My To-Do List

In my last post, I made the point that there are many, MANY things I do not know. This week, I'd like to take the opportunity to talk about one of the truths I have discovered in the course of my life but yet still struggle with on a daily basis. Balance. 

In a recent bible study class at my church, we were discussing priorities and getting burned out.  And one of the women said, "People are more important than my to-do list." So simple. So true. Of course, I believe this I thought to myself as I nodded in agreement. But then I paused, realizing that my actions rarely embody this mantra.  I am so driven by my to-do list that I often ignore people I care about, hurt those I love, or explode in frustration and anger. Why?  

I am a perfectionist; that is certain. I hate feeling inadequate. I despise weakness in myself of any form. If you can do it, then so can I. And if I even think I might not be able to do it, then I won't even try.  I strive to be a GREAT mom - not just a good mom. I'm an over-thinker, a worry-wort, a control freak.  I'm a Pinterest mom who'd like to home-school (if my husband would jump on board). I started a moms' group and a book club. I'm a Sunday School teacher and a Head Classroom Mom.  I'm started my own business and was the English department chair at school. If there is a something to be done, I do it. Just add it to my to-do list.

I am an over-achiever. And what has it really ever gotten me?  Headaches, exhaustion, frustration, work and more work. Why do I take on so much? Why do I feel the need to create, jump in, lead, go overboard? Is it a deep seeded need to do well, to feel accepted by my peers and society? Is it a feeling of inadequacy or a fear of failure? Are these expectations I feel so pushed to exceed the result of society's influence or my own personal issues?  

These questions are not easily answered.  It's a combination of all that I am and have experienced in my 35 years that make me the person I see in the mirror.  So wherever these desires, these fears, originate from…the real question is how to deal with them? I don't think I will ever be able to completely curb my take-on too much personality, but I can try to find a balance.  Because yes, people ARE more important than my to-do list.  As Neale Donal Walsch once wrote, "We are human beings, not human doings." And so I must give myself a chance to just be.  To stop doing so much and take some time to enjoy the people around me. To form stronger bonds and be a better friend. To mother through the gift of precious time instead of pointless crafts. To raise my voice a little less and my spirit a little more. 

But wait, does this sound too much like a to-do list?

Just another work in progress...

I'm 35 years old. And you'd think that after 11 years of marriage, 10 years in the classroom, and 2 children, I'd have it all figured out.  Well, not exactly.  As a  true Type-A personality, I cringe at even the hint of defeat or lack of success; and although I'd like to say that I have discovered a few nuggets of truth along the way, I have to own up to the fact that I actually have very little figured out.  But that's OK. Yes, type-A me is saying it's OK to NOT have all of the answers. I'm getting chills just allowing my fingers to type it.

This past year has taught me that life is but a journey with no real destination in mind.  It's all about the here and now. It's about the experiences we create, the struggles we overcome, the way we handle adversity, and quite simply, the way we show love.  It's not about the money, the deadlines, the neat and tidy houses, the hair bows and scrubbed faces.  It's about the journey. 

Sometimes I feel like a tiny caterpillar, searching for I know not what. Burdened by this terrible hunger to go, to consume, to learn, to grow, to make something of my life. At other times, I feel trapped and tired. I just want to hide away in my chrysalis and sleep away my worries. I want to bury my head beneath mountains of fleece and hug my heart so tightly that it will never feel pain again. I seek quiet, solitude, peace. But like the caterpillar (pupa), at some point, I must emerge. And as I fight to break through my own fears and doubts, crippled by insecurities I dare not let the world see, I grab hold to a strength locked deep inside.  Once again, I face the world, unsteady and exhausted, but with a renewed sense of self. The pain, the struggle, has caused a transformation. And while these moments are few and far between, sometimes…just sometimes… I am a beautiful butterfly, wings spread, soaring amongst the clouds. 

My life is a cycle…ups and downs, peaks and valleys…repeating, repeating. The cycle never ends, and I never feel like I've "arrived." But am I really supposed to?  Life is not about getting to a finish line; it's about what happens throughout the race.  Each time this cycle repeats itself, I return to my roots, starting over again, discovering - rediscovering - my talents. My soul returning home for solace, comfort.

This morning, as I did my daily Instagram scan, I came across this little jewel, "I love the person I've become because I fought to become her." So yes, I am 35. And no, I don't have many answers. But I do know that each struggle has made me stronger, each failure more compassionate, and each success more joyful.  We all must ride the waves of pain and defeat, happiness and success, but it is our reactions in the face of these events that define us.  Because let's face it, everyone has it tough at some point. Everyone faces sorrow and loss. Everyone makes mistakes. But the important thing is how you choose to react, to take responsibility, to own your mistakes and learn from them. It's how you treat others in the wake of these disasters and tragedies.  So no, I don't have the answers, and I probably never really will. I'm still struggling to be the best person I can be, the best mother and wife.  But I'm OK with that… kind of ;) I'm a work in progress. 

A Walk in the Woods

Yesterday, my husband and son met up with me at the park for a walk just as I was finishing a photo session. It was not the most beautiful of days, classically speaking. It was damp, a light drizzle coming down, and there was a chill in the air.  But the autumn leaves and the quietness of the morning made up for it...oh, and the company :)  Here is what I jotted down in my journal afterwards.

A walk in the woods, amidst the falling leaves and misty rain. A moss covered tree. A splash of yellow, orange, red. A carpet of color, a canopy of fire misted with the tears of heaven. A chill breeze. A cold nose, rose blooming on a pale cheek. Wood grained with age, mossy fingers creeping up its spine, tiny spiders darting to and fro, in and out. Delicate ripples on the water's visage, rain drops polka-dotting the surface, fish gliding silently beneath.  Leaves dancing on the breeze tangled with raindrops in a gentle waltz.  A red-lipped smile escaping from tiny heart-shaped lips, a giggle of excitement drifting upwards toward to the clouds. Fingers intertwined, rough skin caressing smooth...a sigh of regret, a look of hope, a smile of reassurance.

Rebuilding

We all define ourselves in many ways - wife, mother, adventurer, teacher, reader, friend, photographer, daughter, world traveler (I wish), romantic, nerd...the list goes on. As our lives move forward and we venture down various unknown paths, those definitions change.

Although my labels have shifted with time like anyone else's, for most of my life, I would have defined myself as a writer.  But for countless reasons, I have not truly been able to say that for quite some time.  Children, chores, errands, life...have all gotten in the way. Fatigue has robbed me of my desire to pick up a pen or put down my thoughts via the click click click of a keyboard.  It always seems so tedious when I can barely keep my eyes open. Who has time to think...let alone write...and then edit and rewrite? And besides, who cares what I think anyway?

I know some of my former students - the ones who I pushed so hard, graded so mercilessly, bleed red pen for each day just to teach them to write well - would die to hear me admit this.  They're probably letting out a huge "HA! I KNEW it!" right about now.

Well, that may all be true...and then some. Yes, it is tiresome. Yes, it does take time...and work. Time and work I definitely don't have room for in my cluttered and chaotic life. So why? Why in the world would I want to squeeze one more thing into my already overbooked day?  And did I mention, "Who cares what I think anyway?"

Because the truth is... it's not about the people reading it at the other end. It's not at all about the clicks on my page or the recognition. It's not about the pats on the back or the positive feedback. No one really needs to read my writing but myself. The real truth is, I need it to survive.  I need it to be me.

When we give so much of ourselves to those we love, when we put the needs of family, friends, clients, society before our own needs, we often reap massive rewards. But we may also lose pieces of ourselves in the process. And so, to make a long story short (which I almost never do ), I became a teacher, got married, had two children, and started a business. I poured my heart and every ounce of my being into taking care of people, doing a "good job" (which in my mind means nothing short of a "spectacular job")...basically, getting things done. And in turn, I forgot to take care of myself - my heart, my mind, my soul.

Recently, I experienced a crisis of the heart...and soul.  The chasm left behind was vast. And as I struggled to mitigate the pain and fill the void, despite the dirt that still trickles from it each day, I realized that the crack started long ago. It started when I no longer took the time to nourish my soul through reading, writing, and art.

So here I am...trying to start anew. Trying to put back the pieces of a girl I once knew. I'll never be the girl I once was, nor do I want to be. Why would I ever want to give up all that I have learned?  Some people fear getting older; some people hide from it. But though the road has been littered with as many potholes as a Pennsylvania highway, I have only become better because of it.  But I must stop rushing about and take time to nourish my inner self.  If that means giving up some Facebook and Twitter time, then so be it. If that means watching a little less mindless TV at night, would that really be a loss?

I recently dusted off my journal and sat down to sketch.  God, did that feel good. I've never been an artist by any stretch of the imagination, no matter what my 7-year old daughter may say.  But art holds a special power...it calms the waves of my soul. Like writing, it brings me peace. Today, as I diligently sat guard in my 2-year old son's room (just so he'd take a nap), I put pen to paper and cataloged my morning. As the minutes passed, I could feel the tension slip down from my shoulders and out onto the page. Peace. Serenity...if only for a few moments.

There is nothing in the world like the sense of peace that flows through you when you're doing something you're meant to do. Writing is a part of me...and will always be. How could I have forgotten?