I think I’m hitting a mini-life crisis. Maybe this is just a warm up for the mythical mid-life one, but my mind has been in a whirl the past few days and I don’t think anything can settle it except for a lot of thinking, reading, quiet time, sleeping (that one might be a pipe dream), and talking. Currently, the only one of those that I do a lot of is thinking, and it’s typically of the what-am-I-going-to-eat-next-what-do-I-have-to-do-next-I’m-so-overworked variety. So yeah, I have some work to do.
What brought it on? Well, I’m still trying to fully transition to life back in our hometown. Maybe that’s my first problem. How can I expect to fully transition back to a life that I’ve never had before? Sure, my hometown and I have a long history, and of course Z, ‘Rad, and I have grown to know and become pretty fond of each other, but those two things never spent much time together before the end of last August. Yet here I am, expecting one day to wake up with a life like the one I used to have, aspects of which are one of the reasons that we moved back home in the first place. I am a poster child for hindsight being 20/20. I don’t regret out move back to Michigan, but I was so farsighted in our Madison life. I don’t think yearly check-ups are enough for my distorted vision. Bottom line: I need to stop looking for a life that is parked in time back in a state full of Green Bay Packer fans. The latter should be enough for me to let go of that life willingly.
This book has also made me think. A lot. I have never been an “instincts” or “listen to your heart” type of person. I wasn’t raised that way. A heart was important as part of the human anatomy, but as far as organs to play Simon Says with, the brain was it. The brain has been in for over 30 years. Education and doing well in school were and still are two of the most important things to me. In the few times that I’ve tried to “go with my gut,” I’ve felt uncertain and skeptical, like any advice offered from that romanticized viscera was as trustworthy and arbitrary as that found in a cootie catcher. Up until this point, I knew my heart beated but highly questioned it’s directional capabilities. I’m starting to think I’m wrong. I want Connor to use his mind to the best of his abilities, sure, but I don’t want his heart to be neglected. I don’t doubt that I’m loved, but my heart has been suffocating for years under my own misdirection. His needs to breath – take big, full breaths that will feed his mind and soul for his whole life. No part of him should hide or suffocate. Every part of him is beautiful and needs to be nourished and honored. How can I expect to nourish his heart and soul when my myopic heart has been sitting on the steps, mourning the loss of its crushed bifocals for so long?
This will not be an easy transition. I’m not even sure where to start. I’m pretty sure my brain has a voice modulator on my heart to disguise it as something untrustworthy or something to listen to skeptically at best. I guess I’ll just try to listen closely. I’ll start with the quiet time.