It hit me.

Last night, as I was dutifully sitting in class, I had somewhat of a revelation. The professor was droning on (unfortunately he’s not the most stirring of teachers) about Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, and I realized that I’m actively participating in what is considered the most extravagant of human needs. I’m realizing my potential. And yes, I’m tossing around newly understood psychobabble. But the way I figure it, if I don’t apply what I’ve learned to real life, then it’s all for naught. My physical needs are obviously met in overabundance. If ever the desire for material needs strikes me, then I satisfy it without difficulty. My need to belong and feel loved is considerably met. Not only do I share a dynamic partnership with my best friend, but I have three endearing smallish people who call me Mama and smother me with physical affection at every turn. And because I consider my work a valuable contribution to our family dynamic, I earnestly feel achieved. No, clean laundry and homemade meals aren’t rocket science but they are important. If I were to compare them to all other needs, my efforts are the most basic and crucial. My need to understand and explore my world was awakened the moment I found my courage and applied for university. Papoose was on my hip and my nails were securely lodged in my sweaty palms as I inched into the admissions office last December. I felt timid and irrelevant. I felt as though my plane ticket to a big fat career in the sky had long expired and this was all a big joke. And it was being played on me. Pooh on me. Not only did admissions fervently embrace this 29 year old mother into their degree program, but they acquainted me with their utmost flexibility. Hooray! This really is all about me! Providing I keep the bill paid. My need to know has grown into a gluttonous fuzzy monster with an appetite that can’t ever be quenched. This feeling, albeit formerly unknown to me, is beyond gratifying. It’s most nourishing brain-food I’ve ever eaten. And 29? Yeah, that was exactly the right time for me to redeem the plane ticket.

So I was thinking about this little bloggity-blog thing I’ve got going on and the blog itself is somewhat of the realization. I’m writing. I always knew I could write. But what does it really matter when you’re the only one who knows it? Unless you’ve got platinum plated self-esteem, it isn’t always blaringly obvious that you can do something just because. Just because you like it. Just because you’re good at it. Just because you want to. Well here I am. Tippity tapping away on my keyboard. Just because the papoose is asleep and the laundry can wait. Just because I wanted to transform this intangible idea into words. A better way to purge and cleanse my mind escapes me…. I will complete this entry, proofread it, and be on my way. Except not really. I will have fed the fuzzy monster and mortared one more brick onto my fortress of self esteem. Will I ever feel complete with that silly Hierarchy of Needs triangle? No. Not many do. But I have confidence that I will attempt each one with enthusiasm more often than I ever have before.