Sometimes I feel guilty and indulgent when I take good care of myself. I am cringing at the computer screen as I type that. But then I reread it and, it is true.
Monday is my one day of the week without my kids. On Mondays, I have towering lists of things to do. I don’t ever take time to eat a meal. I work. I gnaw on a hunk of cheese as I pass through the kitchen. I nibble on an apple while emailing. I often have my first sip of water when I chug 16 ounces in one minute at 2pm. It isn’t healthy. I want to change. Yesterday, inspired by my friend’s words, I made myself lunch. I tossed lettuce, egg, sunflower seeds and pear in a bowl and sat to eat. The entire experience was a surprisingly hard, focused exercise in being present with my damn salad. On Mondays, I am used to taking bites in between and around work. I felt uncomfortable sitting and eating by myself without accomplishing something else. I made myself not look at my phone. I meditated on my water glass.
After my extravagant salad experience, I returned to my studio. I felt bad. I felt irresponsible. I was annoyed with my feelings. It was 2:30 and I had to leave to get my kids in five minutes. I was in the middle of a sewing order that I needed about 10 minutes to complete. I shouldn’t have taken that time for lunch. I should have finished this. I should have waited to eat with my kids who will want a snack. Now I have to work with my kids and they deserve my undivided attention. But, more to the point, if I had worked more efficiently I would have had time for all of this. I would have also had time for a run.
And that second-to-last sentence is at the heart of what I am feeling right now. I feel like I am not working hard. I don’t want to feel that way. I think it is unfair. I don’t think it is true. I have, on several occasions this month, fallen asleep with my kids and slept through the night. This is new for me. For many years, I’ve lived well on little sleep. I miss those late night hours, every night; those hours were precious. I counted on them. I feel indulgent and wasteful when I sleep for nine hours. And a little lame, to be truthful. And even lamer for feeling lame about getting more than five hours of sleep.
In the last few weeks, I have had moments of feeling incredibly overwhelmed. I don’t get overwhelmed all that often. I tend to thrive in the cool-as-a-cucumber state. It’s ambient; the overwhelmed feeling doesn’t have an obvious source. I am encouraged because I think I am nearing a discovery. I am trying out a few different tunes, in search of harmony. Right now, this tune — the one where I criticize myself in the moments I lack inspiration — it sucks. It’s way off key.
We spent last weekend doing a deep clean on our house. It took all day. Six loads of laundry, recycling, bathroom, sweep and mop, the works. As we readied for our date that night I grinned and remarked how awesome our house felt. “Why can’t we keep up on this when it feels so much better this way?” I asked. Andy shrugged and said he didn’t mind our approach. He said we pick the things we want to do and eventually get to the housework, when that’s what we want to do. He had recently listened to a podcast where an economist evaluated different household’s approaches to cleaning. The economist discovered that the people who didn’t do much and then did it all at once were far more efficient (time-wise) as those who did a little every day.
I think there are a variety of ways one can define success and time efficiency when cleaning toilets might be on one person’s list and not on another’s. But I think Andy’s words are universally applicable: we pick the things we want to do and eventually get to the {fill in the blank}, when that’s what we want to do. This came up again today on a hike with a friend when she said she is so much more productive and happy when she is inspired. That she plans to live her life with the confidence to always do what she’s inspired to do, knowing that it is the right choice, simply because it is her inspiration.
I turn 35 on Friday. In this year, I seek grace.
This I know: I am solidly, happily present when with my friends and family, when on a run or in my garden; I am in the vortex when I am doing, creating, moving, caring.
This I want: I strive to be solidly, happily present — when I am alone and idle — with grace. I want to hydrate, work, eat salad and give into being tired, with grace. I want to trust myself, give myself the empathy I give others. I want to be, always, with grace.
