At bedtime the other night, after we tucked Little Miss in, instead of her usual kiss goodnight and a wave (to signal "get out, I need my rest"), she started fussing. We left the room anyway, thinking she will just whimper herself to sleep but it escalated to full-on crying, and 20 minutes (that felt like hours) later, with no end in sight, I went back in. My heart ached at the puffy eyes and the uncontrollable hiccups, so I decided, bedtime be damned, this girl needs a cuddle. And we did just that. It was then followed by her bedtime routine all over again, but this time, when we left, she was quiet - for the rest of the night. The do-over was all it took. I guess sometimes we could all use a reset button.
I have to say, I've used that a couple of times myself. When I was at the end of my tether, working for some highly unethical corporate types, I desperately wanted out. I was leery of the nine-to-fivers so I decided to veer off my career path, and with my love for food and cooking as the main driver, I gave the food industry a try. Three and a half years later, when the novelty wore off and the long hours and weekends away from my family finally took their toll, I went back to a cubicle. However, the reset felt right as it gave me the chance to meet some truly wonderful characters, one of whom is now my best friend who shares my passion for the English kitchen sensations, Jamie Oliver and Nigella Lawson, and all things Harry Potter (curiously, also English - blimey!). Who can forget the midnight jaunts to Borders for the book release parties? Such nerdery, such fun. (Sans costumes, in case you're wondering; we're not those type of nerds.)
That reset button came in handy again a few years later when I decided to leave my marriage. My then husband was a great guy, and we were best friends, but I guess that was the root of the problem - it lacked passion. If you read my last post about my hopelessly romantic side, you will understand why a best-friendship-type marriage wouldn't work for me. Leaving an eight-year relationship, especially one that provided me a home away from home, didn't just make me single, it made me lonely. But I took my chance because I had faith that there had to be something better. And that something would be worth my risking everything.
And I was right. The proof is in this face. (And her daddy's too, of course, but he couldn't fit in the box with her.)
Now I detect the faint stirring in the air that comes with change as I contemplate another reset. We've been dreaming about starting life anew elsewhere - somewhere with the great outdoors within easy reach and hopefully near mountains. Heck, having been in the flattest flatland for this long, I'll take a molehill. However, to do that, we have to leave behind the city and the people we love. I've uprooted myself before, when I left Malaysia for an education here, but it just doesn't feel like the same thing. At 19, I was eager and wide-eyed, ready to make my mark in this part of the world. Now, having spent the last 16 years placing roots to make myself a new home, the thought of re-establishing myself and my family in a new community seems tedious.
And scary. But I've faced worse.
And challenging. But I love a challenge.
And uncertain. I can live with that.
And exhilarating. Now we're talking.
And full of possibilities. That's a good thing.
And maybe even mountains. Where's that button?
I am ready.
Have you reached for the reset button yourself? If so, did it work? If not, what's stopping you?