On Life and Time: Closing Chapters, Opening Novels
Time.
It keeps moving forward, laughing at me with the lack of "tangible productivity" I seem to have paired with it. But then I look at my almost 20 pound five month old (yeah that's large) and realize where the days unspoken for with lists uncrossed and clutter unmanaged, have gone. They've gone into a phenomenally complex multi-layered human being. Period. That's more than a cop out answer, though I know the majority of parents that call themselves full-time, struggle with this whole time issue, needing to constantly confront the lie that asks us "what have you been doing with your life all this...t.i.m.e?"
That being said, we have had quite a change of events from day-to-day adventures out of the usually mundane type tasks....to more of a conventional pattern of living. It's always fascinating how traveling or unconventionality has a way of daily causing one ask the "am I living life fully" questions and naturally end up answering with a solid, tangible, confident, "YES." Then, as soon as the traveling/unconventional pattern stops, the identity crisis hits. Because somehow cooking food in a regular kitchen, or having a day job, or some kind of predictability makes the time blur from the idealistic day-to-day depths of observation, to realizing a month's worth of time has slipped between the ever-cupped hands leaving a person asking...where has the time gone? And paired with that...the time concept starts laughing at us tempting us to think we've wasted it.
I know this goes beyond parenting, because its just one of those redundant topics that people seem to always have plenty of long-winded discussions about. To spare yet another long-winded, word filled perspective that doesn't bring us anywhere really...how about a recap on where the time has gone for the 3 Wayfarers, to bring conclusions of the time and identity crisis by way of notes of observation instead.
Because, really, if we truly ask ourselves where the time has gone, and sit down to actually look at it....maybe...I at least, can stop beating myself up with that ridiculously redundant question, and have some "tangible" memories to appreciate instead when that worthless question laughs meanly at me next time.
So, here are some notes on the change of scenery from one chapter closing and onto the next.(And..Thanks for appreciating them with me too, dear readers.)
Chapter Closing
(Written several weeks ago)
Our motorhome is now no more to us than a memory, as mere moments ago we closed the deal with a young gal full of adventure. We turned our backs, cash-indirectly-in hand, to not look back, beyond the pictures and stories we will cherish for years to come of this little rugged home on wheels.
And to my delight, it couldn't have been more story-like in the overly-perfected moment to moment timing of such a thing. Of course it was the morning of the scheduled test drive with our interested buyer, that we got the neon orange notice that we had 48 hours to remove our vehicle from the street or it would be impounded. Yeah, like, taken away and we'd have to pay a large sum of money to get it back. And on the dime of time, our almost-buyer took it to a mechanic the following day and thus the process began of the transfer from our adventure to hers in the form of a 23 foot mobile box. Of course, it's not like we knew that we weren't allowed to be parking with the thing on public streets in general, let alone for 2 weeks. So when I say perfect timing, I couldn't mean it more.
**As a side note, it was also the day I got the notice from the police--that a woman stopped her car in the literal middle of the street to exclaim the joy she had experienced from seeing it parked there every day over the past few weeks. Following this exchange, was a phone call with the police who had tagged it--who casually and lightheartedly explained the 'whys' behind the law...without even for a moment condemning the situation. One of the nicest police encounters I've probably ever experienced! Yeah Southern hospitality on all ends!
(Written at present)
Prior to the sale and moving into our [delightfully fresh] apartment, we made our last sprint towards the finish line of this whole endurance test, parking in the driveway of a friend's place. Corey began his first week working remotely...in the backyard with mosquitoes and rescue dogs to keep him company. Meanwhile, I spent days searching for furnishings to finally make a home, in between some slight emotional breakdowns with a whining babe and no more husband to hand him off to when I needed some mental space and silence. Corey's mom visited the following week while we hauled armloads of stuff up to our 3rd floor space, and spent some time catching my breath letting myself sit a bit from the keep-up-with-the-intense-pace-of-living.
Nothing quite like closing that chapter in the same kind of bang that it all began. With the whole circus of our purchasing and moving out adventures to begin the journey, and ending it with a series of challenging and unique circumstances, I'd say this was a chapter in our life well worth writing together.
The weight of the ownership transferred itself quickly into the form of pleasant nostalgia. Last night I pondered some of the more contented and cozy memories with it...laughing at myself at how much more delightful memories can be when they are re-lived in the more comfortable settings of one's mind. And then, I ask, is that so wrong? Perhaps the struggle and uncomfortable moments it took to form those memories can function as a sort of payed investment for a lifetime of opportunities to return to a place that can immediately turn almost any grey day into a world of color, based solely on the willingness to recall it. Is that so wrong?
Opening Novels
So meanwhile, I'm sure you can perceive that the lack of writing is from the fact that I have been thoroughly embracing the life of space, furniture, and floor room. Our studio loft set up is so far treating as well as we could have hoped. Though I have also come to see that certain days of parenting aren't made any easier just because one has been introduced to more space. Regardless, take a peek at the home:
The minimalist portion of our preferences has been completely challenged with a wonderfully precious child. I see the corners and closet spaces that would be clear had we not had to fill them with ridiculous materials that exist for the sole purpose of catching bodily fluids or things that suggest a life completely dependent on the tools and care of a provider. Yeah, babies come with a lot of gear no matter how awesomely slim a lifestyle a person might try to attempt.
OR no matter how awesomely organized a person might be. Because as soon as that blanket gets folded an placed into it's neat stack...it is going to be demanded within the hour as an absolutely essential resource to cover the chilly toes, or swaddle the wiggling babe. The toy may find its way to a toy box...but then it better be within arms reach if a mother would prefer her hair or clothing not be used as a chewing/pulling/squeezing toy-like object.
So, I've quickly come to see--there are just things that come with creating an environment for a child. They need safe things they can put in their mouth--the adult world has a lot of sharp edges, that's for sure.
Then comes the dying to self daily stuff. Where I wake up with all sorts of schemes of leaving the house, coming up with an organized system for our closets, preparing meals for Corey while I'll be gone...every. single. thing gets shoved aside by the much simpler and essential tasks...like washing the 4th poopy diaper of the day. Forget my agenda or desires, they are irrelevant. It's pretty aggravating to the point of steam coming out the ears....and then...there's this..
Love. Pure love.
Not to be so cliche in the contrasts. But I'm merely stating the experiences as they are. One moment punches my gut in self-absorbed frustration...the next squeezes my heart in selfless realities. It reminds me that life at it's core exists of human beings in relationship....and those ridiculous days that beat me up so much with insignificant details, just solidify and remind me all the more how big and beautiful the Lord is, and how awesome a privilege it is to invest my heart and soul into such a receptive little lover.
Jesus is showing me how to be best friends.
When Corey disappeared from my life one day, to get into the new stage of the working class world, I realized how much of my days were filled with that relationship. And what a great opportunity it was for me to depend on a new kind of friendship. In one little guy, and in one Big God.
So with that friendship--comes the times in between. Where small little journeys just sort unfold, creating the greater fabric of a life spent together, in what's usually termed as "growing old" with someone..
Sometimes it's just in the random abruptness in which the scenery may change. One day, we're out in the drizzling fog, public-transportation bound, hauling two empty strollers and a baby on our chest walking past fast traffic and weaving underneath expressways nodding to the homeless man in the bush. Then, days soon after, we.....bought. a. car. It just sort of happened (well, plus about 8 hours of Corey's day off). And just like that, our days of getting picked up/dropped off like 15 year olds...came to an end. And then....somehow walking in unusual circumstances would thus become something we'd only ever be doing again by choice.
There are encounters that drop into these novel-like days, asking us to remember. Like the poor woman in the bathroom without pants--our encounter asked me, am I going to help this woman with all that I can or shrug it off as strange and uncomfortable? Like Danforth's poop explosion the one time I didn't bring spare clothes---this moment asked me, am I going to simply embrace being that mother with the chunky shirtless babe on a really cold day, and the one who washes poopy clothes/diapers in a high-end store? Like the mystery man with the luggage that may or may not be riding the bus all day, stopping only to pick up a burrito, only giving us hints at his story--this encounter asked me, if I had the chance to (safely) help this man, would I? These kinds of encounters and moments really make substance we can grasp, we can laugh through, we can embrace humanity's needs. Or we can keep our heads tucked into our collars not wanting to engage our neighbors in a hello because getting to our insert mundane list makers here or keeping ourselves comfortable is just that much more important?
What's all this jazz about opening novels then? Guess, the picture here is with the louder memories, like Zephyrus at Sea, the home on wheels, the unconventional honeymoon and such things...are delightful chapters in and of themselves...they are still just chapters. The novels, are the big, long-winded, day-to-day formations of a greater picture. Each of us have this colossal grand formation we are in the midst of creating. It's when time seems to be slipping through our hands, that we must, we must, assess if we are moving in the direction of our desires and dreams....and if the bigger picture answers to us an a resounding "yes", we must not discount that time as time wasted.
Or as a wall's quote once informed me of Lennon's take on things "Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted."
It keeps moving forward, laughing at me with the lack of "tangible productivity" I seem to have paired with it. But then I look at my almost 20 pound five month old (yeah that's large) and realize where the days unspoken for with lists uncrossed and clutter unmanaged, have gone. They've gone into a phenomenally complex multi-layered human being. Period. That's more than a cop out answer, though I know the majority of parents that call themselves full-time, struggle with this whole time issue, needing to constantly confront the lie that asks us "what have you been doing with your life all this...t.i.m.e?"
That being said, we have had quite a change of events from day-to-day adventures out of the usually mundane type tasks....to more of a conventional pattern of living. It's always fascinating how traveling or unconventionality has a way of daily causing one ask the "am I living life fully" questions and naturally end up answering with a solid, tangible, confident, "YES." Then, as soon as the traveling/unconventional pattern stops, the identity crisis hits. Because somehow cooking food in a regular kitchen, or having a day job, or some kind of predictability makes the time blur from the idealistic day-to-day depths of observation, to realizing a month's worth of time has slipped between the ever-cupped hands leaving a person asking...where has the time gone? And paired with that...the time concept starts laughing at us tempting us to think we've wasted it.
I know this goes beyond parenting, because its just one of those redundant topics that people seem to always have plenty of long-winded discussions about. To spare yet another long-winded, word filled perspective that doesn't bring us anywhere really...how about a recap on where the time has gone for the 3 Wayfarers, to bring conclusions of the time and identity crisis by way of notes of observation instead.
Because, really, if we truly ask ourselves where the time has gone, and sit down to actually look at it....maybe...I at least, can stop beating myself up with that ridiculously redundant question, and have some "tangible" memories to appreciate instead when that worthless question laughs meanly at me next time.
So, here are some notes on the change of scenery from one chapter closing and onto the next.(And..Thanks for appreciating them with me too, dear readers.)
Chapter Closing
(Written several weeks ago)
Our motorhome is now no more to us than a memory, as mere moments ago we closed the deal with a young gal full of adventure. We turned our backs, cash-indirectly-in hand, to not look back, beyond the pictures and stories we will cherish for years to come of this little rugged home on wheels.
**As a side note, it was also the day I got the notice from the police--that a woman stopped her car in the literal middle of the street to exclaim the joy she had experienced from seeing it parked there every day over the past few weeks. Following this exchange, was a phone call with the police who had tagged it--who casually and lightheartedly explained the 'whys' behind the law...without even for a moment condemning the situation. One of the nicest police encounters I've probably ever experienced! Yeah Southern hospitality on all ends!
(Written at present)
Prior to the sale and moving into our [delightfully fresh] apartment, we made our last sprint towards the finish line of this whole endurance test, parking in the driveway of a friend's place. Corey began his first week working remotely...in the backyard with mosquitoes and rescue dogs to keep him company. Meanwhile, I spent days searching for furnishings to finally make a home, in between some slight emotional breakdowns with a whining babe and no more husband to hand him off to when I needed some mental space and silence. Corey's mom visited the following week while we hauled armloads of stuff up to our 3rd floor space, and spent some time catching my breath letting myself sit a bit from the keep-up-with-the-intense-pace-of-living.
Nothing quite like closing that chapter in the same kind of bang that it all began. With the whole circus of our purchasing and moving out adventures to begin the journey, and ending it with a series of challenging and unique circumstances, I'd say this was a chapter in our life well worth writing together.
The weight of the ownership transferred itself quickly into the form of pleasant nostalgia. Last night I pondered some of the more contented and cozy memories with it...laughing at myself at how much more delightful memories can be when they are re-lived in the more comfortable settings of one's mind. And then, I ask, is that so wrong? Perhaps the struggle and uncomfortable moments it took to form those memories can function as a sort of payed investment for a lifetime of opportunities to return to a place that can immediately turn almost any grey day into a world of color, based solely on the willingness to recall it. Is that so wrong?
Opening Novels
So meanwhile, I'm sure you can perceive that the lack of writing is from the fact that I have been thoroughly embracing the life of space, furniture, and floor room. Our studio loft set up is so far treating as well as we could have hoped. Though I have also come to see that certain days of parenting aren't made any easier just because one has been introduced to more space. Regardless, take a peek at the home:
The minimalist portion of our preferences has been completely challenged with a wonderfully precious child. I see the corners and closet spaces that would be clear had we not had to fill them with ridiculous materials that exist for the sole purpose of catching bodily fluids or things that suggest a life completely dependent on the tools and care of a provider. Yeah, babies come with a lot of gear no matter how awesomely slim a lifestyle a person might try to attempt.
OR no matter how awesomely organized a person might be. Because as soon as that blanket gets folded an placed into it's neat stack...it is going to be demanded within the hour as an absolutely essential resource to cover the chilly toes, or swaddle the wiggling babe. The toy may find its way to a toy box...but then it better be within arms reach if a mother would prefer her hair or clothing not be used as a chewing/pulling/squeezing toy-like object.
So, I've quickly come to see--there are just things that come with creating an environment for a child. They need safe things they can put in their mouth--the adult world has a lot of sharp edges, that's for sure.
Then comes the dying to self daily stuff. Where I wake up with all sorts of schemes of leaving the house, coming up with an organized system for our closets, preparing meals for Corey while I'll be gone...every. single. thing gets shoved aside by the much simpler and essential tasks...like washing the 4th poopy diaper of the day. Forget my agenda or desires, they are irrelevant. It's pretty aggravating to the point of steam coming out the ears....and then...there's this..
Love. Pure love.
Jesus is showing me how to be best friends.
When Corey disappeared from my life one day, to get into the new stage of the working class world, I realized how much of my days were filled with that relationship. And what a great opportunity it was for me to depend on a new kind of friendship. In one little guy, and in one Big God.
So with that friendship--comes the times in between. Where small little journeys just sort unfold, creating the greater fabric of a life spent together, in what's usually termed as "growing old" with someone..
Sometimes it's just in the random abruptness in which the scenery may change. One day, we're out in the drizzling fog, public-transportation bound, hauling two empty strollers and a baby on our chest walking past fast traffic and weaving underneath expressways nodding to the homeless man in the bush. Then, days soon after, we.....bought. a. car. It just sort of happened (well, plus about 8 hours of Corey's day off). And just like that, our days of getting picked up/dropped off like 15 year olds...came to an end. And then....somehow walking in unusual circumstances would thus become something we'd only ever be doing again by choice.
What's all this jazz about opening novels then? Guess, the picture here is with the louder memories, like Zephyrus at Sea, the home on wheels, the unconventional honeymoon and such things...are delightful chapters in and of themselves...they are still just chapters. The novels, are the big, long-winded, day-to-day formations of a greater picture. Each of us have this colossal grand formation we are in the midst of creating. It's when time seems to be slipping through our hands, that we must, we must, assess if we are moving in the direction of our desires and dreams....and if the bigger picture answers to us an a resounding "yes", we must not discount that time as time wasted.
Or as a wall's quote once informed me of Lennon's take on things "Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted."
So, maybe the blogs will slow down. Merely because this present journey is of a much larger spectrum and is not easily reflected on in words. It's parenting. It's life in a city. It's friendship in the earliest stages of formation. It's huge. And jee, maybe I can stop beating myself up about not capturing the story in words thinking there must not be much to say...and realize....the days are filled with tiny stories of intimacy, hope, Jesus, discovery, and all summed up in relationship. And that, is where time has gone, well spent, and well "wasted."
Until next time,
M
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