Once a very dear friend told me that what she loves about me is that I always do the right thing. I make no claims to this statement being accurate, but that is what she says. And she goes on, "You may bitch and moan the whole way, but you do the right thing." [emphasis hers] Not especially flattering, in that light, but she is fairly accurate about the bitching and moaning. Sometimes I would go so far as to say kicking and screaming.
This came to mind today because I was thinking of the plans I've made to go out next weekend, spending the night with a girlfriend so I don't have to worry about getting home at a reasonable hour for mom-responsibilities. At this point in time, my ex doesn't have an established place of his own and doesn't take the kids overnight, ever. This is not a terrible thing, but every now and then it is nice to have the whole night off. So a younger, also single friend suggested I come out with her and stay over at her place. Awesome.
It's been a tremendous year, as you will know if you've read previous posts, which might be viewed as my outlet for the bitching and moaning. I feel rebellious, sick of everything, and earned a couple of shocked looks from friends at church when I suggested I might be up for almost anything when I get out next week. Of course, I know that by next week my usual sense will return and it will be much calmer than what I'm picturing now. Damn. Having kids, for whom I am responsible (and I take that seriously), makes it difficult to go out spontaneously when the urge strikes. That's probably a good thing.
I'm as likely as anyone else to be mistaken, to be biased by my own fears and desires into a distorted view of what's best. Occasionally I defy conscience on purpose (the mood I'm in now), but never get far before it's just too painful. Note that I'm not going into specifics, because what I know is not the best thing for me is a judgement based on me, my life and where I am in this life at this moment; I am not out to argue for what's moral or not for anyone else.
My story is that I'm stepping up to yet another level of moving past the past. I am never satisfied with the pace at which I am progressing, and certainly not that the efforts I make are recreating the life that I want. Like any thwarted child, I am ready to stamp my foot, and yell "then I don't care! I'll just...." whatever ... drink, shop, hook up. The thought is cathartic. But I did finally outgrow that. Oh, yeah. With or without the kids, I'm responsible for this life.