45 Minutes in Prospect Park and an Official Ticket To Cry…

The run from my apartment to Prospect Park is about half a mile.  It’s a STEEP hill and I’m usually huffing and puffing and wondering if I’m actually just running in place because that’s what it feels like.  I hate it…

When I get to the park I’m usually in the opposite mood.  It feels so good to run on leveled ground and I’m so happy to be outside and surrounded by trees and healthy people running/biking/walking/chasing their little kids.

I can honestly say that my daily runs have been saving me these days.  Every morning I wake up and I want to either cry or scream.  It’s hard to feel bad when you’re so fortunate.  The hardest thing about it is that when you say it out loud people remind you of all the great things in your life that you should be happy about and then you just feel worse because…. “How could such a lucky person like me complain?”…

Well… I want to cry.  I feel confused and scared and lost.  I used to be so clear on my purpose and now I feel like every morning is a giant question mark.  Sometimes I don’t even remember why I care so much about making what I’m making.  What EXACTLY am I doing?? Did I throw away an awesome career that I worked so hard for? Did I make the biggest mistake??  Am I in the wrong place and is it all my fault for being so greedy and wanting so much?  Why can’t I just be content with having a small job and a small life?

I don’t know the answer to any of these questions… The thing that’s even worse is that I have no idea who I can even ask.

I’m confused and I want to be clear and strong and accomplished.

I’m bringing another kid into this world and I want that kid to look at their mom and think “Wow… I want to do as much as her one day…”

But for now I just want to cry.  I don’t want anyone to tell me it’s ok or that I’m lucky or that things are great.  I already “KNOW” that.

Baby registries should offer “official tickets to cry”.  That’s what a pregnant person needs.  A ticket that does not expire and has no time limit and let’s you just cry until all the confusion and fear and uncertainty and “I feel like a fucking house” feelings are out and done and not tumbling around in your stomach and head.

Where’s my fucking ticket bitches?

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