I have a confession to make. The smallness of my daily existence often gnaws at me. Why am I not achieving more, experiencing more, or connecting with more people? I feel confined, trapped in these repetitive, tethered days, bound by my endless responsibilities to my beloved but demanding children. They occupy my time, attention, and energy, leaving me feeling utterly drained.
I yearn for freedom. I remember walking home from the hospital just four days after my C-section, pushing myself to step back into the world. A week later, I pushed my pristine stroller over a mile to reach the bustling center of town, craving the vibrant life I once knew.
Now, venturing out with my three young kids feels like a Herculean task. The logistics of dressing them appropriately for the weather, locating mismatched shoes, packing snacks, and ensuring preemptive bathroom trips can feel overwhelming. Is it worth the hassle? I often find myself questioning this. It used to be an obvious yes; now, the small voice in my head whispers, “Why not just stay in?”
In my previous life, I thrived in the hustle and bustle of city life—commuting daily to Times Square, living in a tiny shared apartment, surrounded by the endless pulse of the city. I could step outside for a cupcake or a drink at any moment, never truly alone.
Now, I feel tethered to my home, chasing after little ones, tending to their needs on this small piece of earth. Occasionally, I gaze up at airplanes overhead, recalling my former career as an aviation litigator. I even remember impulsively flying to New Hampshire for lunch with my college boyfriend, a pilot.
This summer, I took a job at an overnight camp, working in the office away from the main activity. My inner extrovert felt isolated. But one night, while sitting on the porch with my middle child cradled in my lap, a thick silence enveloped us as the rest of the camp attended a play. His innocent blue eyes locked onto mine, and as he settled into my embrace, I realized something—it’s time to prioritize meaning over breadth.
It’s time to invest deeply in these little lives rather than spreading myself thin across many. I want to be indispensable to a few rather than just a distant acquaintance to many. These are the years to burrow into the mundane and the minutiae. We memorize the creaks of our children’s floorboards and the freckles on their faces while navigating the world of toys and toddlerhood.
As night falls, we find ourselves bound to our homes, often out of sync with the larger world. I once walked with outstretched, free hands; now they are full, constantly occupied. My attention is divided, ensuring the safety of my children rather than focusing on my own path.
My pockets are filled with their rocks and Legos, my plate holds their uneaten leftovers, and my bed is a nest for their restless bodies. This is who we are now, and one day, we will look back and miss it deeply.
Eventually, we will reemerge from this insular existence. But for now, we find significance in these small moments and the beauty of our everyday lives, connecting with one another in profound ways. Just remember, I’m here too, shining a light from my tunnel to yours.
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