But
I miss you too.
I’ve been…I don’t know. In mid-career, in middle-age, rat-racing. Feeling all of 41 some days, and only maybe three-quarters of it other days. Joints getting stiff, weird morning creaks and limps and pains, all of which I’m sure would be significantly reduced if I could find more time to exercise when things get slammed. I feel so much better when I’m exercising regularly, but it’s hard to figure out how to make changing clothes, working out, showering, etc. happen (a good 90 minutes out of the day, all things considered) when I’m so pressed for time. The best option is bike commuting to work, which I’ve been managing in good weather, but it means all this complicated packing of bike bags and coordinating of errands I’d otherwise do in the car. Still, it’s totally worth it for the physical and psychic benefits.
Bitch, bitch. I’ve got no room to bitch, really. My job is secure at least for the next 2-3 years if I keep honing to a writing schedule–a relative security almost 1 in 10 Americans doesn’t have right now. I don’t have the exponentially added stress of kids (about which I feel alternately relieved and sad). Yeah, my body’s changing and that freaks me out, but I have my health, two legs to walk on, all my facilities that I take for granted, unlike the brave woman in this moving article. No one’s died, no one’s sick, my car seems to be working, cats are good, relationship’s good, and I’m caught up on my bills. I’ve had a lot worse times than this.
Still, it’s stressful, and sometimes I have a pit in my stomach on Monday mornings. I’m getting by fine, but that reality gives me the feeling of getting dug deeper in. I seem to have done well on my third-year review, but that leaves me tied more tightly into academia, and to a discipline I often feel doesn’t suit me. My teaching is solid, but with the mini-sabbatical over and no new grant money coming in, that means unless I can stack my classes I’m pretty much locked to teaching every quarter including summers for the next three years. It’s rewarding, but exhausting. It gives, but it also takes.
Sorry for the dark cloud moment. I’m guessing, though, that most of you have your parallels. There’s something about getting proficient at what it is you’ve been trying to do for most of your life that can make you wonder if it’s what you really want to do after all.
I miss the things I haven’t had time for: playing guitar, painting, quilting, photography. When I’m home, I need downtime, chilling, unwinding. Or, alternately, laundry, cleaning, ironing, paying bills, balancing the checkbook, dealing with the yard. And, necessary as it is, I get the suspicion that that’s how we become American zombies, glazed over in front of tvs and catalogs and magazines: so much work and not a lot of play.
Thank god for the roller skating costume party on Friday. Not sure I’ve ever quite needed one so much.
