It’s all wrong, but it’s all right

I’m having one of those weeks. I know I’ve been Queen of Complaints lately, but it just feels like everything is going so, so wrong these days.

I’m in a situation at work in which I’m behind on all the tasks given me. All excuses aside, I am man enough (or woman, I guess) to accept the blame for this. I’m behind. It’s a fact. So I’ve been working really hard trying to get ahead, but as hard as I try, it just feels like I’m treading water. I’m not closer to getting anything more done and I’m not falling anymore behind, but I am getting exceptionally tired.

In addition, I’m at this place in my life where I feel everything is out-of-control. Maybe it’s the turning 30 thing, though that’s never really bothered me. But it is something to realize that you’re almost 30, your twin brother and sis-in-law are getting ready to have a baby, and many of your friends are married. Sometimes, I feel like the one who got left behind. Don’t get me wrong, I really don’t mind being single and love my independence. But sometimes, oh, sometimes, it would be nice to know that there was someone out there to come home to, who really knew me—the deep down me—and still loved me.

You know, besides Muffin the Wonder Poodle.

I guess all this is the long and windy way for me to say that I’m tired. Don’t take it as me saying I’m unhappy, because that’s not necessarily true. I am happy. I love the life I’ve carved out. The life that’s all my own here in Nashville. But I continually find myself hoping for things and relationships I really have no business hoping for, knowing all the while the eventual crash back to reality is going to hurt. And I don’t want to walk through my life wounded and so focused on the hurt that I forget to live.

Because, as Ginny Owens once wrote, God “never said this would be easy. [He] said we’d never go alone.” So I cling to that.

And I also claim the words of the immortal Dolly Parton: it’s all wrong, but it’s all right.

Or at least it will be.