What in the world has happened? The last year and a half has flown by. And I don’t mean flown by in the pithy, nostalgic, “Gosh, where has the time gone?” kind of flown by. I mean it in the, “I’m reasonably certain everything is still intact, but I haven’t really had the time or attention span to check for certain. Anyway I don’t think anything super important fell off, so that’s a plus.”
If I’m being truthful, time lately has been marked by racing and by appointment calendars and by addictions to social media and by oh so many transitions. I wonder to myself, “How long can a person remain in a state of continual transition before that transition begins to feel quite normal? What does normal even feel like?” I get it, transition is life. But this . . . it’s been a lot.
Little Lyric came back into my life in January of 2015. A lifetime ago now, it seems. Many months were marked by uncertainty and nausea-inducing roller coaster rides of abrupt change and sharp hairpin turns from one plan to the next, then crossing back again to where we began. From an outsider’s perspective, I think we all kept it together pretty well, but inside our family has all been reeling, wondering when the ride would stop. Then, fearing the consequences of the ride itself stopping and what that would mean for Lyric and for our family, we would at the same time hope it wouldn’t stop any time soon. A dichotomy of emotions. Finally we are heading towards the end of the ride, toward resolution, and it really is better than we could have imagined. That’s some good news.
During the roller coaster ride, my daughter Emily graduated high school. She set out to college just a few weeks ago. I cried, and I still find myself exceptionally crabby sometimes at the dumbest little things and then think, “Wait . . . this is about grieving a little, this is about some sadness. This isn’t about whatever little annoyance is in front of you, not one tiny bit.” And then I let myself dwell in the space of the sadness for a moment, and then I think of how she’s flying and that’s great, right? and then I try not to be melodramatic and just move on (for now.)
My oldest, Randi, has begun student teaching in an actual classroom with real live stinky, attitude-y, amazing high school kids. She’s loving it. She’s worked so hard for years to get to this point and to see her finally in this space, a young woman, a teacher, has me proud and yet a little rattled. How can this be? No, seriously how can this BE? My little dude Brandon turned 13 in the middle of it all a few weeks ago, and he’s settling into teenage years of headphones and feigned apathy and grunts where his words used to be, just right about on schedule.
In the last 18 months there have been businesses grown, a new business launched, a book published, speaking events both large and intimate, and of course, the monumental transitions of multiple children, as I was just talking about. In the middle of it all, here I stand, head spinning and dizzy from the ride. I am grateful for the journey and humbled I’ve been chosen to live it, but I am not happy. There, I said it out loud. I’ve said it to my inner circle tribe. . . they know where I’m at, but now you know, too.
I’m grateful, but I’m not happy. I am dizzy and I’m sick and I need to slow down, but I don’t know exactly how to get there. I also want desperately to prove to you that I can do it all, EVERYTHING without any problem and with full grace, so the one I fight hardest against when it comes to slowing down . . . is me.
I haven’t written here in so long. When I’m out of balance and out of margin, the first thing to go is my writing. Cut that crap out, sister, you don’t need to fill your time with that silliness. Like, chop it with a machete. There’s no in between, it’s all or nothing here. Sweet Brown would say, “Ain’t nobody got time fo’ dat!”
The efficient, get-things-done side of my brain calls for to-do lists and accomplishments, and calls my writing mere silliness. But that “silliness” is my lifeline. That silliness is my hope in this world. It’s my breath, my sanity. And for a long period of time here, I’ve lost it.
Yes it’s cliche, but I’ve spent a whole lot of time doing, and not nearly enough time being. I need to BE. I need to be STILL and to write about that stillness and what I find within the space created there.
Typically when I get to this crossroads, (oh yes, I’ve been here before, this ain’t my first rodeo) I walk around in circles for a while, trying to puzzle it all out. Think, think, think, think. I though I knew where I was going, but I can’t seem to recall it now. I thought I knew what was important, but now I’m questioning it all. I’m walking in circles these days. I’m trying to puzzle it out. I’m trying to slow down my walk and slow down my breath, even if I’m not going anywhere. In fact, I hope I don’t go anywhere for a while. That’s not what this journey is about.
Would you take my hand? Will you walk around in circles with me? I’m searching to find me again. Will you hold my hand and be with me while I try to find her?