I feel funny about posting without pictures, but I haven't taken any. Which is so unusual. But then, wearing a bra, showering in the morning, changing out of my pajamas, and driving into town, not to mention staying there all day, talking to all sorts of people, and attempting to be useful while I don't know what I'm doing--those things are all unusual. And they are all about to be The Usual. As for what's to become of this space, I'm not sure. I value it very much. It means a lot to me to have this space to think out loud, as it were, and to connect. I'm so amazed that every time I post, a shocking number of you return here to read what I've said, and often to relate. I know how much the writers and the words recorded on my favorite blogs mean to me, and I'm honored to be on the other end, too. Thank you for coming here.
Speaking of, it's been hard for me to read my blogs lately. I'm used to reading them religiously. They have been my community, my resource, as I've struggled with and rejoiced in my home life and my handwork. Naturally, I still have a home life, and I hope to continue with my handwork, dollmaking, etc. But I'm not a householder anymore. I'm not my little one's primary caregiver [gulp]. And as thrilled as I am to be charting new territory, and as deep and total is my confidence in my husband (such an amazing daddy, not to mention husband), this is hard for me to stomach. This morning when I put on my shoes, Jane thought she was coming along. She thought it was time for an adventure. She cried and said, "Go with you!" And I kissed her and left before I could hesitate. I cried in the car, undoubtedly long after she'd gotten over it and had a jolly walk with Matt. Oh God! This thing called parenting.
But then, I gripped the steering wheel and turned on NPR. Before long, I was engrossed in the story. And then I was in the bakery getting coffee and change for parking, and the accordion music wafted together with the smell of delicious things, and I saw the french baker, with his lovely french nose, surveying his happy people. And then I went to work. And it was good.
Instead of finding solace and inspiration in the beautiful child-rearing and by-handing of my blogroll, I've been immersing myself in fiction. Highly unusual. I've read six books since Christmas, more than all of 2010. And I feel that glimmer, that twitchiness that precedes the burning desire to create, to write. Where did it come from?! I thought it had gone away. Forever?
Many times I've said that when Jane came to me, I was reborn. Truly, I rediscovered myself--the way one very rarely encounters something and names it "Truth." I wouldn't have thought it possible to do it all over again when I left her. But then, I'm often nonsensical. As I hesitantly proceed in a new role in a new space, I catch sight of myself out of the corner of my eye, and think, Hello you. Hello old friend! She's someone familiar, known of old. And yet...she's fresh, someone new and unspoiled.
Isn't life strange? We get so many chances, rising up and taking flight over and over again. Here in my everyday, meeting myself, what a blessing to take a breath of the divine.