February is here, and the New Years resolutions for many of us are in the rear view mirror.
Some of them were made and broken weeks ago, others we’re still focused on. A month into the new year, and once again, I’m reevaluating my reality.
Living in overwhelm is a lifestyle I am familiar with. My mind races so fast most days it’s like watching tiny bolts falling off the wheels of my chariots as I race ahead, getting nowhere.
I want to do all of the things in the same moment, and then find myself spinning instead, stuck in the mire of reality. Why can’t I do all of the goals?
Why can’t I work smarter, not harder? Is it because I love what I’m doing, and the same childish energy I had then carries me away now?
Or, more likely, it’s because I’ve always been more a “big picture” person, struggling with the small details.
I still dream of the time Turner Hermione used for classes. Was I the only one who thought it was the most brilliant creation ever? A way to learn more at school, but with so many extra applications, I immediately wanted to go out and buy one.
I was much younger when that movie came out, but I was captivated by the delicate golden strands that held such a marvelous invention, hidden around her neck to ensure a way for her to attend all of the classes she wanted to.
If I look back over my time as a student, I know if I’d had that option available, I would have used it with joy.
I could have taken my science classes along with every single creative writing class I wanted.
I could have gone out with my friends while still having plenty of time to work and get my homework done.
Now as an adult, my desires are less about learning and more about balance.
If I had a mere 30 hours in a day, I could always get eight hours of sleep.
I could always write to my heart’s content.
I could cherish my body as the temple I wish it was; feeding it good food, encouraging it to do an hour a day of stretching or yoga, and achieve whatever fitness goals I wanted, along with wonderful hikes in the great outdoors when the weather was nice.
I would always have enough time for my loved ones. I could read an hour every night with the kids, watch silly shows, and enjoy their usually random comments.
I could have a date night every night if I wanted to, and work as often as I was needed.
But I don’t have a time Turner.
I don’t have those six extra hours a day to cram in all of the things I’d like to.
So I make do, like everyone else, with a simple 24.
Sleep I prioritize, knowing I have no interest or energy for the other things I value without it.
Work is a priority too, both because I love it, and because it allows me to live life, if not entirely how I’d like, at least in a way that is comfortable and provides all of my families needs.
And yes, that may mean I have to settle for a half an hour here and there for everything else.
So I make sure that the time I do have is as intentional as I can make it.
I often read and learn while I run or drive, listening to audiobooks and podcasts.
I stretch with my coffee in the morning, five minutes here and there where I can.
Sunday supper is different right now–covid has made it verboten, but soon it will once again be a time for family and friends.
And, supper every day is family time.
The time of day where my children tell me their rose, bud, and thorn for the day. Where we discuss all the strange questions their active minds can come up with. About the sun, the moon, and stars, and the birds and the bees, whether we wish to or not.
Their questions remind me of my own curiosity, and I would never wish to stifle them, or myself. Many times, it is their unexpected questions that allow me to step back from the daily rhythms (which can quite easily become ruts), and ask myself if I am living up to my own childish dreams.
Writing allows me to ensure I don’t become too old to keep wishing and hoping and working for a better world.
If sometimes that causes my life to be a little jumbled and overwhelming, at least it isn’t boring–time turner or not.