A Year of Purpose in Review

It's time to look back on the last year and how my One Word has played out.  For 2017 that word was PURPOSE.

In anticipation, I expected I would approach things with purpose.  That I would more consciously choose what I did and choose things that had a real purpose.  A purpose of value.  That instead of running around putting out fires, which my life has so often been, I would take a breath and choose.  I would ponder, if only for a minute, what was the proper use of my time and energy.  And that did happen.  Some.

But often it played out differently.  I had something I wanted to do or needed to do and tried to find a deeper purpose in it.  I need to go to the library to pick up a book for my daughter.  But what is the greater purpose for this.  My daughter is currently house bound.  I'm going to the library as an act of service.  I am doing something for her that she can't currently do for herself.  There were many instances of that.

Or I tried to give something purpose.  I'm going for a run.  This run is to build my running base.  Or I dedicate these miles to a friend who is struggling.  Things such as this.

But most often it happened in the middle of something I was doing.  I'm on hour three of a Netflix binge.  Why?  What is my purpose for spending so much time this way?  It's an effort to avoid the struggles of my life.  It's an attempt to dull the things I'm feeling that I don't want to feel.  It's a weird way I can feel like I'm accomplishing something, as I check episodes off.  There was way more of this type of analysis than usual.

I'm big on examining my motivation for things.  But this was a bit different.  Looking for a purpose.  And asking myself if my purpose was a healthy one.  Was it good for me?  Did it serve a larger purpose?  What general direction were these choices taking me, and did that lead to my bigger purpose?  To the broader goals, the long-term goals, I have for myself.

I can honestly say I sometimes did well with this and sometimes didn't.  Finding out what my purpose for doing something was sometimes stopped me in my tracks and made me change direction.  Other times not so much.

I think this one will stick with me.  And it leads well into 2018's word.  Coming soon.

Transitions

Seriously, who the crap am I?

Transitions are tough.  Even when the new state of being is positive.  Even when the other side is wonderful.  The change can be difficult.

I remember reading that transitions are especially dangerous mental health territory.  Well, I already have mental health issues.  And now I'm in the middle of several transitions.  What a surprise I'm having a tough time.

My youngest child just graduated.  I was so focused on all the pain-in-the-butt things that were going away that I didn't look much further ahead.  And now I find myself on unsolid ground.  Not sure of my footing.  Staring at a bunch of building materials with no idea what I want to create.

My oldest will be twenty-six in a few months.  For over twenty-six years (I'm including my pregnancy), my whole life has been focused on my kids.  Their safety.  Their happiness.  How to help them be good people.  That's a long time in one job.

My youngest will be eighteen in a little over a month.  And as my kids have become adults over the last few years, my role has changed somewhat.  They're in charge of, and in control of, more of their lives.  They're responsible for their choices, whether they act responsibly or not.  In a little over a month, I will not be legally responsible for anyone but myself.

And I'm having some trouble processing that.

The transition has happened slowly, in theory.  One child at a time.  A couple years in between each one.  So why does this moment feel so shocking?

Because she's the last one.

I've been a stay-at-home mom for most of their lives.  Significantly longer than I was single and childless.  When I no longer have minor children at home, but still choose not to work, what am I?

And what do I want to be?

See, here's the thing.  I have all the choices in the world.  My husband has no desire for me to work, for both physical health and mental health reasons.  Although he would support me if I chose to work.  Because he supports me in pretty much anything I want to do.

And that's the key phrase.  What I want to do.  And I have no idea.  What do I want to do?

My health is better than it's been in years, but it's still a day to day thing.  There are still days I can't get out of bed.  Still lots of fatigue and pain.

But there are other days.  Days when I feel pretty good.  Days when I feel powerful.  Days when I believe I can conquer the world.

I'd love to be able to plan out my life.  I'd love to live by schedule.  I'd love to know how I want to spend my days.  To write it all down and live by it.  But with the freedom to set it aside if a friend needs me.  And I'm just not sure how to balance that.

I yearn for structure.  I've always been a planner.  But when my health fell apart eleven years ago, I had to stop committing to things.  I had to stop planning.  Because it just felt so bad when I let others down, when I had to cancel at the last minute.  When I couldn't do that one thing I'd so looked forward to and worked to make happen.

I'm scared to plan again.  I'm not sure why.  And I guess I've planned all along, just on a different level.  I'm not sure why this feels so different.

Yes, I am.  I don't want to waste.  I don't want to use my time badly.  I don't want to just pass through day after day.  I don't want to look in my rearview mirror and see emptiness.  Days of nothing.

Before now, even if I did nothing else all day, I still parented.  I still did something productive, just by keeping people alive and on task in their lives.  When that's not my job anymore, what value do I have?  Especially if my days are spent just doing whatever I want.

I know I'll find my footing.  I always do.  And it will be great.  And I will be happy.  But right now I feel like I'm dancing on quicksand.  In an earthquake.  With a tornado approaching.

And I have to decide whether to hunker down or face the storm.

A Big, Beautiful Library in My Home

I grew up wanting walls of books.  A room where each wall was floor to ceiling with them.  Maybe a small den area with a fine oak desk and a great leather executive chair and a bay window with pillows to read in.

The wonderful room I saw in so many movies growing up.  I was in love with the magic of this imaginary room.  I knew that I would one day have one in my home.

And so, as my life progressed, I accumulated books.  I believe strongly in the power of reading.  A love of reading.  And in order to facilitate this for my children I made sure to have lots of books.  Lots for them to read at every age.  Lots for me to read, since it's important for children to see their parents reading if they are to catch the reading bug.  And because I like to read.

But I learned that books are mostly a one time deal.  You read them once and move on to the next adventure.  Maybe little kid books are read over and over, but even then it's only a select few.  We own hundreds, if not thousands, of books.  I would estimate that the ones that have been read more than once are fewer than five percent.

So why do I still have them?  I've been pondering this for quite a while now.  How many books that I own do I love enough that I would save them from a burning building?  Truthfully, none.

The reasons I came up with for still having them are interesting.  I have them because I spent money on them and books are good and noble things to have.  I have them because I enjoyed them and would like to have them to loan to friends or suggest to my kids.  I have them because I always wanted that big library.

None of those reasons are good enough to me anymore.  The magic is not in the big, beautiful library.  The magic is in gaining a love of reading.  Taking my kids to the public library is an adventure.  It's magical.  The library has more than I can possibly ever offer.  They can keep up with my kids' changing tastes.  They have all the newest books.  And they store them so I don't have to.

I'm not going to lie.  It's tough.  I consider this sort my first.  I know I will sort again and get rid of more.  Right now if I struggle to decide, I keep it.  Or if one of my kids feels strongly about it, I keep it.  And I'm boxing some up for my daughter who is going to teach high school English; she'll have a good collection of classics in her classroom without having to buy them.

There are a few that I really enjoyed that I considered keeping.  But I'm imagining that there are others out there who would enjoy them too.  I am ready to pass them on, knowing I can always get them from the library if I really want to read them again.

I'm keeping several for my grandma days.  I want to be the grandma who reads with the kids.  And who encourages reading when they visit.

But the tough ones.  Oh, yes, there are tough ones.  I have many books that were given to me after my grandma died.  With inscriptions.  To her from her father.  The book is not something I will ever read.  I have many other keepsakes from her.  And yet, I can't just donate them.  I'm cheating and giving them back to my mother.  I'll probably have to face the decision again when my mom passes away.  For now, they can live at her house.

There are also some that are quite old.  I have several from the 1900s and a few from the 1800s.  Some in good shape, some not so much.  I can't seem to part with the ones that are over a hundred years old.  Whether I would ever read them or not.  Even if the binding is falling apart.  I still might donate them, but I would want to donate them to someone who would know how they should really be cared for.  Someone who could preserve their beauty.

I've made lots of progress.  I've got a few boxes ready to go.  I'll be getting rid of more as I continue to clean and sort through my house.  I'll let some friends go through them and take what they want and then I'll donate what's left to the public library.  I'm ready to let these old friends have a new adventure with a new home.

Most of them, anyway.

It's Just Stuff, part one

I grew up with the mentality that if I had something that I didn’t need or wasn’t using, and someone else did need it, I should give it to them (or at least lend it). It was just a thing. Getting rid of things was easy.

I also grew up in a home where we had enough. I never worried about having food or a home. I never worried about my parents being able to afford to pay for the things I needed. My parents may have struggled and sacrificed when they first married, but by the time I was aware of money they had more than enough for me to be able to do the things I wanted. If something broke, we had enough money to fix it or replace it. If someone were injured, we had good health insurance and enough money to see that they were treated. If an unexpected expense came up my dad might grumble, but there was enough money to cover it. If there was a school activity or sport I wanted to participate in, I only had to ask. I do not remember ever being told that we couldn’t afford something. I do not remember ever going hungry because we didn’t have money for food. I don’t remember hearing much about money except when my dad complained about how much my mom spent shopping. On worthless stuff.

So I came into my marriage believing that stuff was of little value. That it wasn’t worth worrying about.

When we got married, we were poor. We had debt. We couldn’t live like we had when we'd lived with our parents. If something broke, we may or may not be able to replace it. We couldn’t afford to do all the things we wanted to do and still pay our bills. This was an adjustment period for me, to be sure, but luckily I was not an overly materialistic person. I didn’t need lots of stuff. I wasn’t a big shopper. We didn’t have a lot, but we were okay. For a while.

Then we went through periods of unemployment. Over the course of twenty years of marriage my husband was laid off ten times; he was our only source of income (I was a stay-at-home mom). That makes it difficult to build any kind of base to work from. The longest time he was out of work was seven months. We had been keeping our heads above water before this. Then the bottom fell out. He got a severance package and we tried to manage that well. We hoped for this time of unemployment to be of short duration like in the past. It wasn’t.

Before long we were in a difficult place. If we didn’t change things soon it was going to get ugly.

We sold an old, small motor home we owned. We sold our boat. We cancelled the satellite service. We quit eating out. We got rid of any extra expenses that we could. This helped, but it wasn’t enough for long. We eventually ended up turning to others for help. Our parents. The governenment. Church welfare. We had to have others help with our debt and pay for our food. We used food stamps, Medicaid, and other services. We did without. (As difficult as it was to ask for and accept help, I am so grateful it was there.)

I believe that when you have to do without it sometimes changes your perception of stuff. You no longer take stuff for granted because you don’t know if it will last. You hate to let anything go out of fear that you might need it again in the future and don’t know if you will be able to replace it.

These difficult times altered the way I saw stuff. When someone offered hand-me-downs I never considered refusing. I knew we couldn’t afford to buy new clothes, so we’d better accept what was offered. People frequently gave us stuff because they knew we were struggling financially. I found myself accumulating more and more even though I wasn’t shopping. Accumulating didn’t seem so bad when I wasn’t buying it.

But then we found ourselves in a position where we had enough. In fact, we had more than enough. Maybe not financially, but materially. We were overflowing with stuff.

And my old feelings reasserted themselves. I saw all the stuff and how it was taking over my life. I felt suffocated by it. I didn’t need it. I didn’t want it. I didn’t even like most of it. Why was I letting it into my life?

I’ve been systematically trying to change those behaviors. I’ve been trying to get back to my minimalist mentality toward stuff. I’ve been trying to get rid of all the stuff that’s come into our lives over the years. It takes time.

And I have noticed that when I try to make a major change in my life, when I’m sure of my choice, something always happens to challenge that decision. To see if I will stick to my guns. It happened this time, too.

Shutting Up, Smartly

I have a new essay up over at Smartly.  It's all about learning to shut up -- or not.  You should check it out by clicking here.

I Choose the Burdens I Carry

I sat in a psycho-education group, a class full of women.  It was a rare day on which the class was being taught by a man.  He was talking about choices.  He told of a friend who had been raped.  In talking to her, he'd said that she'd chosen to be raped.

The room went silent.  I felt several women around me bristle.  I felt myself bristle.  But I knew this man.  I knew he had a good heart and a wise mind.  I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and listen to what he had to say.  I was hoping he'd give me something to grab onto so that I could comment and clarify what he'd really meant to say to the group.

He'd said that she'd had a moment when she knew that if she didn't allow the rape she would be killed.  That she'd chosen life over death in the only way available to her in that moment.  It was about the power of knowing that we have choices even when we think we don't.  It was about not letting ourselves think of ourselves as victims forever.

This is an extreme case, to be sure.  And, choice or not, I don't think I would ever say that she chose to be raped.  I would say that she chose to survive.

Maybe our burdens are large.  Maybe they are small.  We don't choose which burdens enter our lives -- but we do choose which ones stay.

I offer a couple of mine as an example.

I did not choose to get a headache that would last forever, nearly five years so far.  But I have chosen what to do about it.  I did everything I could to treat it.  And by making other choices, I choose to keep it.  I could choose to be heavily medicated all the time so that I can't be a mother and wife and friend.  I could even kill myself.  Both of these are options.  But they are not options I like.  I would rather keep the pain and enjoy my life.

I did not choose for my husband to leave our faith.  Having him leave the church was incredibly difficult.  And living with someone of a different faith is tough every day.  For both of us.  I could divorce him.  But that is not an option I like.  So we stay together.  He's too important to me and my children.  He's my best friend.  It's a lot of work trying to figure out how to respect each other and be true to ourselves, but it's worth it to me.  I would rather argue about it every so often than not have him in my life.

I am not a victim of my life.

Every day I choose to keep burdens.  We all do.  Maybe it's weight.  Maybe it's where we live.  Maybe it's our job.  If there is something that feels like a burden, ask yourself why you keep it.

Maybe you don't like the other options.  Maybe the other options seem harder than just keeping what you've got.  Maybe you don't see the other options.  But there is always another option.

Knowing that I have a choice is empowering.  It's not something I've always known.  But it's something I've always had.

Changed My Mind

I'm going back to blogging when I feel like it.

I've done the five days a week thing.  It just didn't work for me. 

Yes, I can write that often.  Even when I don't feel like it.  I can push myself.  I can set my own schedule and stick to it.  It was good to know this about myself.

But I don't like it.  I feel rushed.  It doesn't bring me the same joy.  I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, make-it-up-as-I-go, bohemian type.  I don't like feeling obligated.

Turns out, structure isn't really my thing.

I want to feel what I write instead of feeling like I am doing an assignment.  That's why when I want to learn something I read about it or study it instead of taking a class.

My days of answering to someone else are over.  I don't need grades to tell me whether I've learned something or not.

And I don't need consistency.  Not in this.

Back to the unpredictable -- where I am comfortable.

Decisions, Decisions

I probably have hundreds, if not thousands, of decisions to make each day.  Some are small; some not so much.  Some are nearly automatic, like how I get out of bed.  It's not like I think about which foot to put down first.  And some take a lot of thought.  A lot.

Even with all the therapy I've had, I still find myself worried when I make decisions.  I worry that my decision will not be right in someone else's opinion.  Hopefully this period of worry is much shorter than it used to be.  And I am usually able to push through it anyway.  But I still find myself considering a handful of people and what they will think.

There are also those decisions where I worry about the judgment of my social circle.  Even people that I don't choose to be friends with.  People whose opinions I don't want to matter.  Or just people in general.  How can I choose this unless I can back it up and justify it?

It can be paralyzing.

I want to be stronger and more self-actualized.  I want to trust that I know what needs to happen in my life better than they do. 

I want to make a decision and feel no need to justify it.

And I want others to have the same freedom with me.  I want them to know that I have enough to worry about with my own decisions.  I don't judge them for theirs.  I just don't have the energy.

And there are a few decisions that I've made, that when they become public, seem to always make people defensive about making different decisions for themselves.  I never had an epidural.  I don't really watch tv.  I go to the library at least once a week.  Things like that.

These were the right decisions for me.  I absolutely do not want to make these decisions for anyone else.  And by judging another person's decision, I am making a decision for them.  The one I think they should have made.  As if I know their lives better than they do.

I don't think so.

Yes, I am judgmental sometimes.  I wish I could say that I'm not.  But hopefully it's just about stupid little things.  Differences in taste rather than a feeling that I'm right and you're wrong.  I don't want people to feel like I question them and their ability to govern themselves.  I would like my presence to be a judgment-free zone.

And hopefully I will continue to make progess as far as making my own decisions.  I would love to get to a place where, while still considerate of others, I can make decisions without hearing the judgment of others in my head.

I'm not sure how long this will take.  How many years of therapy.  How many self pep talks.  If I'll ever really get there.

But I believe it is a noble goal -- and I'm going for it!  There.  I've made my decision.