…And I’m not apologizing for it. I worry about my son when I’m not with him. I am worried that he will get hurt or sick. I worry that I won’t be there when he needs me. I worry that he will grow up to either be a spoiled brat or a doormat.
I also worry about what people think of me. I never used to, but now more than ever, I hope that people think I am a good person. I hope they think I am doing all I can for my son. I hope that those that I knew in my younger, wilder days recognize that I’ve grown up.
…And I think this is ok. I go around in circles about this in my head. I would like to not care, because there are always going to be people who are mean and people who don’t think I am doing the best job that I can. There are, I’m sure, people that only remember me the (slightly crazy) way I was when I was 20 years old. I would love to not care what people thought now the way I didn’t care then. I think that part of growing up, though-part of what keeps us responsible for our actions IS caring what people think. I can accept that I’m not perfect, but in general, I’d like people to at least like me.
There, I said it. I want to be liked. Not so much so that I will change who I am depending on who I am talking to (I’m not a chameleon, I can only be one person), but enough that I will strive to be my best and do my best whenever I can. Sometimes my best is not very much. Sometimes my best is THE best. Not everyone is perfect at everything, and I don’t aim to be perfect. I aim to do the best that I can-all because sometimes I sweat the small stuff.