Today was a decidedly important day. Relatively speaking, naturally. Relative to the construct of my current existence and livelihood, passion and avocation and all of that. Today was Board meeting day for the nonprofit. And this was no ordinary quarterly roundup. Nope. This was the year-in-review look-back / year-to-come outlook.
We only have four of these gatherings a year, you see; over the lifespan of our soon to be three years old organization, these get togethers have evolved from their initial enthusiastic rah rah rah sessions into full on "the business of running a legitimate and reputable local nonprofit" meetings.
I've been blessed to have the right Board members for the right times throughout this growth process. What started as a small group of eight, most of whom were doing me a great favor by lending me their names and donating their time, has grown into a fifteen member collection of talented, knowledgeable, respected professionals who each bring significant value to bear on their roles.
This is GREAT.
This is also stress-inducing, at least a small bit, as I strive each quarter to compile meaningful metrics and prepare reports sure to dazzle and amaze. Alas, while they're all consistent with the "good job, what a fabulous little thing we've started here" reactions, they are also attending a meeeeeeting, at the end of the day, with all the dread and weary-making the word evokes.
So, I stress. Not about the work we've done or the "accomplishments" we've secured, but about keeping them informed and engaged, prepared to dig in, stay on, fight the good fight.
I don't know if I ever succeed, truly.
But I know I kill myself trying.
Bringing me back around to the here and the now and the opening of a blank page in which to scatter whatever seeds are left in my brain as the long planned for duty is now behind me, behind us, for another quarter.
It's not as bad as all that, I suppose. In fact, I'd say the worst part of all of it actually is opening up a thing you've birthed from fledgling idea into bustling operation to the scrutiny of objective observers, who have the wholly appropriate gall to ask legitimate questions, invoke self-imposed by-law rulings, and otherwise offer constructive criticism of your outcomes vs. objectives.
I mean. The nerve!
So, yeah. It's all self-induced, it's always self-induced, and I like to think I'm a better person for it, dammit.
Where was I?
Right, then. Scattered. Brain. Seeds.
It's nearly the end of the work day. I'm too fried to do much else in the way of work. Aside from The Meeting, I've managed to accomplish quite a lot, at any rate, so taking a few minutes to hammer out my anxiety or brain fog on the ol' keyboard seems a useful expenditure of time.
Toward that end...in other news!
My son's moving date got pushed due to snow. He leaves tomorrow for his new home in Raleigh, pulling a U-haul trailer filled with his meager belongings behind him. My husband is going, too. Together, they'll get him all settled in, and I may or may not head down for the weekend, depending.
On Jake the Dog, if you must know.
My grand-girl is turning five in February. FIVE. How this is possible is beyond my ability to ascertain. 'Tis true, all the same. Traveling to her Ballerina Pump-It-Up Celebration Spectacular is not in question, as Jake the Dog has been invited, also. As long as he brings his own tutu. In fairness, the same caveat holds true for Gramps and I. Ha!
I should like it posted for the record that I attempted to use my new instapot (actually, it's a Fagor 3-in-1 Electric Multi-Cooker to be precise), only to be stymied by the size of the pork roast I was attempting to cook. Ended up getting the trusty ol' slow cooker out of the pile of "spring yard sale" items in the upstairs closet to prepare the pork carnitas for dinner last night. Will try again. I WILL. I just have a soupçon of a learning curve and a mile wide stubborn streak to get past with this one.
It's day nine of the January Whole30. I seem to have passed the cranky, exhausted phases and find myself currently sitting square in the whiny "this is sooooooo haaaaaaaaaaaard" phase. This too shall pass, I know it will. My favorite thing to come back to when I'm in this mindset are these words:
"This is not hard. You've done way harder things. You can do this It's just one month."
And if that's not enough, I flip the book open to the preface, page vii, and read - out loud - these words:
"It is not hard. Don't you dare tell us this is hard. Quitting heroin is hard. Beating cancer is hard. Drinking your coffee black. Is. Not. Hard."
And then, I pick my duly chagrined self up off the floor, dust my re-inspired self off, and keep going.
I can do this.
*shakes fist at sky*
After all, tomorrow is another day.
*Title quote courtesy of Alexander Woollcott, a member of the Algonquin Roundtable
and a prolific drama critic noted for his "savage tongue."