I leave the office with a head filled with a litany of ideas and intentions, eager or enthusiastic to be creative. Filled with ideas. Brimming with them. In the mere eight miles between my office and home, all those intentions evaporate, wafting away as swiftly as ether. As I walk into the door, I faintly recall that I wanted to clean or quilt or write or weed or organize or bake. But then it is all gone.
I reward myself for the simplest of accomplishments. I clean the kitchen: yeah. I fold one of the several baskets of laundry: double yeah. I rationalize sitting with my son and binge watching season 4 of Game of Thrones. It’s quality time. The house doesn’t get cleaned beyond the kitchen. It’s all good. On the days he is not here, I miss him terribly. All these many days, when his older brother is gone away to college, I miss him terribly, too.
How to be our best selves? Keep our minds and hands occupied. Be positive…nay, realistic. Find the things that bring pleasure and joy. Find the slivers of contentment. And forgive yourself for behaving badly or when you are not your best self.
I recall a time when I found the space to write. I had time to be creative. I sewed many quilts, month after month. I planted a garden and canned jams. All while juggling my sons when they were both here and work. When work was busy. Now, work is not as busy but is more stressful. And the stress eats up energy. Leaving little with which to be creative.
It is a cycle. A rhythm. A refrain. It comes back around. All things changes. And the energy will return. The focus and the joy. The contentment with my endeavors.