The air is still tonight. I fix my eyes on the branches overlooking the water, trying to anticipate the movement, but I can see nothing. The barest ripple is there, but it is elusive and fleeting.
At least something on this earth is still tonight. My heart is not. Can not. Will not. I don’t know why I can’t seem to be content today, but I can’t. It’s a day where the small voices tell me “not enough.”
Not good enough. Not talented enough. Not patient enough.
Just not enough.
There are days I long for the days of childhood, when I was simply unaware of what the world held. I could be anything. I could do anything. I had promise. Talent. People spent their time telling you all that you could be when you grow up, but those days no longer exist. It’s now time to invest in the next generation. My moment has passed.
I don’t regret doing the things I do now. Not at all. In fact, I feel as thought I am fulfilling a deep-seated need placed in me from long ago. I love being a mom. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. And there will surely come a time when I will look back and say simply, “It was just the twos speaking to you.” You were just exhausted from raising a child who was pushing the boundaries. It’s what she was supposed to do. It’s normal.
It is normal. I know.
Yet there are days when you feel as though you don’t know what you are doing. No matter how much love you have in your heart, you’re flying by the seat of your pants and you are simply hoping you won’t give her too many therapy bills in the future. You just want to be able to put her to bed and let her fall asleep on her own and not have to fight a nightly battle that leave you both exhausted.
And somewhere along the line, you have to ask youself, “What about my dreams? Did I leave them on the wayside? Do I even have dreams now? Am I crazy for writing in a blog that few people read and some treat with casual disdain?” Or do you continue on because it’s something that you have in your heart to do and you simply LOVE it. Is that a dream? Do our dreams change with time? Or maybe our dreams evolve?
How do we take our own dreams in our hand while we try to raise our children to follow their own?
Our dreams are unique to who we are, I’m told. No one can have my dream, because no one has the unique characteristics that make me who I am. Now, I just need to figure out what my unique characteristics are.
Perhaps this is the late night rambling of a mother who has just had a long and weird day, or maybe I’m not alone and there are other mothers out there searching for answers in the warm moonlight. Perhaps we are all searching.
Until I know, I will just write.