"I don't have time," I say too often...to my dogs when they beg for a walk, to my daughter when she wants to play or when she wants pancakes for breakfast, to my husband when he wants to watch a movie, to my friends when they want to get together, to myself when I want to write, to sit for a moment, to just breathe.
Of course I don't have time. As a mother, a full-time writing instructor, a part-time Zumba instructor, and a writer,every moment is accounted for. Twice. In fact, I have come to experience a sort of dread whenever I sit still. I know if I stop to sit down for too long, enjoy too many long warm sips of my morning coffee, stay too long on the phone with a friend, stay those extra few moments in the shower, something won't get down. I'll be late to something. I'll miss something. I won't get it all done. And the things on my list are nothing easily brushed off. There are things like making it to class to teach on time, pumping my breasts for my youngest daughter's milk, getting my five-year old to school on time, paying all of the household bills, completing an online training for work, getting my daughter to dance class, to a doctor appointment, meal planning, grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, bathing my children, doing their laundry, packing lunches, helping with homework, reading bedtime stories, feeding dogs, cleaning a yard-full of dog droppings, taking dogs for walks, checking mail, calling to argue with insurance companies, and somehow showering.
Don't get me wrong. I don't think I've ever, no matter how much I've tried, got "it all" done. Ever. But I'm constantly inside of it, somewhere wrapped up in getting something done and trying to start on the next item. And if, at the end of a day, I have not forgotten to show up at work, left my children at school or daycare, AND managed to bathe myself, I consider that a small miracle.
But in the rat race, I too often lose out on the items I love most---my most favorite activities, the things that bring me the most joy. This is because I save those things for last. This is how I'm different from my husband who schedules fun and relaxation first. My priorities are the chores, the bills, the grunt work. Of course, there is some logic to this as if I don't make lunches or pay bills or clean up dog droppings or make it to class on time, serious consequences may result. On the other hand, the consequence of ignoring the book I've been reading for four months, my memoir, my friends are potentially as harmful--sadness, anxiety, stress, a loss of motivation.
Lately I have found myself rebelling against the list, and the result is, well, a burgeoning flame of contentment. For instance, two weeks ago, my older daughter was visiting for the weekend. I so rarely get to enjoy her that when she comes, I am overcome with excitement. On Saturday morning, I woke up, ran into the kitchen, and began whipping up pancakes. When my girls woke up, I served up the pancakes fresh with juice, and I sat at the table sipping my coffee, watching them eat. Normally, breakfast in my house is rushed, frantic, cold, and bland. But while I watched my girls enjoy a warm breakfast I had found the time to cook, I felt so relaxed, so satisfied, that I completely forgot about my five-year old's basketball practice that we had already missed. Whoops.
Still, I felt...at ease. I felt...good.
The next day, my girls and I sat down with my husband, and we all played "skat," a family-favorite card game that my five-year old is just now learning. For nearly three hours, we sat lazily around our dining room table, even my seven-month old enjoying the circle of familiar faces, the laughter, the occasional shriek from one of her sisters, the sound of shuffling cards and coins dropping in a bowl. When it was all over, I hadn't cleaned the upstairs bathroom. I hadn't finished my syllabi for the Spring semester. I hadn't folded the laundry or finished the last two loads. I had not been to the grocery store, and we were all hungry without any idea what we'd eat for dinner.
Still, I felt alright. In fact, I felt good.
Right now, I'm sitting down to my desk with my coffee. And although it's cold, I'm devoted to it. I'll drink it until it's gone even though I should be finishing the grocery list, throwing in another load of laundry, working on my online training, cleaning the upstairs bathroom, and planning for next week's classes. Still, I'll stay here in front the computer now even though there isn't time for it. I'll do it because even if the rest of the list were done, my time would not forge itself for me. Joy would not lay itself out before me. More chores and requests and responsibilities would find me, and if I looked hard enough, I'd find them. Instead I choose this right now---cold coffee and my fingers on a keyboard, my Pandora station playing in the background. I might regret it later. Hell, I might fail to get a workout in today, or maybe I'll have to rush frantically to make it to the grocery store where I'll surely forget something and have to return in two days anyway. But somehow this moment, this attention to contentment, will make the frantic trip to the grocery store a little easier. I'll be better for this time out of the rat race, for the selfish time, the "me time."
Granted, there has to be a balance between responsibility and moments of pure enjoyment. And I'm sure I haven't found that perfect equilibrium yet. But the line between list and self begins to blur when our own needs are met. After a chapter of the memoir I'm reading or game of family "skat" or an hour with my blog, I can almost enjoy the cleaning of a bathroom or the load of clothes I have to wash and fold.
Almost.
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