The days lately have had a certain languid quality to them. It may come from listening to Station Eleven (and I can’t determine if that is because of the story told or the voice telling it), which I really liked. I’m far down on the wait lists for the next five books I want to listen to, so I guess I’ll look into podcasts while I wait. Anyone have any recommendations?
You want to hear something funny? That post I wrote yesterday wasn’t finished. I set it to publish, with the intent of coming back and wrapping it up, but then I just forgot all about it. At least it wasn’t too glaringly obvious that I had stopped writing in the middle of a thought.
You want to hear something else funny? Right after I wrote that post my daughter had an epic one hour meltdown because I asked her to play a three minute vision therapy game on the computer. I’m trying hard to remember all the good that came before the hour-long meltdown, but it’s hard, because an hour long meltdown casts a shadow on everything that happens before and after it. An hour is a REALLY LONG TIME for your kid to be melting down, especially when you need to go pick up your other kid. The whole ordeal reminded me that things are probably never going to be “easy” with my kids (or at least the one of them), but I continue to hope that there will be longer, more enjoyable moments in between the really hard stuff. And I assume “the hard stuff” will change over time too.
But over all things are pretty decent these days. There seems to be just enough space in my life to make it feel manageable, and I appreciate that feeling. As the pace of life slows, I have more time to consider what I want my days to look like, what I want to prioritize, what is worth the effort. I have way less of an idea of these things than I feel like I should at 35 years old, but I’m confident that in time, my priorities will solidify. I hope that, over the next five years, I’ll begin to glean what is most important to me, and that by then I’ll have the time and space to shape my life around my preferences.
In the meantime, I’ve been gifted with small, but substantial, pockets of time. I have all of next week off, and my kids only get Monday, so I have three days to get some stuff done around the house before we leave for the snow on Friday morning. The seventh graders are at outdoor ed this week, and while their absence only affects two of my classes, those classes are the bookends of my day, and having them be quieter and more low key is greatly appreciated. It’s amazing what 55 minutes of quiet can do for one’s soul (I’m writing this post during one of those classes). My daughter and I don’t share a spring break, and while I’m bummed to lose that time with her (and the money I’ll have to spend for camp), I’m looking forward to all that I will be able to get done with both kids at school for 4-5 days (my son generally gets a day off around then, but I’m not sure if it falls on my break or my daughter’s).
Things continue to be good between my husband and I. It’s amazing how much brain space is taken up by petty resentments when things are fraught between us. I’m not sure how long this tranquil period will last, but I’m enjoying it while it’s here.
The quality of these days is… strange to me. I tend to oscillate between the extremes of excitement/enthusiasm and sadness/anger/despair. To be suspended for so long between them is… awkward. It’s quite startling, actually, how graceless and lumbering I feel in this space, as I stumble around, trying to find my bearings. I’ve caught myself, on occasion, talking myself out of thoughts that maybe this is a mild depression of sorts, because it can feel that way sometimes, in the absence of the high highs. But I know depression well enough to recognize what it is not. This is complacency maybe, but not depression. It may even be contentedness, or even equanimity, but I have had little enough experience with either to recognize my own experiences as such.
It’s a weird place to be, in an emotional state that I don’t entirely recognize. It’s also hard to admit to myself that depression would be more comfortable than placidity, that it has become a touchstone of sorts, one I have come to rely on so much that without it I flounder.
So that is where I am, in this languid state, trying to appreciate it for what it is, without turning it into something it’s not.
Have you ever found yourself in an unfamiliar emotional state?