If The Slipper Fits....

Last time I wrote I was an April Fool. Time seems to be racing by and yet, paradoxically, I've slowed my life down to the bear essentials. I am lucky to be at a place on the river, where I can stop whenever I want to.  I don't need to live my life as though I'm shooting the rapids. I no longer rush from one thing to another to accomplish all that I set out for myself. I work for myself on my own schedule. Stephen has always cultivated this talent. And my Dad was self employed as well. I am beginning to appreciate the gift of not working for someone else's agenda. But it hasn't come easy. Getting a job, following a schedule, being a particular way for the sake of professional personna...I did that. I worked hard to be responsible, dependable, focused, goal-oriented, pleasant and to do it on the clock, whether or not I slept the night before. My challenge was to schedule my life so that I had time for my husband, my kids, my home, and eventually for my own passions...like birding, writing, making art, cooking. It was impossible to do what I planned for myself in 24 hours. Now...at 59, things have changed. Now I have the freedom to schedule my own agenda and the ability to live my life honoring my own priorities. Even when I had a child, which was the only other time in my life that I was not working out in the world... the schedule of my days was focused on the eating and sleeping schedule of my children. I have become a master of adapting the choices of the people I love. It is a strength but like all great human qualities, that strength can become a weakness or a fault.

When Stephen had his bypass surgery and for the 12 months following, I prioritized him. I centered the choices of my day around him and what he seemed to need...for company, for food, for space, for entertainment. I found myself regulating my life to his. I'm sure I did that when we first fell in love and I know I readjusted when the children came. Now I find myself doing the same thing for my Mom and sister...putting down my schedule and plans to go accomodate theirs.Part of me feels lucky to be able to do what I'm doing. Part of me feels confused. How is that Stephen doesn't do the same for me? He does his process no matter what is going on for me. He doesn't put aside his games to spend time with me. He doesn't come rushing home just because I'm coming back from a few days in Salem. He knows he'll see me plenty and get all the scoop eventually. My mother never put her process aside to come to my assistance either. She always made it clear that she was not going to babysit because she had been there, done that having had 5 children. I just came home from my long weekend in Mass. to hang with my mom and to give my sister some respite. The whole time I'm there, I'm aware of suspending my own routine. I don't do my usual writing, excersise...getting outdoors. I even drink real coffee at Moms, when here at home, I don't drink it any more. Then, when I get home...the overstimulation of being in an urban environment, settling in to my mother's eating/drinking/toileting routine, driving the highway, being surrounded by the Mass. Pace...a palpable frenetic energy that stands out in stark contrast to my quiet  rural home in Maine where I can go days without seeing anyone but Stephen.

Is it really any wonder why I come home burdened with irritability, and the feeling that I give too much for love and leave myself bankrupt...wondering why I don't have a person in my life who loves me the way I love. Then it dawns on me. Gee. Maybe my idea of love is unrealistic. Maybe I'm the only one who can love me the way I love my family. Maybe they can only love me their way...and isn't that really just enough? The city is like my left brain...all scheduled, organized but overbooked. Too many people and details buzzing around my brain...too many people to see for the time I spend. Then I get home to my open space, open schedule, quiet home. The chatter and buzz is still going in my nervous system even though the grass is growing slow, and the birds are courting and building their nests. I am back in my right brain, where I feel peace and serenity but I have carried with me into the green meadows...a trail of garbage thinking. I need to remember that when I come home, before poor Stephen feels my brittle irritating quills and the itch of my anger...I need to get me to the woods...to take of my city slicker and put on my wild, sweet Lady's slipper. The wild breath of trees will refresh my inner peace. Then...share it again.