It’s the fourth snow day in a span of eight days. Meaning – the kids are all home, again. I’m itchy. Ok, I’m more than itchy. I’m irritable and anxious and intermittently impatient with my kids. (Hey, I need some credit for the moments in between…)
In other words, I’m moody.
I have a hundred things I’d like to be tending to – or so it feels. And I feel this inner anxiety to forward this movement now.
Except, the kids are at my feet. Talking. Pestering. Melting down.
They want my undivided attention.
And yet, it is divided.
I want to be fully present with my children because I know how fleeting – and important – it is. But I’ve got this inner rumbling of ideas-to-implement and next-steps-to-take and ways-to-possibly-make-a-real-go-of-this.
The truth is that ambition is tugging at me.
And yet, part of this ambition is my ego desiring greatness.
And this part creates tremendous anxiety on days like this. Days when I can almost see the hours or minutes of time-to-make-something-meaningful-happen slipping by. It’s a place of scarcity and fear and weaving of stories that make me feel like I must hustle my way through.
But underneath that, there is something more. There is desire.
The desire to be writing and creating and cultivating connections and following my heart.
And my heart is tugging me in both directions.
I want to drop it all and snuggle with my kids, whole-heartedly. Today, tomorrow, and for the rest of this snowed-in-winter – with nothing on my mind except whatever it is that shows up in the dance between us.
I want to sneak off to the coffee shop and be surrounded by artists and students and endlessly interesting people – and lose myself in my writing or pondering or idea-generation until I can’t believe three hours have passed and I must quickly pack up and get home. Or maybe skip home since I’m now inspired…
Yes, that desire. There is no ego there. It’s me playing out in the world…
And sometimes that desire is hard to wave off, even when my kids give me those you-can’t-resist-me-cuddles. And I remind myself that, someday, I’ll long to have this snowy winter and kids-in-footy-pajamas back.
Still, the desire remains.
So, for now, I’ll give into what is and put my laptop away. Because apparently we’re about to play some game that involves me chasing my kids – and being stopped by some powerful, invisible shields.
I have a feeling things are about to get a whole lot louder in here.
But before I don my super-villian cape, I want to leave you with this: sometimes there are collisions in our lives.
Our dreams and desires bump up against our realities. And even when our rational minds take the helm to create a plan or justify the soreness we feel, we’re still sore.
And yes, this moment will pass. But while we’re here, we might as well lean into the soreness with a large dose of self-compassion.
Because that’s what brave is: showing up, whole-heartedly, to this moment. And whatever mess or collision or challenge is here.
And loving ourselves through it.