Lacking simplicity
It broke my heart when I logged into this age-old site and realized that my last true post was in 2016. Has it really been that long? Have I put off writing to that extent?
I even checked my other projects - little things here and there that I've been working on, including a journal that I used to keep daily. The last entry of any kind was well over a year ago.
My initial reaction was to cuss under my breath about how tapped out I am at the end of my work day. My job requires a level of concentration, multi-tasking, organization and emotional detachment that is well beyond anything I've ever had to do. And, although that is definitely a huge part of it all, that's not the "real" reason for me abandoning a creative outlet that has brought me joy for as long as I can remember.
Truthfully, it boils down to one thing: A lack of simplicity.
I've trudged through some of the most complex and difficult moments of my life since 2016. The only true take-away from it all has been that life is layered. Grace is that bottom layer that I'm constantly digging towards, and joy and peace are interwoven throughout...but it sure feels like I keep getting stuck in these multi-layered situations where I can't even figure out how to emotionally process everything.
My kids are both getting older, whether I want to fully acknowledge and/or accept it. I'm trying to hold on to the sweet and sassy moments that make me laugh absurdly hard. I'm also digging deep into the wells of my motherly patience in new ways. I'm trying not to lose my mind when my three-year-old gets out of bed for the hundredth time because we didn't snuggle with a particular stuffed animal. I know that snuggle time with him and a pint-sized, overly-fluffy Chewbacca doll is a fleeting thing, so, I dig deep. The multiple outfits that are strewn across my daughter's bedroom at any given point make a stupid amount of laundry for me, but she's also figuring out her own little style before she wanders into kindergarten next fall...Dig deep, Pam. It's all new, and exhausting, and wonderful. As tired as I am, I don't want my stress and exhaustion from all of the other nonsense in my life to force me to miss it.
See? Layers.
I'm getting older. I tried my best to prevent that from happening, but there ya go. I'm marking the big 3-0 this fall - and THAT is hitting me hard. Thirty always seemed like this far-off number where I would truly have my shit together. It's not that I don't entirely have my shit together. I put my big-girl pants on every morning, one leg at a time, just like everyone else. But isn't there supposed to be some magical moment in which I fully understand the stock market, or bitcoin, or why youtubers who scream at the TV while they play videogames will make more money in one day than I ever will in a lifetime? Is there ever going to be a moment where I won't panic every time my doorbell rings unexpectedly, because God forbid someone come into my house unannounced? I just had high expectations of myself. A clean house on a regular basis, a well-rounded knowledge of both wine and whiskey...you know, adult-y things.
To add to the whole "getting older" theme going on here...Tim and I are getting older together. We talked about that in the marriage vows and all, but it really shouldn't be happening this fast. We literally applauded ourselves because we were able to get through not just one, but TWO movies this week without falling asleep on the couch. Beyond the aging, we've gone through some heavy, heavy things together in recent years. We've changed as individuals, and our dynamic as a couple has changed, and I don't really know when that happened. It's not bad - it's 100% certifiable every day life, and it's expected in a relationship. It's shocking to look back and view the milestones that we've crossed...and again, I've found joy and peace woven throughout.
Getting older isn't the problem. It's the fact that life has thrown me wave after wave of moments and choices and sacrifices that never have fully-good or fully-bad outcomes. It's complex, challenging and terrifying. Writing forces me to chisel words into the developing wrinkles on my forehead and the permanent rings under my eyes. It's uncomfortable. So uncomfortable that I've been avoiding it, rather than embracing it.
So...with any luck, the trials and tribulations have (temporarily) passed. And with determination and caffeine, I'll hopefully have the patience and the stamina to let my fingers fly over the keyboard more than once every two years.
I even checked my other projects - little things here and there that I've been working on, including a journal that I used to keep daily. The last entry of any kind was well over a year ago.
My initial reaction was to cuss under my breath about how tapped out I am at the end of my work day. My job requires a level of concentration, multi-tasking, organization and emotional detachment that is well beyond anything I've ever had to do. And, although that is definitely a huge part of it all, that's not the "real" reason for me abandoning a creative outlet that has brought me joy for as long as I can remember.
Truthfully, it boils down to one thing: A lack of simplicity.
I've trudged through some of the most complex and difficult moments of my life since 2016. The only true take-away from it all has been that life is layered. Grace is that bottom layer that I'm constantly digging towards, and joy and peace are interwoven throughout...but it sure feels like I keep getting stuck in these multi-layered situations where I can't even figure out how to emotionally process everything.
My kids are both getting older, whether I want to fully acknowledge and/or accept it. I'm trying to hold on to the sweet and sassy moments that make me laugh absurdly hard. I'm also digging deep into the wells of my motherly patience in new ways. I'm trying not to lose my mind when my three-year-old gets out of bed for the hundredth time because we didn't snuggle with a particular stuffed animal. I know that snuggle time with him and a pint-sized, overly-fluffy Chewbacca doll is a fleeting thing, so, I dig deep. The multiple outfits that are strewn across my daughter's bedroom at any given point make a stupid amount of laundry for me, but she's also figuring out her own little style before she wanders into kindergarten next fall...Dig deep, Pam. It's all new, and exhausting, and wonderful. As tired as I am, I don't want my stress and exhaustion from all of the other nonsense in my life to force me to miss it.
See? Layers.
I'm getting older. I tried my best to prevent that from happening, but there ya go. I'm marking the big 3-0 this fall - and THAT is hitting me hard. Thirty always seemed like this far-off number where I would truly have my shit together. It's not that I don't entirely have my shit together. I put my big-girl pants on every morning, one leg at a time, just like everyone else. But isn't there supposed to be some magical moment in which I fully understand the stock market, or bitcoin, or why youtubers who scream at the TV while they play videogames will make more money in one day than I ever will in a lifetime? Is there ever going to be a moment where I won't panic every time my doorbell rings unexpectedly, because God forbid someone come into my house unannounced? I just had high expectations of myself. A clean house on a regular basis, a well-rounded knowledge of both wine and whiskey...you know, adult-y things.
To add to the whole "getting older" theme going on here...Tim and I are getting older together. We talked about that in the marriage vows and all, but it really shouldn't be happening this fast. We literally applauded ourselves because we were able to get through not just one, but TWO movies this week without falling asleep on the couch. Beyond the aging, we've gone through some heavy, heavy things together in recent years. We've changed as individuals, and our dynamic as a couple has changed, and I don't really know when that happened. It's not bad - it's 100% certifiable every day life, and it's expected in a relationship. It's shocking to look back and view the milestones that we've crossed...and again, I've found joy and peace woven throughout.
Getting older isn't the problem. It's the fact that life has thrown me wave after wave of moments and choices and sacrifices that never have fully-good or fully-bad outcomes. It's complex, challenging and terrifying. Writing forces me to chisel words into the developing wrinkles on my forehead and the permanent rings under my eyes. It's uncomfortable. So uncomfortable that I've been avoiding it, rather than embracing it.
So...with any luck, the trials and tribulations have (temporarily) passed. And with determination and caffeine, I'll hopefully have the patience and the stamina to let my fingers fly over the keyboard more than once every two years.
Comments
Post a Comment