When I was in my 20s, I really believed that I needed to say yes to a lot of things. Just add more things, especially professionally. Stir. Get exhausted. Repeat.

Back then, I don’t think I thought carefully about what it meant to give so much away and not replenish myself. (Isn’t that what being in your 20s is all about anyway – not worrying about the consequences? LOL)

I woke up and I was in my mid-30s and I’m tired. Really, I think I was always tired, but like an exhausted kid who didn’t want to go to bed, I fought it.

I’m tired. It’s that kind of day.

This music I’m listening to is bomb, but it’s gray outside because winter. I’m wondering why I still live somewhere where winter is on some Game of Thrones type shit, but here I am.

Now that I’m this side of 30, I’m in love with “no.” The idea of refusing to do things – especially things that people expect of me or take for granted that I will do – gives me great joy. The joy that comes from relief.

The load is too heavy; I’m about that jettison life so that I can stay afloat. Or even rise above.

There are days – like today – when I’m consumed with the “no” of it all. Surely, nothing else is required of me but human decency, compassion and a place on the couch where I can drink tea and watch Jessica Jones?

Saying “yes” on these days is a Herculean feat. I’m not ashamed to say that these are the days when I’ll use the dishwasher instead of washing dishes by hand (and I’m not a fan of dishwashers). I’ll warm something up instead of cook. Hell, I will tear up some cereal. I will power through that project, if only for the pleasure of being done and clearing the mental space I need to be able to say “no” to something later.

I don’t want the music to be too crunk, or the edges to be too hard. I need my armor, which usually takes the form of a cardigan, a very stylish scarf and my favorite boots. I own too much of these items, but efforts to break out of the mold and wear some wackadoo shirt that usually looks ridic on me never ends well.

I take shortcuts on days like this. I need a lot of love and affection and kindness on these kind of days.

I don’t fight the fact anymore that during this time of year, what I crave is stillness and comfort. I can’t be bothered to get all frothed up. To other people, it probably looks like I’m lethargic. Or aloof. Maybe mean. A little distant.

But really, I am just moving at a slower pace. It’s gray, and cold, and the struggle is real. The idea of bopping around makes me feel like I’m going to break. I’m grateful that I have a partner who understands that sometimes I just can’t even; I know it’s not always easy to live with my moods.

As much as I love saying “no,” I don’t often let myself really admit these things fully. So I’m writing it down because I think I have to. I’m trying to say “yes” to just being authentic.

I’m tired, and I will not be pushing through it to some mythical land of energy and productivity and triumph.

I’m going to eat these reduced fat graham crackers instead and do my thing…very slowly.


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