I don't compete anymore. For someone who was highly competitive growing up this was almost shocking when I realized it. I don't run to win. I have accepted that bottom 5% of every race is where I belong. In actuality, I am happy there. The only pressure is what I put on myself to finish. I hesitate after saying I'm not competitive to admit this, but I ran 26 miles last week. Steve ran 26 miles on Saturday. And that bugged me, for a very brief moment. I got over it quick. I don't need ever feel the need to have the best recipe for chocolate chip cookies. I love those pillsbury ones that are already sliced and you just put them on the sheet and bake them. And then eat them. Worse yet, it was my turn to bring dessert to the volleyball tournament two weeks ago and I asked Whitney what she wanted and this is what she asked for.
She loves these. Hardly will share them. My salsa recipe is 5 cans of mild rotel thrown in the blender with chopped cilantro and half a chopped onion. Blend for 1-2 minutes. Don't even tell me I have to try out for something. If I have to audition or compete I don't really want it. I'm 42 years old. I can't take the pressure. I definitely can't handle being told I'm not good enough. I still don't deal well with that. And if at this point in my life I have to audition/try out/compete for something, well I'll just go get a new book and lose myself in it for half an hour and then I won't care anymore. My kids? Well, if that's a competition, I bet mine have done anything yours have done. And that's not a competition I want to win. Sure they do a lot of good things, but they do a lot of stupid things. I'm proud of them, but certainly not in the world of mine are better than yours, smarter than yours or even worse than yours. Don't want to compete that. Just love them. I think maybe, just maybe, I have grown up. I might actually be an adult. And I like myself. Sure, I'm a squirrel, and I know that. I dress weird. (I should've taken a picture of this ensemble, even I knew I looked like a redneck, but I will describe it for you. Beautiful orange sundress, worn with white tights and a white sweater over it to work, because I wear clothes year round. At home that evening doing dishes, I took the sweater and heels off. I had to pick Whitney up from volleyball practice. Had to talk to a mom about prom decorations. I went into the high school wearing the orange sundress covered by Nate's tan thermal lined hoodie with white tights and my black orthopedic clogs.) I wear plaid tights and argyle tights. I still wear my cowboy boots with my skirts. I am a fashion disaster and I love it. My hair will do anything I want it to. Curls, wavy, straight. I can do 12 different updos. And yet, most days it looks like I fix my hair the same I way make salsa, in a blender. Kansas is windy. That's my excuse. I talk too much, and I regularly quote the Bible verses to myself about idle words and a quick tongue. I pray before I go to parties that God will keep me from saying something offensive or stupid. I am still working on losing 20 pounds, probably will for the rest of my life. But again, that's okay because trying to get the last 20 off keeps the next 20 from coming on. I don't know for sure when this change happened. Probably pretty gradual, but at some point I started letting go of what others thought and deciding what I think about myself. I'm pretty good at looking in the mirror and seeing what I really am, warts and all. I want to be the best I can be. Godly woman, Godly wife, and Godly mother. Thing is, God wants me to be what He wants me to be, not what others want me to be. Not like anyone else, but me. So I will strive to be the best for him I can be, even if that is a little odd.
