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Friday
Dec192008
I hope you hear this too.
December 19, 2008
She still doesn't have the Christmas thing together at all. Year after year, it's messed up.
I think she's doing a pretty good job, really, all things considered.
A good job of what? She hasn't prepared anything.
Well, how would you do, trying to prepare for a holiday when you're in a new country and you don't even know where to get the things you need?
It's not really just that, though. Have you noticed how she's dropping all the balls? The thin strands that she grasps to hold her relationships together, the emails going unreplied, the way she knows the phone calls that she should be making-- but still doesn't make them.
Is unreplied even a word?
You know what I mean. Don't pretend you haven't seen it. She doesn't send photos out, she hasn't done Christmas cards this year. She's just irresponsible. I saw dirt in her baby's ear the other day.
She's so young, though.
Not that young. Wasn't she supposed to publish a book by twenty-five? HA! How's that going for her?
Wasn't that your stupid idea? You told her that youth was some sort of competition. She's too smart for that now. She knows about the body of work that she will gradually add to, all of her life. There is no need to be a prodigy, no need for fame. Just page after page, added to a pile, like leaves in an old book, crumbling slightly because they've been read over so many precious times.
It's a pretty small pile, at this point.
But zoom out, and all of her children are part of her body of work, and zoom out again, and all of those relationships (which are not held together by anything as flimsy as threads, regardless of what you mistakenly believe) are part of the body of work, and then come back even farther and you can see that every dish washed clean in a late night sink, every old smile held on by sheer willpower, all of these are a part of a majestic body of work. By the time she dies it will be higher than the tallest trees.
But she can never keep up! All of those late night dishes are in danger of falling over and crushing her, and her laundry is never clean and there are all of those emails that go unanswered. She knows that she needs to do these things, but she's always failing, she's always so far behind. I saw her lying in bed this morning, when she knew she should get up and start working.
She was watching the wind move the trees.
She knew she should get up, though.
Yes, but isn't there a lot more to life than your to-do lists? You always talk about owing-- she owes a lot more than work. She owes delight, she owes noticing, she owes attention and laughter and listening to that rustling of the wind in the coconut trees and sitting on the floor memorizing the faces of her children.
I've lost you.
That's because you're losing her. She won't let you mess with her forever. She won't listen to you anymore. She'd rather watch the wind.
I think she's doing a pretty good job, really, all things considered.
A good job of what? She hasn't prepared anything.
Well, how would you do, trying to prepare for a holiday when you're in a new country and you don't even know where to get the things you need?
It's not really just that, though. Have you noticed how she's dropping all the balls? The thin strands that she grasps to hold her relationships together, the emails going unreplied, the way she knows the phone calls that she should be making-- but still doesn't make them.
Is unreplied even a word?
You know what I mean. Don't pretend you haven't seen it. She doesn't send photos out, she hasn't done Christmas cards this year. She's just irresponsible. I saw dirt in her baby's ear the other day.
She's so young, though.
Not that young. Wasn't she supposed to publish a book by twenty-five? HA! How's that going for her?
Wasn't that your stupid idea? You told her that youth was some sort of competition. She's too smart for that now. She knows about the body of work that she will gradually add to, all of her life. There is no need to be a prodigy, no need for fame. Just page after page, added to a pile, like leaves in an old book, crumbling slightly because they've been read over so many precious times.
It's a pretty small pile, at this point.
But zoom out, and all of her children are part of her body of work, and zoom out again, and all of those relationships (which are not held together by anything as flimsy as threads, regardless of what you mistakenly believe) are part of the body of work, and then come back even farther and you can see that every dish washed clean in a late night sink, every old smile held on by sheer willpower, all of these are a part of a majestic body of work. By the time she dies it will be higher than the tallest trees.
But she can never keep up! All of those late night dishes are in danger of falling over and crushing her, and her laundry is never clean and there are all of those emails that go unanswered. She knows that she needs to do these things, but she's always failing, she's always so far behind. I saw her lying in bed this morning, when she knew she should get up and start working.
She was watching the wind move the trees.
She knew she should get up, though.
Yes, but isn't there a lot more to life than your to-do lists? You always talk about owing-- she owes a lot more than work. She owes delight, she owes noticing, she owes attention and laughter and listening to that rustling of the wind in the coconut trees and sitting on the floor memorizing the faces of her children.
I've lost you.
That's because you're losing her. She won't let you mess with her forever. She won't listen to you anymore. She'd rather watch the wind.
Reader Comments (29)
Sounds a lot like my inner arguments. I would bet it similar for a lot of women.
My internal dialogue is much the same. But here's the best part:
But zoom out, and all of her children are part of her body of work, and zoom out again, and all of those relationships (which are not held together by anything as flimsy as threads, regardless of what you mistakenly believe) are part of the body of work, and then come back even farther and you can see that every dish washed clean in a late night sink, every old smile held on by sheer willpower, all of these are a part of a majestic body of work. By the time she dies it will be higher than the tallest trees.
So true, so true.
this afternoon, i hear you. loud and clear.
your writing moves me. again and again.
Wonderful stuff watching the wind. Eternal stuff while all the rest is flimsy string. Needed this today. Thanks.
I don't know who you are. I don't know anyone who knows who you are. I don't know how I even came across your blog, because I don't even read blogs...none. But I find myself continually checking yours....because I'm interested in what you have to say next. You have a way with words, and if you ever finish your book (and I don't even know what its about), you can bet I'll read it.
That's beautiful, Rachel.
That was amazing.
I adore this post.
So, I've been reading your blog for awhile and have never commented. I appreciate it very much... I got the link from another mom of twins. My boy/girl twins are 15 months old and I resonate with your fight to give yourself grace! Thanks for your honesty!
... higher than the tallest trees ...
Indeed.
The 'owing' paragraph is my favorite... something I'd want to print out and tape to my mirror, because it's exactly what I need to remind myself of a dozen times a day.
I'm moved like everyone else; thank you for being willing to share.
Rae,
This is lovely. I'm off to my late-night dishes now...
Your words have moved me to tears yet again. Their truth. I hold tight to such truths, even though I'm not a mother or wife yet. The voice is still there. The to-dos are still there. And there IS so much more. Thank you.
I have always felt that my children and marriage were my very best bodies of work. I am most proud of them.
Sadly, that revelation came with age. And you are SO young...
Oh wow oh wow ohwowohwow. Love this so much RacheL. Love you so much.
There are definitely tears on this this one...everything you said resonated within me....another beautiful post Rachel.
The funny thing is I sat to check you blog, just as I was procrastinating doing the late night dishes, as I listen to my children giggling in bed.
I love how you dance with words.
Cristal
Thanks for this!
Mary
I hope she sees the trees as well as the wind...
Your honesty continues to change the world. I think Eleanor chose a good word to descibe how i also feel about this post...I adore it also.
Love you sister.
It's true your honesty is amazing. Sometimes I gave into all those inner voices and became a raging maniac trying to make everything come together, at least I felt like.
It's better to take the time to just watch the trees, nature is such a healer for me. And watch and enjoy your kids. At the end of your life, you won't be asked how many dishes you managed to keep clean, but "did you love well?" That's the most important thing. Everything else is meaningless, just "stuff" that we put so much importance into.
So watch the trees, smell the coffee or the roses, and just relax! Be still and know that He is God, and He is well pleased with you!
wow, you're in my mind! what a dialogue.
this was beautiful, i need to write it somewhere so as never to forget:
"She owes delight, she owes noticing, she owes attention and laughter and listening to that rustling of the wind in the coconut trees and sitting on the floor memorizing the faces of her children."
thank you for writing, i hear you too.
i think this is the book,
You made me cry. But just a bit. Exam paper due tomorrow, so of I go to the library this last Sunday before Christmas. Tomorrow will be a better day, I will get out those decorations just in time for DD's 4th birthday on the 23rd and Christmas celebrations on the 24th as we usually do it here in Denmark. Missing family too, home is the Faroe Islands, but maybe next year....
Love your musings, you are an inspiration. A very happy and peaceful Christmas to you all.
You write just brilliantly.
This moved me so much.
Thankyou.