I haven’t written yet this week and I am feeling it. (Please mind, soul, heart: let go again of all the desire to be as-good-as, to be better-than, to be famous). This is just for me, for you: my heart, my soul.
I am thinking that it is a bit crazy-feeling how each day is so full of so many different faces, words, tasks, feelings, lists, turning points, decisions…and unfinished sentences. It feels overwhelming, a little bit. I feel scattered and lost in the middle of all of that. Where am I, where is the real me, when, within the space of so many moments, I am wife, friend, employee, acquaintance, customer, granddaughter, sister, random stranger? Are the words I speak issuing from my heart or from my head or from my pent-up motives of love, duty, gentleness, resentment, shame, anxiety? It is odd, embarrassing, but perhaps predictably human, that in the middle of all of this, the reverberating question is: Do I matter? Am I important among all these other lives and words and ideas?
I am thinking that it is a bit crazy-feeling how productivity looks and feels so different every day, yet my definition of productivity seems relatively static. What does it mean to be productive, just to do many things? I have done many things today, a large pile of scrappy papers sorted, bank deposits made, groceries acquired, orders picked up, plans made, lunch eaten. But the kitchen is still (again) a humiliating room of fruit flies and spills-on-counters and dishes-in-sink and I still have homework to do. Always more of that. So productivity is just a clean kitchen? If I hadn’t done all those other things, but had cleaned the kitchen, would that feel more productive? When will I learn to extend to myself the grace to be a bit messy, a bit disorganized, a bit unproductive? When will I extend to myself the grace to be human?
I am thinking about how distant my soul-life seems from the real life sometimes. It might feel like that today because I haven’t written in a while. Writing is a way for me to link inside and outside, soul and world. I think when I write, my soul is validated, feelings are expressed with respect. But I don’t want to be too inwardly focused. Oh the constant quest for balance.
I am thinking about how future-bent I can be. I know our lives will change next year, probably in January or February. I know what many of the options are. I think I have co-created, in conjunction with my husband and the Navy, 7 (or 6 or 9 or 12) different options, scenarios, for next year. Yet today is not the day to know the future. Again they advise us to wait, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week. My head screams I just want to know! But am I brave in the face of uncertainty? Patient too, perhaps? I wrote I know our lives will change next year… but isn’t the truth that our lives will change tomorrow, and the next day, and the next in little and big ways? I cannot cope with these small and constant changes when I am always scattered to the four winds, throwing my weight and passion into the faraway future.
Oh Jesus. Gather me together. Let me be all here, all now.