I used to worship at the altar of busy. I would flit from one thing to the next, arriving late to each function and meeting, guzzling down so much Diet Coke my body would be humming, my heart skipping every other beat.
I used to thrive on planning big events — the thrill of it all — from catering orders to decor to set up to the big show. I loved knowing that I, alone, knew everything, down to the smallest detail. The name of each guest on the list, the event’s timeline down to the minute, the location of each necessary person and thing.
Now, the thought of it all just makes me tired.
Maybe it’s because my kids are busier (though admittedly less physically needy these days than ever before), or maybe it’s a new season of my life. Either way, I’m craving slow these days. I’m craving connection and family dinners where my kids still want to be the first to say the dinner prayer and joyfully share what they’re thankful for from their days.
I’m craving yoga and PIYO and long walks and good books and painting. I’m craving the activities that make my heart and body happy, regardless of their purpose to the outside world.
I used to crave success for the sake of success. and while I do find myself falling into that trap from time to time, lately I’ve been questioning the intention behind each action I take.
Do I really want to make more money? Or do I want more free time? Do I really want to pinch every penny for x,y,z savings goals? Or would I rather enjoy a date night with my husband? Do I really want (or need) to go to grad school? (Probably, maybe, I don’t know?!) Or would I rather use my free time to take a paint or photography class? Essentially, the question I’ve been asking has been — what makes me happy?
I recently interviewed someone for an upcoming publication, and he spoke of what he called the unraveling of his life–how his life purpose has shifted as he has aged.
The common thread from many of the people I interview is this: There comes a point in your life when you have to be authentically, unapologetically YOU. And then, they say, once you figure that out, you work on giving back. You seek to match your gifts with the needs of others.
Many of the people I speak to for my work are in their 80s – the prime time for reflecting back on one’s life and imparting knowledge to the next generation.
But I have to believe they’re on to something.
They have the wisdom to see clearly what I’m just beginning to think about.
Who was I before the world stepped in? Before I heard mixed messages about what is right, acceptable, successful?
Another way to think of it is this: What if we all did now, authentically and unapologetically, what we once did as children?
What if you painted, or caught frogs, or organized your stamp collection, or hiked in the woods, or went fishing, or played an instrument, or otherwise dared to love whatever once made your heart sing?
I used to ice-skate, semi-competitively (if Omaha, NE counts for the competitive ice skating circuit). I wasn’t terribly good at it. The stage moms with their aerosol hairspray and other girls with perfect outfits and daily practice had the edge. But it made my heart happy. I think about that often, how nice it would be to just skate again for the sake of skating.
I firmly believe that each and every one of us was made holy, as is, from the womb, long before we thought about who we should be or how we should live. I think what my interviewee meant when he spoke of his life’s unraveling was really a rediscovery of the holy in the somewhat mundane, day to day parts of our life.
For me, the best way to access the divine, is to accept that I am enough, right here, right now. And in doing so, I have to accept the passions, calling, and identity I received, long before the world had its say. And it’s in accepting that identity, that I hope to arrive to the only altar that matters.