It wasn’t until I’d meditated, showered, dressed, made lunches and made coffee that I got the call from the school district, canceling. It’s ok. I had the quiet time to finish the cup of coffee while finishing a great book (Private Life by Jane Smiley). A perfect start to a new day.
And now the kids are home for another day. The 8:30 meeting got pushed back to 9:30. I may cart the kids to the office for the 11 o’clock or the 11 o’clock may push to tomorrow. We make plans and God laughs. We are never really in control. Understanding that is the best kind of freedom.
Yesterday, the kids were climbing the walls with wildness, eager to run and play and release energy. You can bet I’ll turn them snowpants-clad into the snow today at least for a while. We all need release, though we don’t all give ourselves the chance.
When we let go of something, anything, we make room for something better. Someone better. A chance for growth.
We spent much of the afternoon yesterday packing up the basement for our move. In the depths of the storage room, behind stacks of boxes, I reunited with artwork from an earlier version of myself. Photos from my first wedding. Dishes I had long forgotten, versions of who I used to be.
The emptiness of that back room is breathtaking. The absence of clutter is exhilarating to me. The abandonment of holding on to old things, old notions, old ideas is seriously the best freedom I have felt in years.
Letting go of rules someone else chained me to. Unlocking the fear of what-if by giving away things I no longer need.
In a new dawn, which is still dark at this hour, we dare to believe that life can follow a different path, an enlightened one, a chance for discovery and possibility and success.
I mixed the gluten-free pancake mix this morning for my little guy and threw in the berries that are disintegrating. Turned the rest of the berries into compote for blintzes. I love making something out of scraps, new delicious meals from leftovers.
Shaya had one berry-filled pancake, leaving two generous bites on his plate. “The last time you made these, they were smaller,” he said.
It’s a wise person who knows how to stop eating when they feel full.
The book I finished this morning was the slow kind of travel through time and story, focused on a woman’s journey from girlhood in the post-Civil War lower Midwest to an unfulfilling marriage in the San Francisco Bay area. My husband asked me how it ended, as I’d fed him bits from along the route.
At one point, I told him, she says there is no point in her being alive. No children, no career, a husband she can’t stand and pities. She wonders whether there is any reason for her existence.
So how does it end, he asked?
That’s it, I said.
Well, no but yes. I think the point of the book was that through it all, she lives according to the rules and roles set out for her and she does it well and in the end, in her 60s, with her husband in his 70s and finally looking his failure in the mirror, she wonders what it’s all been for.
What a revelation on a snowy Thursday morning. Truly, what is the point of it all?
And isn’t that answer, what we are all in pursuit of on our busy paths, in our busy lives?