Joy's right, I think.
Call it liminal, call it lonely, but what I'm really in is the calm after the storm. The cancer killed the husband, the grief is at an ebb, the kids are growing up, I'm back where I always wanted to be and I'm loving it with the job and the city and the family.
So is this it? Is this my life?
I don't want a new job. I'm thrilled to feel more like a human who is a mom rather than just a mom who is occasionally human. My family is here. I have a wonderful network of friends. I don't really want anything to change, and I haven't felt like this in years.
So perhaps this is what's unsettling to me, that this could be it. I mean, not that this is it; life is bound to change. That's the only constant in life, as the saying goes. But this is the first time in years when I'm not agitating for change, when I'm not actively seeking to make a drastic shift in my status. This is, in fact, the most settled I've been in my entire adult life, and it makes sense to me that this is all freaking me out a little.
Not only is being settled a concept that is, well, unsettling to me, but in being settled I have the relative luxury of noticing when I feel limnal, lonely, or liminally lonely. A year of settling in has made what's missing come to the surface, is forcing me to worry the rough bits that I could just ignore in the hubbub of change. It's all to the good, I'm sure, but it's also exhausting. Utterly, completely exhausting.
To bed with me. Good night.