I owe so many of you a read. I hope you are staying safe, sane and being good to yourselves. As for us, my husband is still going into work every day. We’re lucky that he works alone and isn’t in any immediate danger. I’ve been fortunate to continue to be paid by my substitute teaching gig (halleluia! those crazy students finally are doing something for me for a change!) and I’m moving along with a few writing projects for pay and for fun. My kids? They’re “homeschooling.” And by that, I mean they check in for a few hours/day with their online assignments. Are they getting it all done? They’re getting enough done. Honestly? I don’t care that much. This is not the time to freak out about perfection. I’m just glad they’re here with me. That they are safe.
My Forced Vacation
What began as elation (no work! rest!) turned into frustration (gaaaad, this extrovert is going to go insane if she can’t get out of the house and spend money on an overpriced coffee) but it’s since morphed into a steady rhythm. I can’t take for granted that I have the luxury of being quarantined in a 4 bedroom house with wood floors and a fireplace. I mean really, people, I’m the luckiest woman on earth.
All this down time has not gotten my house repainted (yet) or my closets organized in Pinterest perfection (there’s time) but…I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching. In doing so, I’ve discovered how hard I am on myself. How I equate “what I do” with “who I am.” And, given I’m substitute teacher – not an executive producer of some fancy show – this can often be demoralizing.
But in the pit of my soul – waaaay in there… past the “you’re not good enough” and “what the hell happened to you” pieces… I realize that the life I’m leading this very minute is everything I really want: the slow languid starts, the easy pace, the drives through nature and loveliness that comes with sitting around with my family each evening.
In a nutshell, my soul is in pretty sharp contrast to my ego.
My soul loves quiet walks. Books. Fires. Conversations with people – even the old, annoying ladies in the grocery stores who spend ten minutes talking about their favorite Bible hymn and how to make a perfect meatball recipe using only hamburger, Corn flakes and McDonalds ketchup (to save a few cents, duh!).
I don’t cook, I don’t read the Bible, and up until very recently, I wasn’t eating meat, so there’s no reason at all I should care what someone I’ll never speak to again is shopping for on some random Tuesday.
And yet, I do. I’m super engaged. I love the story. I love the connection.
On the other hand, there’s my ego – that piece of me that loves the razzle dazzle of something bigger. I want the money that comes with a fast paced project. Instead of learning how to make that meatloaf from the lady in the supermarket, I want it served to me on a fancy dish by a waiter in an upscale restaurant. I want witty banter and fast music and I certainly don’t want to wait in line to pay for it. This ego is bossy and mean and doesn’t have time for conversation. Nope, my ego is not my amigo.
With all this downtime I’ve had more opportunity to feed my soul then satisfy my ego. It’s been a beautiful and restful period. The only time I’ve been upset is when my mind travels to the place of “Am I doing enough?”
I don’t know about you, but that kind of question for an overachiever like me can get me in all sorts of trouble. And really, with this virus threatening to do damage to so many people’s businesses and health, what purpose does it serve? At the end of the day, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be on my deathbed wishing I had more likes on Facebook or money in the bank.
But I might just want a good conversation with a piece of meatloaf.
I am so happy to be inching slowly, ever so slowly, to the purpose that God has for me, not my own ego. The God of my understanding doesn’t expect me to achieve. He just wants me to be. And thanks to my friend, Irish Mama, I’ve been reminded recently that it’s perfectly fine to push myself toward my writing dreams, but it’s okay to have a place that is just for me. Like this blog.
Like my home with my son telling me all about his latest video game he’s creating. (And how he’s okay with me talking about his tics again… stay tuned!)
Like my car with my daughter singing show tunes in my ear. My 1998 Acura isn’t fancy, but there’s no place else I’d rather be on a rainy Monday then in it with my sweet girl who, despite having her moments of nuttiness like we all do, is turning out just fine.
Like my husband taking daily walks around the block with me while we talk about nothing, our hands entwined, just grateful to be alive another day.
One day I’m going to be that old lady in the grocery store, sharing my stories with someone. And maybe, just maybe, there will be someone on the other side of the conversation, like me, who thought my taco recipe sounded just delightful.
Wouldn’t that be grand?
Until next time,
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