Musings

It seems nearly impossible now to turn off my thoughts. There is time to muse, restless nights to worry within, sudden vivid dreams , and opportunity for quiet in our days.

I took a long and meandering bike ride this morning, and the undulating pavement and path with little logic or destination, matched what was happening in my mind. When I came home and Jason asked me how the ride was, I breathed, terrific. I got lost in thinking, and that, I think, was a bit freeing.

If you are into hearing other people’s random journeys into rabbit holes and back, read on. But I certainly understand if my cathartic post is not up your alley.

On space:

I begin with my immense appreciation for open space. When I fantasize about life in a different chapter, I picture a cozy house perched on a big piece of green land. There are trees, lots of them, and a horizon line that shows me what weather is coming in and kisses the sun good night. There is soft lighting, built-in book shelves, and lots and lots of books. It would be quiet. Until it was loud with what I hope would be thunderstorms. I want to walk and drive through tunnels of trees whose branches sag in arching weight over the road. That is peace. It’s not that I don’t love a good city. I certainly do. But I think I prefer to vacation in them. And then I’d want to come back.

On public schools:

Schools are incredible, aren’t they? So much depends upon them. I am feeling quite proud of schools and their staffs and their students. We are surviving, even though the job description changed overnight. There was no lag time. We just did it.

Makes Congress look all the more pathetic.

And to think that schools not only had to design a new way to teach, they also had to figure out how to serve meals and distribute food every day. I wonder how many people stop to consider what a bedrock our public school system is on a daily basis. I hope they are now. I hope they will remember that when they go to the polls and see referendums on the ballot.

On the past:

Where would you go if time travel existed? I wish I could go back to watch my husband grow up. I chose this man to build a life with, but I missed the entire beginning of his. I want to be fly on the wall watching him wake up and put on his red sweatpants and walk to school. I want to watch him shooting hoops past dark on his Nebraska driveway. I want to watch when his first crush touched his arm or when he learned to drive or when he disappointed his dad. I want to breathe in his happiness when he kicked that long field goal and his nerves when he left home to teach in Japan. In any event, the past is a gift. It is the only thing that has lead us to today.

On the future vice-president:

Yes, Michelle, you CAN do it. Would you please do it? Pretty please with a large cherry on top?

Kamala, I love you too.

On life’s turns:

Can you retrace the turns you took in your life? The life you live today is purely a result of the many lefts, rights, and u-turns you made along the way. When I was a little girl, I asked my mom if she believed in the idea of “one true soulmate.” I expected her to say yes, but she surprised me when she didn’t. I peppered her about our neighbors, an older couple who had lived there for years, and wanted an explanation about how they couldn’t be soulmates. She simply said, “Well, I think if Mr. Wilson had grown up or lived somewhere else, he would have found someone wonderful wherever that would have been.” She’s right of course. Life is about choosing paths and places. It’s about timing, doors opening, doors closing. What if I hadn’t chosen Colorado? What if I stuck with law school? What if I never left home? What if I hadn’t asked? What if I had asked? What if?

On just being:

What do you feel guilty about today? You left the dishes on the counter too long? Your tummy is jiggly beneath your shirt? You ate an ice cream cone? You worked too much or too little? You spoke curtly to your spouse? Your kids watched tv for hours?

There are so many memes and cartoons nowadays about our quarantined life, and some are incredibly amusing, of course. I saw one recently that was titled “The two types of quarantined women.” One was a women who was on a health kick with her extra time. She exercised daily and cooked beautiful meals. The other woman was eating a piece of cake with her hands and laying around in her sweatpants. I laughed first and then thought, I am both of those women. And most days, they are at battle with each other. We talk so much about raising our daughters to be confident and strong, but we live inside a constant tumultuous battle with ourselves that is ongoing and brutal. Where is the woman who is still? Where is the woman who can really just be? I read an article recently about a woman who was frustrated with her “pooch.” Her husband asked her one day what I thought was a profound question. “Would you rather give away your pooch or the battle inside?”

By the way, she said she’d choose the battle. She also said her kids used her pooch as a little pillow. And her husband said women need to be soft.

On being brave:

I am currently reading Untamed (ahem, this is perhaps part of the reason I can account for my musings today). In one chapter, the author drew distinctions between her two daughters. They had both decided to get their ears pierced one day. The first daughter jumped up there and did both ears at the same time. She wiped away one tiny tear like it never existed, bounced down and gave a big smile. The lady piercing commented on how brave she was. The second daughter, after having watched her older sister, quietly but confidently slid away and said she’d changed her mind. This prompted comments like, “Oh come on! Be brave! You can do this!” But, she walked away. And then her mom, the author, said something so enlightening. She said it was brave for her daughter to stop, to ignore the “typical” brave, which includes being fearful and then talking yourself through danger anyway. It was brave for her to be true to her inner voice which said, this is not for me. I loved this. Brave is often quiet. And it should always and most certainly be true.

On apples for pie:

Always choose granny smith. This may feel cliched or old-fashioned, but I have always had faith in cliches (duh, there’s a reason for them!). The pie is just better.

I was thinking about pie when I cycled back into the sweet space I call home now. I jotted down this assortment of thoughts and got back into mommy mode. Today included a picnic, bubble wands, puppy chow, and yard work.

Thanks for musing with me. Where is your dream space? What turns have you made that have defined your life? Which turns do you wish you had ignored? What pie makes you happy?

Be well.