, and we sent him to our wonderful dog-devoted friends in Northern California, where he will be much happier. He has a backyard, three dog siblings, and new parents who completely adore him.

I have also caught up on all my back episodes of 30 Rock and The Office.

And have enjoyed every second of my baby girl, who has terrible sleeping habits because I don’t want her to cry, and because I have tried to breathe in her sweet scent every possible, including the late nights and early mornings we semi-sleep, tete-a-tete, in our big bed with Steve snoring way over on the other side.

I went to a funeral yesterday for a neighbor who was in excruciating pain from rheumatoid arthritis, and in the sitting downs and standing ups and rote chanting of the mass, the priest said something that stuck with me. He explained how hard it is for each of us to pass from one phase of life to the next — from womb to world, and then the world to the next place. We get comfortable in however it is we are living, we don’t embrace the changes that must happen. But they will happen. I have become comfortable in my life. Which makes me uncomfortable.

I used to always drive a pickup truck because it meant I could leave whenever I needed to. Up and out in one night. Then I stopped breaking up (and moving in) with people and became a person who would stay no matter how ugly or toxic the situation was, to show that I could.

But here is something about 40licious: If we want to be something or do something for the rest of our lives, we should start now. Right now. We need to load up our spiritual, emotional, and intellectual pickup trucks and bring them to the next phase of our lives, or we will be paying for storage of things we will never again use.

Vanessa McGradyPacking the Spiritual Pickup Truck

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