Is This What Contentment Tastes Like?
Because I enjoy it. A lot.
The other day, after picking my son up from school I shared with him my good news:
“I wrote for 3 hours today buddy! Isn’t that great?!?”
As a kid who enjoys receiving a story but doesn’t have (current) desire at shaping them, and as someone who balks at any typewriter based activity, he looked at me skeptically.
“Yeah. That’s… great,” he says with all the ten year old encouragement he can muster for this elderly woman who clearly doesn’t know the definition of a good time.
I thought about telling him of my weekly writing goal which was inspired by the hours he was wracking up on on his (no typewriter required ) video game “time budget”.
I thought about telling him of the algorithm and how it rewards consistency and constantly producing new content.
And I thought about telling him how important is is for potential employers and readers to see see a multitude of work: a catalog packed with goodness instead of the occasional sporadic newsletter.
But instead I told him this:
I’ve wanted to write for years.
I’ve made plans in calendars and nurtured small dreams. I’ve spoke about it and joined groups about it and consumed books and podcasts and movies about it.
There was a time in my late twenties that I actually did it for a while: Grad papers yes but also how-to tutorials of my culinary mishaps and my sideways attempts at crafty creations.
But motherhood, not him, but the attention, energy, and expectations around him shifted my writing life significantly. Always the same doubt/ fear combination. An energetic combination that was very similar to what prevented me from looking away from him while he was at the water: It didn’t matter that the had a life jacket on or that he knew how to swim. My job is and has been to take care of him.
It was only with experiencing his maturation over the last few months (coupled with… you know… less lingering trauma of the pandemic of 2020) that I have been able to release my tight grip on my job as a mother to truly allow myself the space and time and energy and structure that I needed to write.
This past six months is the first time I’ve consistently done it in a long form way that is meaningful to me since he’s been born.
“I’m excited because I’ve worked really hard to hit a goal.” I say to him. “And meaningful accomplishments are worth celebrating.”
“Agreed… Does that mean we can go get ice cream?”
I write this for several reasons:
Goals, even those delayed, are achievable. At the expense of sounding like a motivational poster, don’t give up.
Or actually, depending on your season, do give up because you’re likely exhausted, and nothing good happens while you have zero energy.
But also- don’t be afraid to start again.Mothers, and to a lesser extent, parents: I see you. It’s a lot.
Add to that the reality that some of us are sewn up in ways that make it hard/ impossible for us to turn our hyper-vigilance “off,” and anything “extra” is too much.
Keeping tiny humans alive is a lot of work. Give yourself grace and credit.Everything is seasonal.
That last one is my main takeaway for today. Just like my son being in school and my being comfortable with my “real job,” for the first time in a long time plays into my ability to write, so does summer break. To ignore that reality would be akin to a teenager continuing to wear her favorite pink anime hoodie in the humidity of a south Arkansas summer.
“But I like it! And it’s comfortable,” she moans.
“Of course you do, darling,” her mother replies, “But you smell.”Just like our fictional (and very sweaty) character, comfort and enjoyment are perfectly acceptable qualities but that doesn’t mean it should be the only thing that guides one’s decisions.
Being able to follow through on some longterm writing goals has been incredible. Not just because it’s nice to reach a goal/ have ice cream but because I find deep contentment in writing and reading and writing about what I’m reading and living in this endless circle of words.
I’m throughly enjoying myself,
AND
I need to be aware of the season.
For the next three months, I’m going on summer break.
I’ll be publishing here once a month. Hopefully, that means that I will have a lot of time spent in my personal journals as well as on the draft of my novel. But it also means that I give myself the time and space and energy to pursue other writing and reading tangential things that I have wanted to pursue for a while as well.
It’s taken me 40 years, but I’m finally coming to the realization that I am a human being with finite resources. As silly as that sounds, that realization has been essential in both achieving goals and also pressing pause on them. It’s not our job to wring as much out of our days as possible, but it’s nice to realize that we can enjoy what we do have.
Thank you, as always, for spending some of your precious time with me today.