Well, another year has come and gone and I’ve been radio silent. It’s hard to pinpoint a single reason why…just a lot of things piling on top of one another and resulting in agitation, a bursting brain, and dreams deferred. As I review my old posts and examine my changing self, I see a constant struggle – a search for balance, that secret ingredient that will allow me to be all the things and all the people I want to be. I continually work toward and wait for that day…the day when I can relax into my own existence as the perfectly balanced woman, mom, wife, teacher, writer, learner, homemaker, friend, and self I want to be.
The truth is, I’ve been so busy. So busy. Too busy figuring out how to juggle and survive all the roles I play and how to trick everyone (myself included) into thinking I’m doing a decent job at a few of them. Too busy trying to put on faces and hats and to figure out which parts of myself belong when wearing each one. Too busy doing everything that everyone else needs me to do, wants from me, or thinks I should be doing. Too busy doing all of those things to be being myself at all. And you know what…that makes a person pretty tired. So tired that the very thought of digging down into the mess and grasping for realness and truth seems like the most impossible thing in all the world. And, I keep thinking, there is always tomorrow. There is always next semester. It will be easier in a few years. The kids will be older and more independent. We will have more money and the struggle won’t be quite so hard. I’ll be settled in my job. Hah!
I reread all that, and I am ashamed to sound dissatisfied. I’m not. I love my life. I love my husband and my family. I love being my babies’ mama. I love teaching English. I love working in a challenging and fulfilling career. I love my home. I love my struggles. I love my obligations. I would not be anyone else or anywhere else. I hope that’s clear. It’s just that, altogether, it’s enough to bury a person. And I’ve realized that being buried beneath my tasks is my greatest and most realistic fear. I could live a life of days spent getting the job done. But I won’t. I want to be here – exposed, and raw, and real, and honest…all of me…all the time.
I love this little break. Two weeks off to collect myself. I always have so many big plans, but usually my to-do’s go unchecked. Winter break is about rest and reflection. I’ve spent most of the last seven days resting, reading, thinking. And here’s what I’m thinking: balance isn’t in the cards for me. I’m a woman of extremes. I have big dreams and big fears. I take on too much and I take too much. I throw myself full-force at everything all at once and the result is never perfection. But that’s okay. Because I am vast and extreme and multitudinous. And I like swimming in the ocean of my mind every day. And the things that I do are good. They aren’t puzzle pieces. They don’t fit together to create the perfect picture. They are more like vivid brushstrokes on a giant, abstract mural. And the images there might not make much sense to anyone else who looks at it, but I’m liking what I see.
As I get older, one thing that I am finding to be truth is this: Control is an illusion. I have no control. Neither does anyone else. Life is always throwing curve balls and there’s just nothing to be done about it. Today, as it is, is all I’ve really got. So, I must insist that I am not satisfied to spend another today buried under the craziness of my own life. It will be tedious and it will be dirty, but have to dig myself out. And every word is nothing but a speck of dirt. These words are a single shovelful. And they will mix well with the water in my ocean-mind to make paint. And that paint will make beautiful art on the walls of my life. So here’s to not being buried. Here’s to digging, and painting, and swimming, and living, and being here…all of me…all the time.
