The Finish Line

My head is pounding.  I am exhausted.  My husband is a shell of a man from being virtually a single Mr. Mom for the past two weeks.  But wait.  What is this I see?  Can it be?  Is it true?

IT'S THE FINISH LINE!

I completed the big proposal thingy I was working on.  The late nights, the unending research, is over!

Now what?  Time for a little introspection.

There was a time in my life when I operated at this tempo every day.  When every moment of every minute had a purpose.  If I wasn't going here, I was coming from there.  Picking up and dropping off -with work sandwiched in between.  So many of my earlier videos of my first born include shots of an exhausted me, late in the night, still in my work clothes.  My life was squeezed out in droplets like the wringing of a sponge.  How did I ever do it?

I didn't really.  I didn't with any sense of purpose or connection.  I just did.  I just did a lot.

I still do a lot.  A lot less.  Does it mean I am lazier? Some days.  Less focused or productive? Sometimes.  Less good or whole or validated? Never.

There is an aspect to my temperament that is never quite satisfied.  I am always looking for the new challenge.  The new thing.  Perhaps that's one reason why mothering fascinates me.  Everyday and in every way it's a challenge and new.

Once the choleric dissatisfaction formed an alliance with my self image and voted my peace right off the island!  My identity was wrapped up in what I could do and how much of it I did.  I was constantly standing with my back against the wall, straining on tip toes to reach that line of 'achievement' always seemingly out of reach.

Now I have made peace with the dissatisfaction and given it a little condo next to my ambition.  They are in the 'burbs of my identity now.  Instead I am learning how to squeeze sloppy hugs from little sticky fellas in between management capability narratives.  I examine 'hurted' backs and make recommendations on heating pads to six year olds while figuring how to express a national learning institute in 25 pages or less.

I still am striving towards the finish line.  I've just purposed not to run myself into the ground to get there.  I won't crawl over.  I'll walk.  In my own sweet time.  In my own sweet way.


Free Counter