When you first hear the news about a big move, that's when your heart pounds and you feel like you could skip a mile down the street and back. But soon all the talk of grand adventure turns into obsessively hitting refresh on Zillow while the kids log too many episodes of Scooby Doo. (You know it's bad when they protest your turning off the tube by calling you "that meddling mommy.")
I typed those sentences weeks ago (or was it days?). I told myself I needed to write through the numbness, write until I felt alive with something other than anxiety. The running helps, and the praying helps; and the not forgetting to say thanks, that helps too. But I still chew through these hours too fast to savor them. The tasks and the details, I gulp them down indelicately, almost angrily. I'm a girl on a mission, googling now at top speed; and at night, I fall asleep before I have a chance to rest.
I didn't feel like running this morning. I ran anyway. The same old route, the easy seven.
I didn't feel like eating this morning, either. I ate anyway. The same old bagel with peanut butter.
I can't believe I'm going to admit this, but I don't really want these last few months. I've lived something like them before, back when we were getting ready to move from Maine to Ohio. And these almost-but-not-yet months broke my heart. But I will live them anyway. I refuse to use the fast forward button, to shut my eyes or hold my breath. That's just not okay.
These stressful months leading up to Big Change, they matter as much as the months after, maybe even more. They are moments in my short life, moments in which I can model for my children how to be present, how to be grateful, how to be resilient. They are opportunities to smile and to hug and to cry and to be alive with wonder, to be alive with courage, to be alive with grace.
I will not waste them.
|A nearly 4 year old picture--my proof that the days are as precious as they are fleeting|