Yesterday, at breakfast that is nowadays a blur of cereal bowls, not-yet-packed lunches and 2 yo asking to be fed, as I hastily slurp my pre-driving coffee, a child asked me: "Mom, what are you really good at?" A question like that is the reason I feel like I have been living a midlife crisis even though I am technically too young for one. I retorted: "Keeping you all alive!" while thinking "Oh my gosh, what AM I good at? Obviously nothing visible, otherwise I would not be asked. Corollary: I am good at nothing. What am I doing with my life? What kind of a role model am I to my children?They caught on that it's all a sham. They will never grow up to be productive individuals..."
Before the train of thought went too far, 4 yo piped in: "You are very good at driving!" Yes, I drive. I drive a lot.With kids at three schools, all I do is drive: drop them off and pick them up. Drive to gymnastics. drove to taekwondo. Drive to museums. Drive to the park, to the store, to appointments. Drive to an aquarium out of state. I drive. I AM good at driving.
After agreeing with him, I thought out loud: "I am also getting good at just being. Not doing things, but just being me." That one sailed over their heads and my husband raised his eyebrows, but it's true. This past year has been a steep learning curve in getting good at just being. I can wrap it up in fancy terminology like developing potential, aligning heart, soul and body, self-actualization, transcendental meditation, self-awareness. I can wrap it up in less flattering terms like self-care, laziness, ennui, indulgence. But, essentially, this past year I have hit a brick wall where the question "What do I want?" had to be answered and not dismissed. I started with what I do NOT want. I did not want to multitask. I did not want to carve out time to "get things done" or be superproductive or accomplish amazing feats. I did not want those motivational quotes that passive-aggressively suggest that only if you tried harder and wanted it badly enough, you could do anything. I will not climb Mount Everest. I will not hack my way through jungles. I will not conduct scientific research in Antarctica. Besides, when you are so busy striving to achieve one thing or another, you are by definition not at peace. You get the adrenaline rush of action.You get dopamine load of achievement, finishing that marathon, climbing that mountain, getting that promotion. But the next day, when the hoopla subsides, you face yourself in the mirror and there is no more rush to carry the day. And you are still you. Are you at peace with what you see? Hint: strive and strife are related. Or are you still not enough and you need to prove to the world that you are more than what they see? Moreover, is your harsh inner critic still at it: you are just faking it. If you stop doing all these amazing things, they (whoever they are) will see that you are a fake.
So I have been not doing much.
"What are you doing?" Not much.
I used to judge others harshly for that. I was worried that if I did not judge others first, they would judge me. They would see through me and expose me as a fraud. So better run, keep busy, go places, do things. It is preferred to do things that come with external tangible recognition. Trophies, plaques, diplomas, awards, raises, mementos are all fair game.
But five years of homeschooling changed that. Moreover, the foray into unschooling did more for me than the time we spent poring over the workbooks and curriculum. I had to decide: what do I really need my kids to know so they can function in the world on their own? Not ancient Roman history. Not quadratic equations. The more I thought and the more I observed, the more I smashed my preconceived notions of what kind of education matters. I saw my children just being, and being happy at that. I saw them delight in playing in the creek, or in the sand, or lounging on the couch, or rereading the same book for the fiftieth time. I saw them find alone time and time to ask others to join the game. I saw them pick up objects and craft them. I saw them talk to each other, blurt out things, spontaneously dance, swing babies around, make surprises.
But I saw them just being.
Unfortunately, I had to sacrifice their state of being for my being. I spent the last thirteen years parenting in a very hands-on way. There was a lot to do, and it was never-ending. There was nursing and diapering and blowouts and accidents and hours on the potty and hours of laundry. There were meals to plan, shop for, cook, set up, clean up. There was instructing and cajoling and bickering and imploring and fighting. But there was so much doing. Now that my older ones are 11 and 13, the doing does not end once the younger ones go to bed. They want to do stuff with me.They want to talk to me. They want to show me that latest craze. Oh, odfI am deeply grateful that they share a bit of what makes them tick with me, but that time to BE that could have come with early bedtime is not there for me anymore.
I did not use to feel this way. I think it took five kids and over ten years of this intense doing for me to reach the point where I could not postpone my being any longer. I needed to look in the mirror and truly think about what I see, not just how prudent the image appears to the rest of the world.
The scary part is that I don't know where this journey will take me.Will I get my bearings to homeschool again? Will I utterly disconnect from my kids? Will I pick up a new profession, craft, hobby? Will I spin out of control, lose touch with reality?