Grilled Cheese and The Meaning of Life

I have something to say which is of vital importance to the future of the free world as we know it but for some reason I can’t quite muster the perfect words so bear with: Sometimes I can make myself so busy that I don’t have time to live the life I want to live in the way I want to live it.

Eeek.

I’m not talking about going to a beach and reading books in a hammock all day. I’m talking about, well, right now, for me, making time to figure out which of these posts might get compiled into a book of some kind. I’m talking about making time to exercise more regularly, get back to yoga more regularly, and do all the other stuff I know helps me stay in my power peaceful place more regularly, which is key to maintaining my relationships with myself and others in a healthy way.

The stuff that makes me too busy to do the life I really want, that’s really important to me, is not, on the surface, anything awful – social engagements, housework, service commitments, community stuff, personal hygiene and beautification. It’s all stuff I want to do, I just can’t do as much of all that and do the other stuff I need to do to live my life the way I know is really best for me, right now.

And it’s terrifying. It’s terrifying to think of letting go, of dosing down, on some of the surefire things that make me feel good about myself, or at least keep me so busy I don’t have time to think about feeling bad about myself, or whatever. But it’s time for an edit.

I know that sense of satisfaction that comes from doing something well, and from accomplishing something that matters to me, and I want more of it. Like I made a grilled cheese sandwich for Ax the other day that he ate 90% of, commenting that it was, “quite good,” and I felt fantastic.

Part of the joy was from overcoming a challenge – I’d had to convince Ax to try a sandwich, had to acquire bread and cheese, had to find the panino-maker in the way way back of an unexpected kitchen shelf, and had to make it, grill it, cut it in pleasing shapes, pack it in the sandwich box, then the lunchbox with the little love note, then the backpack, then wish it godspeed being hopeful about, yet unattached to, whatever would result at lunch.

I did my part. I made the tasty tasty sandwich. Whether or not it got eaten or appreciated was none of my business.

Now times that by two thousand million trillion one hundred and ninety and that’s any given day. Lots of stuff, stuff whose outcome I have no control over but probably if I’m honest I have lots of thoughts about how I’d like it to go.

But what about my life, the vast step by step daily trudge of it? I want to bring at least as much intention to that as I do to Ax’s lunchbox. Today I’m going to make space for what I need. Me, the real me who needs quite a bit, who needs what she needs. Who’s ready to accept that. I am who I am. I need what I need. I’m gonna keep going.