Had it not rained yesterday, the snow would be knee deep, and we may have set a record in our house for the total number of times shoveled in a single week. Seriously. Oddly enough, I have relished in the moments of solitude while Ryan was in with the baby and I was out flicking flakes and admiring the stunning beauty the ever-changing white blanket bestows on our quiet little street. (It helps, of course, that I know I am burning calories and I allow myself to skip doing pushups on days that I shovel). I can’t help but have one of those corner of the lip smirks, you know the type, one side smiles and the other stays the same, when I think about the reverance being alone, outside, excercizing has given me these days. I’ve always heard people say that they loved running, or going to the gym because it was “me time”. And I have always rolled my eyes and thought, “yeah right, my me time involves trashy television and a heated blanket.” But lately I have been completely rejuvenated by that simple hour of doing something for myself. I totally get it. Once I get myself to go for a run, or whatever I have planned, I always get that half smirk, of surmise. I get it.
On said runs, I have also discovered a new conflict with myself. Our neighborhood is SO beautiful covered in this fluffy, icey, snow. And by the time I get out running the skies have been to die for. I have realized how completely OBSESSED I am with capturing every beautiful moment I come across.
I have begun to bargain with myself–run half way and then you can take a picture. Five more minutes and then you can take a picture. Or, “seriously, you’ll be okay, just keep going.” But when I don’t take a picture I experience this overwhelming sense of anxiety, and loss. I’ve lost that moment forever. As if, I won’t remember just how spectacular it was. And so, last time I was running, I made myself leave my phone in my bra (hey, it works) and just enjoy the moments. It. Was. Hard.
Seriously people. For every image I share on Facebook, instagram, twitter, or the like, I probably have 10 more I haven’t. Fer real.
Undoubtedly this bleeds over into my families lives as well. When I rock Tessa I often think about how tiny she was, and desperately want to hold that little baby again, hear her little squeaky cry, and feel the joy of each accomplishment she made. And I think to myself, what if I forget what it felt like. What if I forget how cute she was. What if I forget all these vital moments. I don’t want to forget. And I get unreasonable amounts of anxiety when I consider that loss.
I am SO afraid of forgetting that I am completely obsessed with capturing every moment possible.
However, I’m okay with this. I recognize these things in myself now. And so, I’m aware of them. I know what is important is being present, and I am. I suppose this is partially what passion is about. I LOVE taking and having pictures to look at. LOVE IT.
Do you have a similar obsession? What is it you are most passionate about?
Have a great weekend 🙂
PS. Make sure to check back next week when I announce my next big give-away!! Gotta LOVE love!! 😉