My Bad

Sorry, guys. I don’t have time for this right now. I try to post every two weeks, but I just can’t do it this time around. 

I got back from Indiana and fell into the busiest summer work weeks I’ve ever had. My work to-do list is stupidly long. I’m starting to fear I will never actually catch up. So I’m sorry to not have a post for you. 

I mean, summer is supposed to be a time of rest, but instead, I scheduled lots of stuff to keep everyone occupied, which means I’m managing the schedule, practically another full time job, and it feels overwhelming. I did it to myself. I did it to our family, really. So I just need to let posting go for this round. I have too much on my plate. 

Alright, bear with me for a second. Recently, I saw the sunrise. The light blasted through the kitchen window, passing through unintentional prisms and throwing rainbows all over the countertops, and this idea occurred to me. When we seek out the sun in the morning, we wait for the sun to rise and meet us. It is the sun that we expect to move above the horizon. When we seek it in the afternoon, we wait for the clouds to move past the sun, forgetting our sunrise perspective, forgetting that the sun is also moving because the clouds are moving faster. And then, of course, it’s actually the earth moving, so our original perspective was flawed from the start. 

The busy-ness starts to feel like the point after a while. Staying busy. Staying in routine. I don’t want to be busy for the sake of a full calendar. I don’t want to forget the earth is moving because the clouds are blowing past faster. Time will move us forward, busy or not. 

But I need to respect the schedule, and I don’t think I have the time to write something worthwhile. Sometimes, I need to accept that there’s not enough time in the day/week/month to do everything I want to do. The schedule allows for little leeway, and sacrifices must be made, you know? Sometimes you give up the things you love in order to keep the schedule, to keep everyone happy. And if everyone else is happy, then I’m happy, right? Isn’t that what the packed schedule is about in the first place?

There’s no time for this post or sunrise analogies or silliness before bed or play. There’s no time for “Hey, Mom! Come see this!” No time for connection or softness. No time for stillness. 

And this is how burn-out creeps in. 

I do honestly feel like there aren’t enough hours in a week. I look at the garden and the laundry and the clutter everywhere in the house and feel a sense of overwhelm so strong that all I can do is sit and stare. 

The balance of activities versus down time is something I’ve thought about a lot but don’t know how to achieve. I want my boys to be able to play sports and play instruments, both of which involve practice and game/performance commitments. I want them to do camps and have cool experiences that weren’t available when I was a kid. I want them to have veg-out downtime. I want them to be able to ring a friend’s doorbell and ask them to play. I also want to take them on trips and vacations and see the world. And all of that is just the kids’ stuff. I haven’t even delved into how on earth I’m supposed to have friends and hobbies and dedicated family togetherness. 

I get a little caught up in these small decisions of how to spend my time because in the end - think of that earth/sunrise perspective - how we choose to spend our time, moment built on moment, is how we spend our life. Do not now think about how much time you spent looking at your phone yesterday. Just put that out of your head. 

A cheat code to living a meaningful life is working at a job you find meaningful. That was the bill we were sold, right? Love your work and you’ll never work a day in your life? I think there are a few people who pull that off, but our entire generation was told this was possible. Obviously, it isn’t. I, for one, do not think I was born to sit in my freezing cold basement and futz around with data for seven hours a day. Thirty-five hours a week, week piling on week, until suddenly five years went by, and I’m not a coach anymore. That piece of my identity has retreated to the past in my story. 

Ok, so the job isn’t necessarily the only avenue for meaning. Raising children is extremely meaningful and rewarding. And then I try to carve up the remaining hours into shapes that satisfy and fulfill. I don’t always get it right, but I try. I write. I read. I see friends. I attempt other hobbies occasionally.

I know some people might think I’m overthinking this. Well, first of all, yes. Maybe you’ve met me. But secondly, this is a reaction to my initial approach, which was to let life happen to me. I didn’t make decisions. I reacted to the decisions of others. I didn’t appreciate how much control I had over my own time and how little control I had over everything else. Not total control, to be sure, but some. I can choose how to spend my time, where to place my attention, and little by little, my life will be built.

But anyway. Sorry again for not having the time to write this time. I’ll schedule in more writing time soon, add it to the list of to-dos.