Epiphany

During another inspirational hour at the gym, I pondered a statement from the book I was reading. I swear I am at my best in the fitness studio, listening to my music, sweating and exhaling so much used-up energy. After an hour, I feel like I've reached my inner self and if necessary I could conquer the world.

Endorphins.That should be the title of this post.

So here was this week's epiphany:

We begin our adult life planning to live our ideal. We're going to change the world, or at least the little bit we live in. We're going to share our voice and make ourselves heard. We know that the things we believe in are right and fair and legitimate. We listen to our hearts.

Then we live a little. Work a little. Feel the pressures of life bear down on us; social, cultural, financial expectations become more real than our dreams. And even if we don't intentionally bury those dreams in our subconscious grave (because sometimes we do), we allow them to slip away into the past, and the person who dreamed them as well.

Then we live a little more. Find a mate. Start a family. Now the pressure's really on. At some point we stop and think, "Fuck those dreams. I've got to give everything I am just to keep myself and mine alive." And we keep living. Of course we're changing the world and making our lives incredible just by doing this but we rarely get the chance to recognize that.

Then one day comes when the pressure finally snaps us. We can't get dressed, pack our bag, take that step out of the house to go to work. We can barely breathe. The wall that we built around our heart to keep the dreams in has finally grown so thick that we're smothering ourselves.

So, in the interest of self-preservation, we peek inside to see what we've hidden from ourselves. And we realize that it's ...us. Me. The Real Me. The Me we so wanted to be after we'd absorbed what our parents and professors had thrown at us. The Me we had dismissed so hastily to fit the expectations of those around us. And then to establish the security we felt we needed for our family.

Now it was do or die. Let Me out or give up, let everybody down, outside and inside.

So we build the dream. Out of blood, sweat and tears. And the confidence we've built in 20 or so years of living the life we decided we were supposed to lead. We've gotten to know ourselves over these years and we've heard our heart talking to us again and again, we've recognized the voice, but we've left it buried where it couldn't threaten the status quo we've worked so hard to create.

Fortunately this breakdown seems to come after the immediate needs of our lives have been at least partially relieved. The children are bigger, we've got a job we can do and friends for the rest of the time. Life at home is routine. Probably this is why it happens; we get a chance to breathe and discover all that we've been holding in.

Here's my question: why not break out before the disaster? Why not decide to embrace our dreams before we're so tired that we have to die first and resurrect our new-old selves? What does it really take to live our ideal life? I know we're supposed to be happy with what we have, but part of what we have and what we are is our dreams. They are just as real as reality.

Another beginning

I've started a new blog!

I know what you're thinking - because it's what I'm thinking. "Why would someone who can't keep up with their own blog start another one just as they've become the leader of the local writers group and need to start working as well?!"

I'm hoping the overload will be the motivation to do everything fabulously.

So see you soon here and there!

RC

Let's talk. Yes, let's. *Spoiler alert*

I was thinking the other day - walking alone through the city - that it's not only time without kids that I miss, but time alone, completely alone. The time I used to use to discuss with myself all the shit going on in my life. As embarrassing as it might (or might not) be, I talk to myself. Or at least I used to, before the children came.

So SOME would say I've become more sane.

But no. These, like many other forms of communication, are necessary for sanity and well-being. We all have to talk it out. With someone.

It was weird to hear those voices contemplating the stuff tumbling around in my mind. Strangely, I didn't even realize their absence before they spoke up. They just weren't there - and neither was a part of my problem-solving task force. No wonder I've been so lost! 

This morning, in a 25-minute stint of solitary time while M&A were trying out the day care, I realized that I haven't heard those voices because I start my alone time just enjoying the silence. I don't start any conversations with myself because I'm taking a break from talking altogether. Knowing the screamer who inhabits my body most of the time, it's nice to just hear nothing, for a while.

Then, in the midst of my enjoyment of silence, I was approached by an older man who asked to share a Biblical quote with me. I wanted to tell him as politely as possible to share with someone who cares, but given that I was apparently still on mute, I just let him go for it. He proceeded to tell me of the promise of the meek inheriting the earth and how lovely it would be to be around for the coming changes. The world is not looking good at the moment, but that's alright, the Bible tells us how wonderful things will be in the end and only the meek will be taking advantage of the gifts of god. Or something like that.

Me: Yes, the meek are quite a convenient following for the powers that be. God wants you to follow, not me, no. Do it for god.

Me again: I don't want to disturb this guy's peace. Just nod and smile.

Me: He won't stop. I think I may have to say something.

"Well, I have my own opinions on this," I said.

"And that's fine. At least you have something to think about today," he said. "Have a good day." He smiled and walked away.

And so I did get to think about something other than me and my kids for a little while. Had a little chat with myself and smiled a lot, enjoying the banter that one can only have with someone sharing their brain. Incomplete sentences, disconnected thoughts, discovery of multiple tangents. It all made so much sense. Again.

So next time you find yourself talking to yourself, tell yourself a joke and both of you can laugh and then discuss something that's been weighing heavily on your shoulders and see if, together, you can find a solution. Along the way, appreciate the thoughts you share and the all the ways you can help yourself find the path it's time to take.

That's my plan.

An Utterly Autobiographical Rant About Motherhood and Other Stuff

"I understand how you feel. All of us are overwhelmed sometimes. We are all stressed out sometimes."

YOU DON'T HAVE A FUCKING CLUE HOW I FEEL.

Sometimes I can't breathe. Sometimes I can't move. Sometimes I can't bear the touch of tiny hands on my arm. Or any other hands anywhere else.

Do you know the weight of three small children on your shoulders? 35 kilograms. 77 pounds. It's the weight of a universe. A helpless universe waiting to learn from you how to live. It pushes you into the ground, gravity's innocent helper. Am I grounded? Fucking A. Not that I want to be.

I am begleitet. Accompagné. I am never alone. They haunt me but are not ghosts. They are real. Calling the exorcist will not help.

Personal space? ...huh?... Not a real thing. They hover, they cower, they scrabble, they strangle. They insert and they expect. I don't know how long there will be room for me in this space.

DO YOU FEEL THIS OFTEN? Then maybe we can sit down and talk about it. If not, shut the fuck up and mind your own business.

Seasons of change

Some autumnness for my friend who wishes for it. You can also look back at Falling from last year. It IS a gorgeous time, especially when the sun can shine and make the earthy rainbow glow. 

Birthday cupcakes.

A sea of leaves.

Feathery tree.

Colors and VINO.

VINO.

Colors.

Melon Street.

Misty church.

Misty barn.

Chloé, trees and leaves.

Playing in the leaves.

Don't fuck with my leaf pile!

Gold abounds at the playground.

Leaf half crown. Fail.

Me and my red cup.

Yesterday's casualties of hands-off parenting:

1. couch upholstery after milk was shaken from bottles,

2. bright green comforter cover and pillowcases, orange fitted sheet after early childhood artistic expression involving old peach-hued lipstick inherited from my mother,

3. old peach-hued lipstick (see above),

4. container of chocolate powder,

5. "Leo & Popi" DVD (very annoying kid's show, so this is more of a blessing),

6. bathroom rug after toilet brush was used to clean the toilet, the floor and the walls (I assume, I wasn't there),

7. my sanity.

On the other hand, during the periods between moments of destruction, they:

1. had tea together,

2. did puzzles,

3. looked at books and

4. played cars in the toy garage.

So although the destruction sum is higher than that of peaceful activities, and my sanity is a precious price to pay, I think we've got a good balance here. They've learned how to entertain themselves and that's going to last. Eventually they will also learn NOT to play with the toilet brush, lipstick, chocolate powder and milk. Or at least they'll hopefully learn to clean up their messes before I find them.

Out of order

I love public transportation. I love that somebody moves me greater distances so that I can walk the shorter ones. I don't have to drive, sit in traffic, or find a parking space. I get to be outside, get some fresh air. Nobody is strapped in a car seat and Aidyn gets to ogle the other trains, tracks and cars passing by. It's a gaggle of fun for everyone.

Sometimes, though, a piece of the transportation system breaks down. This could be a strike. Very annoying but at least you can know beforehand not to venture out to the train or bus station because...there are no trains or busses running!

Or, your home train station could be renovating ALL the elevators between the end of August and the end of October. With a sign saying that for our convenience, we can use the handicapped-friendly and (presumably) elevator-functioning train station in Ludwigsburg. Which we get to with the...train. Huh? Or, more precisely, What The Fuck?

What made it worse the other day was that a completely different station had elevators on the fritz. The first one, going from the street level to mid-level, had the white-bar-on-a-red-background "out of order" sign but the elevator came and the doors opened and closed so we took it. Mid-level to train, on the other hand, also had the sign, but there was neither door opening nor movement. Good, I thought. Children are awake, we walk down. But then Aidyn wanted to take the up escalator, sending Chloé into near hysterics. Then I had to calm Chloé, lure Aidyn to the stairs, catch up with Mia speeding down the stairs and navigate said stairs with an empty (of children, at least) double stroller.

Finally, in Deutsche Bahn's Best Move Yet (fortunately not on the same day), as we (aforementioned three children and I ) were entering the train, the conductor decided to close the doors while I was half in the train and my son was COMPLETELY NOT IN the train but standing on the platform between two doors. Heaving of doors, yanking of small boy, two crying little girls and one incoherent scream in English later, everyone was in the train and by the time we'd reached our destination three stops later, I had forgotten to go yell at the driver. Of course I was also maneuvering the entourage toward and then down the stairs since the elevator was not working...

So perhaps the lesson here is not to trust public transportation. Or no one cares about kids? Or elevators are for wimps? Or just shit happens.