Sometimes I take for granted what an extraordinary life I lead.
I'm a stay-at-home-single-mom.
I own my own home – nobody's name on that title but my own. No income to pay for it except that which comes in through service I provide in my online business.
I drive a nice car. That I bought after my poor 15-year-old car got stolen. She returned after I bought the new one. As if to say she was hiding from me relying on her so much to get me to and fro.
My home isn't just a home but almost it's own kind of vortex. The property is tucked back away from the street, there are trees ALL around, and a porch swing out back that my grandpa built for my grandma and is just magical.
My son is an amazingly kind generous gifted compassionate sensitive soul. He brings joy and sweetness to my life that I never knew possible.
My dog does tricks usually only seen from professionally trained animals on TV (and she winks and makes eerie eye contact, frequently).
There is also a man who lives here who inspires me to be a better version of myself, sings sweeter than molasses, plants a lush garden, and cooks a mean omelette.
Sure, sometimes it's tricky to figure out how to make enough money to pay for a big bill that comes along – but for the most part there's enough to buy organic food, treats for everyone here and there, and maintain the home and property.
Before I got divorced, I had no idea how I was going to get by. I thought I would be on welfare (I tried, I was denied, because my child support + alimony were too much). I did the WIC thing for a while. We had boxes of cereal and jars of peanut butter stacked in the pantry. I had to give away a gallon of milk or two.
Then one particularly challenging week, I was using a spreadsheet to calculate how many miles I had to drive for custody swaps and work one day per week. I didn't have enough money for gas AND the toothpaste and pull-ups I needed for my son. So I asked a family member for help.
And just like that, being broke lost its grip on me. I decided I was not going to be “broke.” I decided I was going to make enough money not to have to do that anymore. And so it is.
Today was a lazy Saturday. We fed a praying mantis. Isaac chased his first chicken back into the designated chicken area. I caught a chicken and placed her back into the designated chicken area. Shawn went surfing. Isaac helped me bring in ALL of the bags from our trip to Target.
I spoke on the phone to a woman in Canada and helped her with an urgent matter with her Mailchimp account. I peeked into the Facebook ad account of another client of mine to give her advice on things she could do to increase signups to her offer. I also set up a small Infusionsoft campaign for another client's group program and will adjust another Infusionsoft email before I shut it down for the night.
I wonder if my unrest with regard to how much I work has more to do with this notion I have in my head of when I “should” work and when I “shouldn't.” As if I'm supposed to only work Monday thru Friday and leave the rest of the time for… watching TV? Chores? Staring at my navel?
What if the glorious thing about my life is that I work when I want to and I play when I want to? What if this is what balance looks like?
I'm finding it. I'm finding my way. I'm on a path that I don't know if anyone else has walked before. And I feel lucky to be able to do so. To consciously choose daily the who, what, where, when, and how.
Now that's freedom.