What we read – Who we are

Sometimes for me reading is all about relaxing, just letting go and not worrying about the outcomes. Will Harry and Eleanor be an item forever, or is Eleanor actually double-crossing Harry? If she is double-crossing him, is their love affair part of that ruse, or is she really in love with him as she seems? What are we, the readers, supposed to think about this? Do I really care? Or is it just a diversion?

Often, I find myself sinking into the book, resting my weary head, to get carried away into someone else’s story. Little unexpressed parts of myself take trips with the characters into unknown foreign lands, situations I would never find myself in, living vicariously the vicious and crazy life that I will never allow myself to lead. Sometimes, it’s the passion and romance that I fall into. Other times, it’s the mystery and intrigue. Rarely, lately, it’s the wit and intuitiveness. These I find too heady, tricky, and exhausting.

But I remember when…reading Yeats and Elliot…Whitman and Frost…these poets and more used to inspire me, send my head spinning joyfully, exhilarating and peaceful at the same time, until I felt I had connected, had found something sacred, and secret. It was a treasure for me and the reason I studied English Literature. I enjoyed every moment that I studied, analyzed and wrote papers.

But, as Yeats says, “things fall apart.” Nothing is ever meant to stay the same. I still have a passion for literature, but my family life supercedes everything, leaving me bereft of inspiration, lacking desire and motivation for any creative or analytical endeavor. Just give me a little mystery or romance to rock me to sleep at night, and I’m happy…for now.

I dream that in time when things settle down, the fire within me will again burn bright. I want to have faith that it will not all have been in vain, that I will have had a reason to study so hard and forget almost everything I studied, only to remember it in an “aha” moment months later while sitting down and looking through my college books collecting dust on the shelf or hear a quote from Coleridge that sounds so vaguely familiar or someone quotes Donne refusing to go gently into that goodnight. “Oh yes,” I might think, “I once knew who that was and what it was all about.” I may cry a little inside because I miss that side of myself, and I may say, “Maybe I’ll blog about that.”

Is this what following my passion is all about, 10 minutes at a time, once or twice a week? Maybe, just maybe. If any overworked mothers are reading this post and you have passions that you have left in the dust for a time, how do they come back, or do they? Do you one day dust off that clarinet and say, “I can do this again,” and pick up where you left off? Or do you schedule 15 minutes a day to practice in the car when everyone is still sleeping and you’re groggy but at least alone and not waking anyone up at 5:00 AM?


Being a Mommy

Noah and Mommy

Okay, it’s official, I am a mommy, and I love it.  I found this picture in my Facebook from when my son (Noah) was about 5 months old.  He is now almost 2 years old, and I cherish these photos of him when he was so tiny.  Who knew that I would feel this way?  When he was tiny and could hardly move around at all, I couldn’t wait for him to be up and moving, now I look back and say, “I want to see him like that again!.”

Isn’t that what life is like sometimes?  We’re always wanting what we don’t have, wanting things to change for the better, then wanting them to change back to the way they were.

We dream of moving to Texas, then dream of moving back to California.  Some of us dream of moving to Europe and never want to come back (no names, but you know who you are).  But the point is, we’re always wanting something more.  It seems to be the human condition, or maybe it’s a human flaw.  Why not just be happy with what we have?  I have heard that the only way to be really be happy is to be happy.

Shall we try to be happy, guys and gals?  Let’s let go of the wanting, looking forward to, and planning for and live for the right nows.  Ever thought about what you will be like when … you get a better job, have a better house, write a novel, get married, or lose weight, etc?  Let’s live it up right in this minute, living up to who we want to be.  Let’s be that person that we know we would admire.

So, being a Mommy has taught me to be myself and to live in the moment.  That’s bliss, when your 2-year-old teaches you life’s most difficult lessons.

Peace and God’s Blessings.

Tsalagi – Laura – taking it slow, in the moment.

I want a simple life…

This is my first post, and it’s freewriting, so don’t expect much.  Just my ramblings.  It is my desire to continue to write for 20 minutes a day so that I can get it all out.  It’s nauseating sometimes the way my mind won’t stop running round and round the endless situations I put myself in.

Me?  Do I put myself in these situations or do I just end up in them?  Let’s take the one that is preoccupying me the most right now: going back to college.  I want to be a writer, but I have refused to write because I’m afraid.  So, I got myself a BA degree in English so that I could put a foot forward in that area, and I wrote when I had to.  I got mostly A’s.  But I’m not sure what that says about my ability to write, especially creative writing.  Once I finished college, I haven’t tried writing anything since, and now I’m applying to UTSA’s graduate program in English Literature.  I might focus on creative writing, but I’m not sure.

What’s bothering me about all this is my inner editor.  Not only my writing, but also my thoughts, are continuously edited, as if I had an inner devil who constantly listens and revises everything so that, in fact, I don’t come out as authentic, but something just short of or right on mediocre.  I don’t really want to be mediocre, but over the years I have trained myself to accept the fact that mediocre is okay and definitely not a bad thing.  I never judge anyone else who is mediocre.  In fact, I just about envy people who seem to not toil but rather live their lives one day at a time, without expecting so much out of it.

I want a simple life.

So I had my first, and probably only, child a year and a half ago, I went back to work from home two months later, I took on more and more work, including taking advanced piano lessons and advertising myself as a beginning piano teacher.  I have four students.  Now, I’m going back to school, on top of working and being a full-time mommy.  I already studied for and took the GRE, which came out okay, but could have been much better if I had had the time to study more.

Is this the way to a simple life?

I dream of waking up and tending to my garden, smelling my roses in the morning air while drinking a cup of tea and listening to bird songs, watching the squirrels scurrying from limb to limb, maybe even feeding them ears of dried corn.  I long for a life of long meditative walks and recuperative bubble baths.  I want to sip my life slowly, with languor.  I never want to feel hurried.

So I scurry around like the squirrel, wondering if someone will get hold of my last piece of corn.  I worry, scurry, and scamper.  I run, sometimes hide, and even scratch my way through life, yet, it’s the simple life I want.

Why, when it seems to do nothing but slowly grate years off of my life, do I put myself through so much?  Why are my expectations so high?

Inner editor says:  Don’t reveal too much!

Tomorrow Noah gets his eye surgery, and I’m a little freaked out about it.  Granted, it’s just a little one, but he still needs general anesthesia because he is too young to handle the surgery.  The eyelid needs to be drained because he has a chalazion.  Please, let that one go alright.  I’m so worried about that.

I want a dog, so that I can have even more responsibilities.

I want to wake up earlier than 5:00 AM so that I will have time to do yoga and write for 20 minutes before the day begins.

I want to put Noah in his highchair for an hour a day so that I can practice the piano, while he screams.

Yet, I want a simple life.  Maybe I can write about it, the life I want but just can’t have.