Grace, Period.

The punctuation changes so much.

I announced last week to a friend of mine that I was giving myself this year as a “grace period.” I don’t know what life will look like at the end of it, and frankly, I don’t know what the next few days and weeks will look like, either. In last week’s column, I talked about my cliched yet terribly earnest attempt to be in the moment, avoiding the pull of second degree fun and accepting life as it comes. And part of that is allowing myself some time and flexibility to figure out what it is I need and want, how to craft the container of my life.

I haven’t yet determined exactly how the pie chart of my career will be configured; that’s okay. I’ve given myself a grace period to try different things on, experiment with time management strategies, try new projects, take risks, make some magic and try to get paid for it.

I can’t remember exactly when our library stopped charging late fees. I do know that it absolutely impacted my ability to return materials on time; currently, we have at least six library books in my daughter’s bedroom that are half a year overdue. At least, I think they are in there. We received a bill for the one non-renewable book, which means until we return it or pay for it, we can’t check out any other books. This seems fair.

I used to be so grateful for the month-long grace period before accumulating overdue fines. I notoriously need multiple reminders for these things. Rarely do I not take advantage of the grace period for my vehicle registration. A grace period is a mind game, a trick, the way you used to set your beside clock ten minutes fast to convince yourself you had less time than you do, before your iPhone rendered that jig up. A grace period is hitting snooze on responsibility.

But now the library doesn’t assess fines, so there is no grace period. As long as you eventually return your books, you are given grace, period.

It makes me wonder why I feel the need to set this arbitrary limit: One year from now you will have your career balanced, income reconciled, budget developed, five-year plan in place, workable routine, reestablished meal and fitness plan, and household chore chart. I have self-compassion, so I’ll allow for one whole year to flounder and flaunt imperfections!

There are so many new things I am learning, as a newly divorced mom as well as in my work. I do have things that need to be settled and mastered and decided upon in the coming weeks and months. And I love that I know myself well enough that I can prevent a system-wide panic by giving myself a cushion, flexibility, an easing of pressure. But the truth is that I will likely have far less figured out than I’d like to believe at the end of this grace period.

Oh, dear, now I’m singing a Miley Cyrus song inside my head about how there’s always going to be another mountain, dammit! This is not the song for this moment! But you get the idea—at the end of the grace period, I will likely require more grace. As I’ve uncovered or tidied up various issues, others will crop up like an impromptu game of Whac-A-Mole that shouldn’t surprise you but somehow does. So we try to renew the books, over and over, and over, crossing our fingers that we’ll be allotted more time to get our shit together, finish the chapter, close the book, and other trite literary metaphors.

So maybe I don’t need to be so literal about giving myself this grace period while I figure out my life. Maybe, instead, I just need to give myself grace. Period.

XO,
Steph

Other Fun Things:

• I have done THREE stand-up comedy mic events in the past week in preparation for our class’s big show on December 10th! It’s so fun, you guys! Tickets here.

• I am obsessed with our latest Mother Plus Podcast guest, therapist Deb Rubin, founder of The Mother Daughter Journey. We have a two-part conversation I can’t stop thinking about—Catch the first segment here:

• Hop into our Emerging Writer’s Essay Workshop—watch the recording of Part I, get writing, and join us for our second workshop on Thursday, November 30th on Zoom. Sign up here.

• I went to see Santa! His assistant thought my teenager and I were sisters, so that was pretty much the best part. Shit is getting festive at my house, you guys.