Sometimes I make myself laugh. Like when I realize that my earnestness is missing the mark, when it’s not really earnestness but more like a veil between me and, well, me.
This happened yesterday, when I realized that for all my prattling on about vulnerability, I was doing a piss poor job of actually living it. Ha. I read Eden’s latest post, and it just hit me all over again – philosophizing is not the same as being or revealing or living.
I know. What a shock, right?
So I’ve been struggling lately. And from what I read in blogland, quite a few of my sisters out there are struggling, too. I would tend to blame the winter, but it has struck our lovely Eden, too, she of drought and heat waves and snakes at the door.
Toddlerhood. Uh, yeah. I was definitely guilty of thinking before the lad was born that my child would never whine, or annoy the everliving shit out of me, or eat while walking around, or grunt with increasing emphasis while chanting “ge-ge, ge-ge” and pointing at something that I never can seem to identify despite Herculean efforts. Although I knew I was wrong in thinking this, even at the time, it’s still somewhat of a shock to find all of this coming true. All at once. In the dead of winter that prevents much in the way of leaving the house. When I am feeling horribly inadequate about my housekeeping skills, my inability to finish even one damned thing, about the fact that everything seems to be a scramble these days.
Like Pam, I keep thinking that there must be a trick to this, that if I can just discover it, things will fall elegantly into place like the first level in Tetris and my life will be a beacon of order and calm and creativity and pure unadulterated awesomeness.
The fact that I am living out a bourgeois cliche does not make it any easier. If anything, it only encourages that old part of me that believes that I can rationalize my way out of anything. So my mind is working, working, working. Making lists, coming up with solutions (which only takes for granted that a problem exists…ah, mind, you sneaky little thing!), trying to plan.
I try to remind myself daily of the words of a dear friend who recently remarked on how much my living room has changed in the past year. She just sighed with pleasure as she surveyed the piles of unfolded diapers (quite possibly a damp one, too, tucked in among the wreckage, resting on its way to the pail) and board books and empty mugs and told me how glad she was to see my house looking like a child lived here.
Yup. Breathe. Me, too. I’m so glad a child lives here. And some of the problems are not really problems.
But seeing that is really the heart of the struggle, isn’t it? Getting to the spaciousness, navigating out of the weeds, out into the open water where things just come and go with ease.
There is more to say, but this post feels done for now, and I’m on the first of what I hope will be a new tradition of Sunday afternoon sabbath-taking. Just me and my iPad in a coffee shop. So I’m going to get a refill of hot water and go read some blogs. Smooches to you all, my lovelies.