A Wish

Today, I woke up at 11 a.m. and spent much of the day in sublime lethargy.  Yes, it is nice to be in charge of my own time.  However, I miss having a set schedule dictating my meaningful moves.  I had friends, and a mother, who warned me (lovingly) that this would happen if I quit my teaching job.  I knew it, too, but I welcomed it, because I was a hamster in a wheel, running out of breath, and I saw that my chance to jump from the spinning madness was now or never.  With eyes wide open, and a big, soft pile of spousal support to land on, I leapt, and I haven't looked back.

I've been feeling a little antsy, though--like I am supposed to be doing more than writing a blog (which is good writing practice, and so much fun I could let out a little squeal of jubilation right now if my husband weren't two feet away from me), and finishing my memoir, and finishing a poetry manuscript.  I've come to terms with the fact that I "deserve to take time off" and I "should just enjoy it," but I can't help feeling a bit...strange in my new wings.  I guess I should feel more like a butterfly than I actually do.  Maybe I could effect some change by actually getting dressed every day.  I'm not cut out for the reclusive habits relished by most writers; at the same time, if I don't have a "good" reason to leave the house, I become a comfortable little hermit, and it's only after darkness falls that I feel the disgust and remorse of my couch potato ways.

A big day for me is making it to the grocery store.  And if I'm already out, I can probably manage a trip to Target or the dry cleaner's. Some of my friends have assured me that this is temporary and I'm still recuperating from the hectic, crazy, frenetic habits of my former self.  Perhaps.  Others tell me, "See?  That's why you need a job!"  Maybe so, wise ones.  Maybe so.  I've had a hard time seeing writing as my "job" because 1) I'm making absolutely squat, and 2) there's nobody holding me accountable but myself.  The result isn't that nothing ever gets done; the result is that things get done at a caterpillar's pace.  So I'm not quite a butterfly at all.  It would do me some good to work on my progressive metamorphosis, lest I actually transform into a caterpillar (a la Kafka!), soft-bodied, furry, and foul-smelling.

To fight the lethargy, I convinced my husband to take a walk with me.  It was nice to have some time together that consisted of more than eating a meal in front of the television.  Don't get me wrong!  I love me some good, old-fashioned mindless boob tube, but I hate the thought of my husband and I growing old, achy, and ill together.  We walked to a little park that's about a half a mile away from our house, and we played Smashball.  Remember that summer paddle game where the objective is to hit the little blue ball back and forth to your partner without letting it hit the ground?  It's a beach favorite, for sure, but we had fun smashing the ball back and forth to each other, hitting it too far, missing it with the paddle when we thought for sure we'd had it, running for the ball and still missing it because we are S-L-O-W.

Even more important than playing the game was rediscovering fun together.  I've been enjoying some time off work, but my husband's schedule has picked up quite a bit, and he's just plain exhausted when he gets home from work.  Often, he is unable to unwind, and he's strung up so tightly you could pluck him like a guitar.  As a result, our quality time together suffers.  But today we captured some of that childish playtime that's been so hard to come by.

We live in a paradoxical world.  Technology allows us to multi-task more than ever, and we are expected to do more, buy more, and be more.  At the same time, we are bombarded by messages that scream about balance and how to be healthy.  Work demands that we spend hours upon hours producing and performing.  To raise a happy family, we need to juggle a million things.  Where do we draw the line?  How much is enough?  I have heard of so many people whose lives exhaust them.  It's not that they don't love their children or their jobs, but is it really necessary to keep grinding away when every day a little bit more of the self falls away, too?  Is it really possible in our society to slow down, struggle less, and breathe a little more?

Niels Bohr, Danish physicist and Nobel Prize winner, acknowledged, "How wonderful that we have met with a paradox.  Now we have some hope of making progress."  Maybe the better life is the simpler life.  For you, that may mean phones are not invited to Sunday family dinners.  For others, it may mean one stays at home while the other works.  Progress demands a discussion. 

As I continue to think about my role in society--as writer, teacher, wife, other--I hope I will be able to strike a healthy balance between madness and the mundane.  I hope I can help my husband--my wonderful, supportive, loving husband--do the same.