This is the time of year that we are still sleeping with the windows open, even though it gets down into the 40s at night. I’m always so excited to pull the big cozy blankets out of their summer storage that I spend two weeks in a self-imposed night sauna, just waiting for the temperatures to dip enough to truly warrant the extra covers. And when they do, it’s worth the chilliness of the morning to have been able to cocoon all night. The problem with crisp fall mornings is that they are suddenly crisp, dark fall mornings. It’s nearly impossible to get out of bed. I start reminding myself that dry shampoo is better for my hair, definitely a couple – to a few — mornings a week. And I hit snooze one more time. Five minute shower just to warm up, and… go.
I’m not sure what it is about fall – I love fall, the clarity of those breathe deep blue sky mornings and the apple cider and the turning leaves – but I often find myself a little down, a little nostalgic, a little overwhelmed.
Maybe it’s a natural rhythm thing, left over from when we had to prepare for winter, the anxiety of not being quite sure we had enough nuts squirreled away. Or the knowledge that days are getting shorter, and the realization that, again, the summer sped by without having nearly the amount of bask-on-a-sunny-rock time that I anticipated.
Add to it the entrenched school and activities routines, the job that spins on a contract year and is naturally busy every third and fourth quarter, and it feels like the days aren’t just losing daylight, they’re losing time.
Lately at work, I’m buried. Lately at home, I’m sprinting. Or I’m home, but still at work. I have the luxury of a flexible job, for which I’m grateful. But it means that when I leave early to get to Girl Scouts on time, or to get my youngest to Reading Buddies at the library, my work day isn’t over just because I left work, and once the majority of us are home, once dinner is done, I’m back at my kitchen table office. It feels like I’ve put in a 12-hour day, but I’m actually still 90-minutes and one dance class pick-up away from just a solid 8. Or still at the office, “I miss you. Plees leave work soon,” my youngest texts. Heartbreak.
Sometimes I feel like I suffer from a bit of poor little rich girl syndrome. Except, you know, not the rich part. And I have long since left girlhood behind. But the part where I have a loving family, a comfortable home, a beautiful view out my front door, a flexible job and a bevy of good friends, but still feel a little like crying at the end of a long day, just because there haven’t been enough hours, and there won’t be again tomorrow, and I’m not quite sure how to climb out of the time hole I’ve dug.
Glennon Doyle Melton said, “Life is hard. Not because we’re doing it wrong, just because it’s hard.” And it’s not hard because it’s bad. Or because it’s somehow deficient. It’s hard because it’s hard, and we’re all winging it. A decade ago, I’d never had a child before. And they just give you one and wish you luck. Seven years ago, I’d never had two children and two lost jobs before. Tightrope, white knuckles. Today my oldest asked to Skype with a friend about a school assignment. She’s a very sensible, even-keeled person. But I blanched. Even Microsoft was cautious. We take the safety of Skype end users very seriously and have security measures in place to help protect children… Is Microsoft judging me? Forget about me winging it ten years ago. That was just diapers and pink eye and the occasional pebble up the nose. Social media and dating and driving? The days are getting shorter, but so are the years.
A few weeks ago, talking to a coworker about how demanding life is and how little time we have, when we both had a dozen other things to do, he suggested a conscious one-to-one ratio of bad to good. The last minute discovery of cat puke in the foyer is still pretty disagreeable (just kidding, I don’t have a foyer, I just mean the place where we kick our shoes into a pile), but if specifically opposed with a child enthusiastically offering to pack my lunch to save time, maybe it’s a wash. Even if it doesn’t save any time.
Stage 1 orthodontics. Dancing in the kitchen with a giggling daughter.
Car making a weird noise. Over-using the library’s hold system because of my avid reader.
Non-wheat, non-dairy pizza sitting right next to the real thing. Family tv picnic and Friday night Netflix.
If sometimes it’s hard to get out of bed and start a hectic day, and if some days my make-up is more war paint than cosmetic, if sometimes I feel tears prick behind my eyes for no particular reason as I just sit at a stop light, in between work me and mommy me, trying to identify a little bit of independent me, well, maybe that’s just because sometimes life is hard, and days are short and it’s hard to wake up in the dark. It’s a part of the whole. Figuring it all out is exhausting. Rewarding, but exhausting.
And maybe it’s just evolution reminding me it’s time to squirrel away some more nuts for winter. And by nuts, I mean Godiva and red wine. And those really soft fluffy winter socks. And a good red lipstick.
Funny, I was thinking these very thoughts just last night (and I’ve not read Melton!)… life is hard just because it’s hard. Not always because of marginalization or oppression or disaster (although I’m certainly not minimizing those things), but because it’s just hard. Thanks for the tip from your friend to consciously seek one good event in the day to pair up with every not-so-good one. And, thanks a lot (sarcasm here) for inserting that Chicago song into my brain – it’s on a continuous loop and I fear it will stay there for the remainder of my Saturday! 🙂
It’s in my head, too! I hadn’t thought of that song in years, probably, and it just appeared as I searched for a title. I’ll be more careful in the future. 😉