“I can’t do it all,” the speech began. “I can’t be a good
wife, a good teacher, a good employee, a good friend, a good community member, a
good writer, a good daughter, and a good mom [to furry kids, of course] all at
the same time. Something’s gotta give. Plus, I need time to date myself. When
was the last time I had a date with myself? You know, I like spending time with
myself!” My husband’s eyes said, “By all means, please go on a date with just yourself.” But his mouth said, “It’s
been a while. You are trying to do too much. Maybe you need to take a break.”
It was 6:30pm. I had just gotten home from work at 6:15pm
after starting work at 7am. I was stirring pasta on the stove, talking with my
husband about the day, trying to pay attention to my dog because she was so happy
to see me, thinking about what I would pack for lunch the next day, and
cataloguing my to-do list in my head. My phone rang and I chose not to answer
it. When I went to listen to my messages I had about 5 because I never check my
messages. Listening to the messages added 3 things to my to-do list. (Note to
self: this is why you should never check your messages!)
There likely isn’t anyone reading who hasn’t felt this way or
who hasn’t given a similar speech to her spouse. If anything, I’m preaching to
the choir. But it might surprise some of you to hear that even someone who has
chosen to not have children struggles to “have it all” or at the very least “be
it all.” Though the definition of “all” changes for each of us, the struggle to
obtain it or be it does not. But this thought got me thinking and one question
has lingered since: why does the struggle exist at all?
So far, I’ve come to the conclusion that it doesn’t need to,
or really more to the point, it shouldn’t. Struggling this way makes us feel
powerless about our lives and how we are living them. The struggle makes us
forget that all-important notion that should be driving us: choice.
In all truth, it also makes us all act like entitled, whiny
brats sometimes. Why do we think we should be able to have it all? Or, even if
we think we deserve to have it all, why do we think it should be easy? Worse,
if we’ve managed to get it all and we’re just trying to keep it, why are we
bitching? By the by, I likely fall into that last category.
The bottom line is that life is all about choices. We make
big choices about family, money, and career and little ones about what to eat
for dinner and what plans to make for the weekend. With all of these choices
comes power. The power to make our lives exactly what we want them to be. The
power to say “no” when we need (or just want) to. We also get to make a choice
about our perspective. I can choose to view my efforts to have it all as a
struggle, or I can view them as a bad-ass desire to grab life by the horns. The
beauty of choice is that, if I need to, I can choose to only have half of it
all when I’m feeling overwhelmed. And this is why I have chosen to put on my
big girl panties and quit my bitchin’.
For instance, if I want to be an active writer, I need to
write. This means I need time to myself to think and, you know, write about what I am thinking. This
means that time spent doing other things will just have to give. This doesn’t
mean that I’m a bad friend or community member if I say no once in a while.
Really, I’ll be a better friend and community member if I feed my own hobbies
and passions once in a while.
Speaking of being a community member: since moving to small
town Maine, I’ve felt the need to be more involved in the community. When I was new
in town and had a 9-5 job in the private sector, this was easier. Now that I am
a teacher at a community college, I find that I devote a lot of energy to the
community in a different way, namely, being a mentor for students and nurturing
students as they learn the ropes of college and writing. This means less emotional
energy for other community activities. It’s taken me a while to say, “That’s
okay.” But guess what? It is okay. Because
I’d rather not half ass anything, I had to make a choice to a few things off my
plate.
If I view these choices as a struggle, or if I continue
running myself ragged so that I have it all, does that make me a better person?
On the days when I don’t necessarily have the choice to take something off my
plate, does complaining about it make it any better? Does forgiving myself and
giving myself space to breathe make me selfish? In case you couldn’t guess, my
answers to these questions are no, no, and no. (And by that token, I’ve made
the choice to date myself. Stay tuned for an upcoming blog post about that
adventure.)
This is life, my friends. And no one said it would be easy.
But I’m going to make a conscious effort not to unnecessarily refer to it as a
struggle when I can instead revel in the power of choices. Won’t you join me?
