Something has been bugging me lately. I wasn’t sure what–and I’m still not entirely sure I’ve put my finger on it–but it’s been enough that I found myself crying as I drove home from work on Friday*.
I don’t get enough sleep during the week and by Friday am experiencing accumulated sleep deprivation. Plus I pushed myself too hard at the gym on Thursday (got my heart rate up too high which ends up doing something funky to my blood pressure). And, frankly, I’m still adjusting to working full-time again.
But it was more than that.
It struck me sitting in church this morning–which also involved crying in getting there as I was, for unexplained reasons, determined to change the license plates over to our Oregon plates making us later than we already were. I’m disappointed. Disappointed that this is all my life is. That this is how I am here to serve. Wife. Mother. Daughter. Worker. Cook. Cleaner. Poopy bottom wiper. Financial planner. Accountant. Disciplinarian. Person who gets up in the night to assess the cause of the screaming. Friend–though not yet to anyone local.
I keep thinking I’m supposed to be more, do more, say more, lead more. But perhaps I am just here to practice living as my divine self in all of those small ways.
It’s fair to say that we moved to Oregon with high expectations about our new life. And now that we’re here and living that new life–while I am very grateful for all that we have–I can’t help but look around and thing, “This is it?” My days are jam packed full, every day, of mothering, working, exercising, studying. Yet somehow they seem empty of something.
That’s the thing I can’t quite put my finger on. How and why is this not enough and what more is it that I want out of my experience here?
*Hello boss, co-workers and HR. I do like my job. It’s not making me cry. I also happen to like all of you, too. And I tend to keep the at-work crying to a minimum.