Moving to Boulder has been a lesson in acceptance. I’ve had to accept that I’m too big of a chicken to rock climb, ski, skydive, mountain bike, jump off of high shit etc. or do any of the extreme things that people who live in Boulder do. That same acceptance has also forced me to accept that I should definitely go skiing at the very least while I’m here. I’ve also accepted that people will not be as impressed as they should when you tell them that you’re an emotional risk-taker but not a physical risk-taker. Any old moron can take up a stupidly dangerous sport, but it takes real guts to move to a strange city, go on dates, talk openly about mental health, or take career risks. I’m not going to be impressed with the fact that you rock climb if you are too much of a chicken to go on a date with me.
I’ve accepted that it’s pretty gross when my cat uses his litter box then sleeps on my pillows. I’ve accepted that I don’t really like apples or cooperative living. I’ve accepted that I’m a do-er, a teacher and a creator, and not a compiler or a researcher. I’ve accepted that I might never get to work for Martha Stewart Living, but that I should follow this wild hair I have about becoming a teacher, then follow the wild hair I still have about counseling, then follow the wild hair about being a fitness instructor. I’ve accepted that I should follow all these wild hairs until I’m bald.
I’ve accepted that I’m worthless on Saturdays and Wednesday afternoons, but that Sunday morning optimism can carry me through to a great work week. I’ve accepted that to-do lists turn me into an obsessive maniac, but without them I get nothing to-done. I’ve accepted that Google Calendar knows my whereabouts, and any of my co-workers can too, if they so desire.
But I don’t think I’ve accepted the fact that I’m really bad at coming up with Halloween costumes.
What the heck should I be?