“Wherever we go, there seems to be only one
business at hand - that of finding workable compromises between the sublimity
of our ideas and the absurdity of the fact of us.”
―Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk: Expeditions and Encounters
Over time, the workable compromises became unworkable. Even
as I made them, I knew in my head that beneath the seductive sheen of calm and
simplicity the incremental compromises offered—time for art and reading with
the kid(s) and book groups with the interesting moms I would meet, nightly
opportunities to try out the recipes I had been clipping since long before I
had a stove to cook them on, perhaps the discovery of an interest in
homekeeping I had never once experienced, at the very least a reprieve from arranging for work and daycare from a distance while wrapping up the old
job—lurked deep downward currents that could drown soul and self.
Compromise, compounded and committed against myself again,
and again, and yet again, has left me stripped
bare, uncertain of myself. As the children I structured my life around extend
the circles they traverse, with me holding an unsteady and often unnecessary
center, I barely breathe some days. I am fortunate that my partner in these
crimes against myself is, in contrast, circling in tighter, sharing his own
loss of self and direction; yet at times I hardly know who he is circling back to, and
pray that my lack of an inner life will not be discovered, dismantled,
dismissed.
Time to dig in and write my
losses, discover the subjects I know I once had, perhaps even rediscover some
sublimity of my own ideas. In the upcoming Conscious Feminine Leadership Training 2015, I embark on a new adventure in reading, writing, and (re-)discovering self in the company of brave and determined women.
Mary, for The Poplar Grove Muse
