Lately life has been pretty much all about me. At least, my life has been. I've been adjusting to my new job and settling into what seems like a long-overdue venture into adulthood. I'm 30 and feel like I have my first real job, which isn't entirely true but also isn't entirely inaccurate. I spend a lot of time thinking about what I want my life to look like, what I want to aspire to, what my dreams are. I worry about waking up one day and realizing that I have allowed my life to happen rather than caused my life to happen.
There's nothing inherently wrong with all of this worrying and daydreaming, but it can be exhausting. And I can very easily forget two things: 1 - I'm incredibly blessed, and 2 - there are a lot of people out there in the world who don't get to luxuriate in planning their "perfect" life.
Several months ago, I wrote about a book that my sister had given me for Christmas, and I wrote about how I was going to make a blanket to send to a program in Africa that provides medical services and support for women with fistulas, a debilitating condition (if left untreated) that is often the result of obstructed childbirth and sometimes rape. Well, in the new job happenings and navel gazing, it moved to the back burner. But recently, after some days of feeling particularly self-focused, I put my foot down - both of them really, one after the other, as I headed to my local yarn shop and picked out some colors that I hoped would bring cheer and comfort to whoever wrapped themselves in them.
It may take me a year, but I look forward to one day sending a package off to another woman who may, with the help of some truly amazing people, be able to sit with a blanket around her shoulders and spend at least a moment thinking about what might make her happy.