Happy Holidays
Wishing everyone a very Merry Christmas, filled with love and laughter.
Photo by the magnificent Tish Carlson, with whom I am indebted to with gratitude.
Muddy Thoughts
I go through periods where it’s hard for me to write.
I’ve always thought of myself not so much as a writer, but as a feeler, and – in turn – a writer because, well, I’m obviously into documenting. I used to feel everything. Lately, all I’ve felt is exhaustion; an urge to do nothing at all – like a depressed person who suddenly no longer wants to do things that once excited them. The difference being that I’m not depressed, I’m tired.
And I’m not quite sure why.
I mean, I’m sleeping. I’m eating. And on most mornings I start the day with an energy that would surely give me an edge in the super-mom competition should it actually last any longer than the fleeting 2 hours it actually hangs around. Yup, two hours in and I’m already staring at a sink filled with breakfast dishes on top of the day-before-dishes that I was too tired to wash the night before. And the thought of doing them all overwhelms me.
I start wondering what the point of it all is; why clean up the floor if 5 minutes post-kids-waking-up-from-nap it’s going to be a disaster again? Why bother washing their hands after they go to the bathroom if 2 minutes later they’re going to poke Jimmie’s butthole.
Some days feel like I’m just repeating shit over and over. Make meals – wash dishes – clean their hands – take dog out to pee – wipe their butts – repeat. So monotonously draining. It starts to feel like I’m just going through the motions.
I start to think of other things that usually drag me out of what-seems-to-be the monotony of motherhood; I think about my photography, this blog, our etsy shop — creative endeavors that give me that pep in my step, and I’m bothered by the lack of time I’m able to give. I get fixated on stupid shit like not a single shirt selling in a day or not being able to write when a wave of emotion hits at seemingly the most random time only to find that when I do have the time, the wave has crashed, the thought fled, the inspiration soaked like water into the sand. That’s just what it’s like — trying to catch water and all I’m getting is wet sand; muddy thoughts.
I’m assuming I’m not alone. Tell me I’m not alone.
Photo by Tish Carlson
Perspective
Last Friday I was in a terrible car accident on the freeway. I was on my way to work when a pickup truck was rear ended and came flying into me faster than a speeding bullet. I can still hear the sound of the crashing metal and the smell of the air bag. It plays over and over in my mind in slow motion, but the reality of it is that it all happened in a second. Life can change in a second. It’s terrifying. All three cars involved were totaled and yet, we all walked away. Almost immediately, however, I felt pain in my neck. It’s been a year and a half since my surgery but the pain I felt was all too familiar. It’s been a long time since I’ve had debilitating pain and the accident has served as an unwelcome reminder of all that comes along with it.
I remember spending much of my time in bed in the weeks following my surgery. I felt very sorry for myself. It’s really difficult to rely on others for everything; to give up your independence and the freedom to do what you want when you want and, frankly, how you want. I was plagued by the realization that while this was simply the recovery process for me, many others go through their entire lives with these limitations. I feared I’d forget the perspective that I acquired during those hard times. And, in truth, part of me has. I found that as I slowly recovered, I also slowly forgot. I started to take my health for granted. Maybe that’s not the write word. Rather, I started to feel entitled to good health because that’s what life had always given me.
It’s hard to make sense of tragedies. And my accident is far from a tragedy, I know. But when I look to find meaning embedded in what happened, I think about the perspective that I let slip away and I think about the entitlement I felt. And I think, maybe this accident was meant to give me some sort of reminder; a reminder that life – the good and the bad – is a privilege. When people ask me about how my neck is feeling, I tell them neck pain isn’t a bad problem to have. Because, really, think of the alternatives.
I haven’t been able to do as much as I normally can. Dishes have piled up, clothes have piled up, the floors are dirty, the entryway is cluttered with unmatched shoes strewn about, piles of mail are sitting unopened, and so on and so forth. And I’ve found myself swearing that if it weren’t for my pain, all of these things would be done; that the house would be clean, sparkling even.
I’m familiar with this cycle. You see, I know that when my body recovers, the house will stay dirty. I’ll be left wondering where that positive, energetic energy went that was so looking forward to being healthy so that things could get done. Because, you see, when I can’t do them, it’s what I miss most. When I can’t do them, I realize that being able to do normal, everyday things really is a privilege.
It’s a shift in perspective from bitching about having to make a bed to being grateful for having a bed to make. And nothing has taught me that more than my experiences with debilitating pain. I hope this go-around I can hang on to that perspective just a little bit longer.
Photo by Tish Carlson