You know that moment your new goals are nicely written down in your fancy day planner, you’ve set the plans in motion because that’s what the new year tells you to do and then it all goes out the window on Day #2? Plans are like that in my life. Plan one thing and another happens. Constantly navigating. Can I just applaud myself in saying I’m getting better at deviating from the ideal plan. This is a Type-A-Anonymous confession right here. Plans are nice and comfy for me. Goals are marker points and dreams…well they’re just fun.
And yet my life has seldom gone as expected in about 15 years. Probably the time that I became conscious to the understanding that my life is not my own. That’s another story for another day.
Today is about a crying baby and a journey. Journeying seems to have this detour experience in most people’s lives. I hope I’m not alone in thinking it’s gotta be happening to others’ as well. There is adventure on all of our roads.
The road being life – if the analogy wasn’t meshing for ya.
There is heartbreak on this road. There is joy and newness. There is grace and life. There is loss. There is hope. Sure, all big themes we hear about each day. Life coaches tend to talk a lot about the positives or the push through, but I tend to dig instead of pile these themes.
Let me expand a bit. Each of us has a unique story within our own unique stories. The words I casually threw around above aren;t just words that sound nice tossed on a page, but actual life events that shape, mold and refine our spirits. Sometimes, those experiences break us and then rebuild and strengthen us. The words themselves, all a choices, even if all the experiences we couldn’t control, weren’t.
There are Unchartered pieces of that road you get to navigate for the first time and there are other parts where you know you’ve been down them before and you ponder the reason for the reunion of your footsteps.
January 1st rolled around and it was a decent day, but in the grand scheme of life, if I’m being honest, felt like any other day of the year.
Maybe its the ever present exhaustion that looms until a child turns one. The milestones and cranky-notch turned up just a tad past annoyance to the anxiety level.
Yeah that’s it. That’s why January 1st might not have felt as special as I think we all intend for that day to be.
Yes, I just blamed the baby. It’s okay though…He won’t know until he reads this in 20 years and thinks to himself “I should call my mother and thank her for her months of sleepless nights.” In fact, why doesn’t everyone reading this call their mama and say “Hey thanks!” It will at least make me feel a bit less bitter about being up writing this post in the early morning hours.
While I hit my goal on January 1, 2015 when it came to my reading goals, I knew I’d already fallen short in the writing department. Shucks & darn…then all I could think of was sleep.
By January 2nd, I concluded that day wasn’t going to isn’t going to be so lucky as to evade words getting on a page. Nope. I’ve got it covered!
It’s now 2:34am on January 2nd and I’m wide awake. Typing. Thinking. Writing goal, Day 2, checked off.
Seems as if January 2 @ 2:34am is a great time for baby #2 to have a party in his crib for the past hour. Tempted to turn off the monitor completely, but destined for #momfail, I waited with the volume turned down to its lowest setting, watching and waiting to see when Charlie would calm down. Come on C, settle in I thought in my mind.
Maybe you’re the cry it out kinda mom or the opposite and would never be that mom. I’m a midliner when it comes to this stuff. So 30+ minutes in and C under one years old, I decided I was going in. At this point, I’m was not getting sleep and the longer I laid there, the more my blood pressure rose causing me to wake up from my daze. You know the one parents. The one where if they quiet down you still might be able to knock back out quickly. Please let it be so tonight!
No such luck.
I’m here to say hello new journeyman/woman, friend. Welcome to my life. Thanks for reading this rambled entry. I never thought it’d be my very first, but I figured it was a good starting point. Real and raw and nothing short of a miracle if this somehow makes sense as I publish it this afternoon.
Charlie never did quiet down, so in I went to calm him. The days are long, the years short. I know the one-liners. I get it. It’ll be gone in a blink.
But this road we’re on in the meantime…
…man we make it hard on ourselves sometimes don’t we? While all the above things are true and great reminders at times – don’t get me wrong, this ramble has little to nothing to do about my gratefulness for my kids – lots of times we tell ourselves nice things that seem valiant and brave, yet internally we’re battling just the basics.
A basic: lack of rest.
It’s not about all the other stuff. It’s not about lacking patience or why #momfail is even a thing. Why is that even a thing. We’re all failing, it’s not specific to being a mom or a parent. It’s just because we’re beautifully human and we’re kinda all a mess. Some of us just present a bit better on a given day.
This post is purely about my own beautiful mess of humanness that wants to wave the white flag of surrender some days and say “I just need a minute of rest.”
I’m talking SOUL rest. Awakening to Rest.
It’s different and good; refreshingly calm. It’s the rest above all other kinds and the most elusive of them all because it requires the ability to be open to receive it.
Receiving for me some times looks like typing. It’s how I process the unrest and reconcile it. Seems counterintuitive I know, since I’m losing precious sleep time that earlier I was ravenous for when the party in the crib started.
But no…the SOUL rest is different like I said. For me, writing is part of mine. Do you know what allows your soul to rest? Have you found that thing?
In the beginning hours of these first days, while its all still fresh and new, would you write down a one-word resolution with me?
That’s my word your year; for my year. I believe finding the space is so foreign these days, everything else seems like the tipping point. The final straw when really it’s our own refusal of the rest that has been promised us. That has been mandated for us.
So, in my first post, would you make the space, claim your territory that no one else can have, and say “this is my year/our year/the year for rest?” If we all did that, I wonder how our lives would intersect through health and balance instead of insecurity and weariness.
Pack light friends! This journey demands your participation!