The interesting thing about trying to wrap my head around 6-hours of alone time (be still my introvert heart), is the growing realization that “someday” could actually have more time/focus/brain cells than I have now.
You see, I’ve subscribed for a while to the ‘if not now, when?’ and ‘if you want something done, give it to a busy person,’ ideas. I’m home with three kids, have been for six years, and expect to be for at least ten or so years more. If something is going to happen (like spinning, or writing a novel, or learning how to cook) it’s going to have to fit in now, because there’s no saying it will fit in better in a year or two.
And I think this can actually create anxiety.
Maybe depression?
Because I am so acutely aware of my limitations. They are so disappointing.
Add to that the growing awareness of needs around me, and I am left not only with a conviction I shouldn’t add anything more (like a dog or milk animal)– no matter how much I want it– but also face the question of how much I can/should keep doing what is already ‘on my plate.’
Image courtesy of Sanja Gjenero via stock.xchng
All those motivational types encourage diving in and doing now.
And just now, just for me, I’m finding that maturity looks a bit more like waiting. Not ten years, but maybe three months.
Three months is not so painful.
It’s like waiting till the end of your engagement, instead of waiting (and wondering) if you’ll ever get married at all.
Because that long sort of waiting has always seemed like a no to me. And when I’m already living with the conviction that the right answer– the answer that includes my obedience– is yes, I’m left with trying to figure out the how.
And, yeah, I think the how is different for everyone. But I’m starting to get excited about what my how could be in a few months– even if it’s just for one semester.