It has been a little more than 5 weeks since the last time I posted a new blog. That is, in part, due to the fact that it takes me an average of 90 minutes to compose an entry and in the past five weeks I have not had an hour and a half to myself, while I was awake. I was starting to believe that I had forgotten to pack my creativity in one of the brown, rectangular boxes and put it in the back of the U-Haul truck. Of course, I have been busy unpacking, cleaning, weeding, mowing, painting, unpacking and cleaning. I have planted a few flower beds and made a few (thousand) trips to Target with my husband's credit card. (Thanks, Honey!)
I have transitioned from the mother of a Dixie Youth baseball player to the mother of a Dixie Youth All-Star and I have discovered that "All-Star" is really just a code word meaning "write us another check for 100.00 and drive at least 50 miles one-way every weekend to play in tournaments against major league baseball players who are allegedly 8 to 10 years old, but have corporate sponsors, tour buses and pitching coaches." To summarize, I have been really busy.
But I have also been lacking the energy and inspiration that is necessary for me to write. Typically, when I sit down to compose, it is on a day when I don't have the children and I have had several random ideas churning inside my head for a few days. Like most Kevin Spacey movies, the broad brain-bound themes seem unrelated until I am in front of the keyboard and then they start to weave themselves together in ways that often amaze and surprise me. After a few edits to make certain that the words I have typed precisely reflect what I am trying to convey, I hit "post" and then obsess for a few hours over how many people are taking the time to read what I have written and what kind of feedback they are providing.
But when your days are 14 to 16 hours long and you collapse into bed with over half of your to-do list still un-done, there is no brain space for random ideas to trickle in, much less flow out. Honestly, I have felt moderate levels of anxiety about the lack of thought and feeling in my days, fearing that it might be a long while before I could re-connect with myself on a note-worthy level. But somewhere in the midst of the last seven days it occurred to me that maybe I was worrying too much and trying too hard. Like an epiphany I once had in the Madison Food Lion late on a Friday night, this thought struck me in a moment of absent-mindedness. That particular Friday I was wandering the aisles sans a grocery list, when the teenage baggers commandeered the store's sound system and began blasting Metallica's "Enter Sandman." I don't remember the particular issue at that point in my life but I remember having been teary-eyed for days and pleading to the Universe for an unmistakable sign that would point me in the direction I needed to go. And so it was that during the second chorus of "Ex-it light.....En-ter ni-ight..." the store manager awoke from his stupor and right there in the middle of the pickle aisle, the Universe sent me, "Let It Be....Let It Be....Let It Be, Oh, Let It Be....." Verily, I say unto you, that the angelic voice of the Young Paul McCartney whispered words of wisdom to me under the Friday night lights on the outskirts of produce!
I have told you all that to tell you this....last week it was not the voice of Paul McCartney or James Hatfiled in my ear, but the feeling of being awestruck was exactly the same. This time, I was standing at my kitchen sink rinsing out the plastic snack containers from Jackson's day camp lunchbox and the word that undeniably struck me was, "Accept." As in, accept what is, rather than resist what is (or isn't.) Hmmmm.....accept that I feel anxious and irritated a lot of the time lately. Accept that it will take me a very long time to settle in to this house because I am only beginning to discover who I will be in my next incarnation. Accept that my husband snores most nights and it will affect my sleep. Accept that right now I feel like I have nothing of value to share. Accept. Breathe in. Accept. Breathe out. Accept.
And the more I allowed myself to acknowledge, accept and breathe, the more space I was able to free up inside my head. Which led me to the thought that I didn't need to tackle every challenge in my creative life all at once; and that trying to do so was robbing me of the joy and appreciation I generally feel for the life I have. Instead, I decided to try just tuning in as completely as possible to one magic moment in my life each day. I knew that if I could focus on the finding the goodness and absorb the preciousness of even one moment every twenty-four hours, then I could string those moments together and change my perspective.
Here are a few of the moments that have composed my life lately:
Last Sunday, my 8 year old struck out four times out of four at-bats, during the third tournament game of the weekend. Saturday night he had gotten his first base hit as an All-Star and even though his team had not won that game, he was happy with his contributions to their effort and satisfied that he could not have done more to change the outcome. Of course, by Sunday, I was growing more anxious each time he stepped up to to home plate. But after all the seasons the two boys have spent participating in sports, I certainly had more sense than to go within 100 yards of the dugout, for fear that he would slap me with a restraining order! So I dutifully switched empty Gatorade bottles for full ones and kept my mouth shut. Astounding, I know, to those of you who know me well, but I sincerely try not to embarrass the boys on purpose. Apparently, my efforts in this regard are completely futile, as I have been indirectly informed that I am often an embarassment to them, even without trying. I wondered and worried about how he would feel following the game, because this kid is Mount Rushmore on the field. No emotion, no anger, no expression of negativity whatsoever. But in true Braeden fashion, the only thing he said after the game was "Mom, not very many kids make All-Stars their first year of kid-pitch." I wholeheartedly agreed and told him that his swings were level and his stance looked great....but he needed to keep his head lowered and jump on the pitch a little faster. And that was it. He ate ice cream, took a shower and went to bed. But when he got up on Monday, he wanted to go hit a bucket of baseballs because somewhere in the night he had decided that he would "be a hitter". It was another incredible lesson for me in positive thinking and taking a course of action. It was also magical and rewarding to be taught this lesson by my 8 year old.
Another night this week, my 10 year old began to hug his brother before he goes to bed at night....and trust me, that is a M-I-R-A-C-L-E, plain and simple. I am not at all sure what prompted this behavior but I make notice of it every night that it happens and let them both know how rewarding it is for me to see them be kind to one another. I think this was the same night that I was standing in the kitchen eating a giant, soft chocolate chip cookie that Braeden brought me from Subway, while my husband was grilling himself a steak, the TarHeels were winning their College World Series game on ESPN, and both of my boys were playing catch, TOGETHER, in the backyard, without trying to kill or maim each other.
And these are just a few of those type of magical moments. We are headed to Great Wolf Lodge tomorrow for a one-night, two-day, mini vacation. There are sure to be pictures you don't care to see posted on Facebook by Monday, so status-checkers be forewarned. I guess the reality is that I write this blog as much for myself as I do the reader(s). It is a way for me to organize my thoughts, float my feelings out into the great unknown and create a history that might one day interest my children. Nothing more, nothing less. And I thank you all for the opportunity to share....even sporadically. Happy Weekend!
