The hubby, kids, and I are at the cabin this weekend, and I said to my husband Tyler, “now I understand why my grandparents used to sit in their rocking chairs in their living room in silence and look out their big picture window.” After decades of raising 4 children and 13 grandchildren, I can only imagine that silence became a pretty sacred experience.
As Tyler and I have watched our nervous systems get triggered by the trials and tribulations of parenting and life’s other constant demands, we have a much deeper appreciation for Depeche Mode’s message from the early 90’s to “Enjoy the Silence.”
And for me, this is a distinct shift. I used to find it difficult--uncomfortable even--to be in a room by myself for any great length of time. I would get in my head with self-deprecating thoughts or the woes of the world and then want to reach out and connect with people in an effort to distract myself--or at least enact the “misery loves company” phenomenon by joining a crowd.
The time I spend in my head has become a much more pleasant place to be, so I’d prefer to hang out there. It seems that the introvert in me is claiming her stake for a desire to read, write, create, and ponder solutions rather than wallowing in the world’s problems.
And…I have these kids. And a marriage. And a puppy. And a business. And extended family. And friends. So…there’s a rub. Take this weekend for example. We are staying in a rustic cabin on a beautiful lake in the north woods and my inner Thoreau is just longing to come out and play. And yet, my family has that same longing to play—to get mom in the water, to play “wall ball” against the cabin, to show me endless magic tricks that are totally captain obvious in their execution.
So what is a modern day mompreneur to do? I’m trying to honor it all. To carve out some time each day to satisfy my own transcendentalist nature so that I can show up and play in a way that feels genuine when I devote the time to my kids.
So I figure that ultimately it’s worth me figuring out how to make time and space for all of it. By no means am I doing it perfectly or gracefully, but I’m doing it—I’m going for it—and that feels good.