Left to my own devices, outside the bounds and demands of time, I am confident I could find the rhythms which would enliven my mind, and fill my feet with dancing. But I live in this time, I live in this place with these people … each of which carry a resonance and a dissonance disruptive to my “dreams”. We are not given all we need to carve out a perfect space in time, nor would it be a good thing. This is a truth which is not swayed by any degree of desire, passion, pleading, or crying. Time is not a purchasable commodity.
I have long accepted that my time was not my own in these days of mothering. I, the homeschooling, full-time at-home parent, who with open eyes chose her lot. But this choosing was not without a feeling of loss or at times resentment. I long quelled the feelings with the promise that “one day” I would be ready to pursuit my passions, “one day” I could return to the things which set my heart aflame, opening the pathways in my mind, fresh and new. “one day” … a prayer, a breath, a fragile held out hope.
But the thought of “one day” can turn into an excuse, deep and stale. So now, as my days are opening up, as children grow into young people, capable and growing in independence, I stumble along a little afraid that I have forgotten what is real, that I have rested too assuredly on the fantasy of “one day.” Quietly I am asking … where are my dancing shoes?
8 years ago, I started a different blog, one where I sifted through the days of young mothering and the mothering of my young babes. Now I seek something different – I am “chasing the glowing hours,” hoping to find my “flying feet” before I find my days emptied out of their daily presence. I want to peek into boxes and see what still fits and what I have outgrown.
So this blog is a place where I hope to try things on – for good or naught. Hopefully, I will find a good fit along the way. My search starts today … this is day one.