My husband sat down with me a few weeks ago. The kids were in bed, and we were trying to wind down from another busy day of school, work, homework, sports practice, etc.
I'm going to put quotes around the dialog because it was a conversation, not because it was verbatim. The meaning of the conversation is there, even if the exact phrasing isn't.
"I think you're putting too much crap in your brain." He was reclining on the bed with his book, or maybe it was his phone; it was something that required his glasses.
"I don't know what you mean," I say, turning on my kindle app. "I like to learn. It's fun. I'm modeling learning for the kids. It's ok."
"No. Taking a class is learning. Reading a book is learning. You're driving yourself crazy." He laid out how I had been spending my spare time:
3 Duolingo courses
45 podcast subscriptions
Fulltime (app 45-50 hr/wk) job
Mom of 3
Sunday Schoolteacher
Book club member
Reading up to 5 books simultaneously
Working on writing a book (he doesn't know about the other one)
Blog/poetry writing
Training to become a swimming scoring official
All right. That's a lot. I had explanations for most of the crazy seeming stuff. I don't teach Sunday School every week, and I have specific times of day I like to read each of my books. Someone has to score those swim meets. It might as well be me.
I also pull my weight around the house. Several loads of laundry every week are done thanks to me, and I cook dinner four or five times a week.
"I like to stay busy," I smiled sweetly at him. He kept quiet, but gave me the over-the-glasses look that said he wasn't buying my line.
So, what? I'm a little hyper, and I've never been a good sleeper. I used to go into another room and read through nights I couldn't sleep. Nowadays podcasts are not as disruptive as moving into another room, and I have heard some great interviews in the meantime.
I like to try new recipes, and I can match socks better than anyone in the household.
I have started a distraction vortex that parallels nothing else I've ever done. It's scary and freeing and I can bounce around from one fun activity to another and learn and talk and, and, and...
Stop.
There were two major things that had snuck up on me:
1) My brain was in fifth gear all the time. I was energized and "up", but I couldn't settle down to rest. When I needed to sleep, I would take a Benadryl, wondering if this is how Elvis' tailspin started.
2) Because I needed antihistamine to sit still, it was hard for me to sit still and stay awake. I either fidgeted or fell asleep. I was like a giant toddler. Imagine how delightful I must have been to hang around.
I decided my situation had to change.
I still have a job. I write, and I am still reading two books at a time. I haven't gotten rid of the kids, and our house still needs dusting.
I cut out most of the other stuff. I still teach Sunday School about once a month, but I think it helps me on my new project.
Sitting still.
I sit by myself -- with myself more than I used to, for longer than I am comfortable. I listen to my head for a while, and then I tell it to hush. I am trying to make a home for myself in my head and my heart. I am convinced that all the distraction and crazy and busy-ness I did was an escape from myself. Most of that stuff is gone now, and I am still here. I guess I'm not going anywhere. I can sit quietly first thing in the morning, and I've decided this is how I would rather go to sleep, rather than Terry Gross whispering in my ear.
It's harder this way. I have to think about things I've said and done that embarrass me. I worry about people and events coming up in my life. I may lie awake at night occasionally. I worry sometimes.
In time, I can accomplish goals, reading and writing and raising kids. I may have time for craft projects, or trips, or an adventure or two.
For now, though, I think the best example I can set is to sit.
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