Sometimes I get sad thinking about how my mom never got what (I think) she wanted or deserved. And I think back to the time we went on a ski trip with my girl scout troop when I was ten. Long story short, I got all decked out, we got on the lift, and at the top of the run, I punked out. I could see the disappointment in my mom's eyes. She had hoped to live vicariously, that her babygirl had more of an adventurous spirit. Then I get even sadder, because I feel like I'm still letting her down. This is the greatest person I will ever know in the history of me knowing people. I feel like it's up to me to get what she never had, and be who she wanted to be. But then, this calm washes over. I don't have to get and be what I think she wanted. I have to live my best life. That's how I can erase the memory of that hidden sadness atop that snowy hill.
I've got a lot of work to do, but I also have nothing better to do.
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