I stood in my kitchen crying and losing perspective. I was tired after a week of attempting to do everything all at once so I could have the satisfaction of shouting “All done!” I cried because I am terrible at time management.
Scott often says, “Rest is a discipline, too.” He offers up this advice stretched out on the couch while casting a meaningful look.
As I dissolved in his arms blubbering about school forms (what is with the sheer volume of paper that comes home from school??), a doctor’s appointment and the list that looms on my dining room table which also serves as my desk, I can feel the I-told-you-so as he rubs my back.
Scott shooed me away. “Go upstairs for a while. Close the door. I’ll look after the kids.” Romance is not dead in our house.
I turned to go up the stairs. He called after me, “You’re leaving your phone here.”
I clutched my phone to my chest. “I have stuff to do, people to get back to. A whole bunch of emails…” I loosened my talons and plunked it down on the counter.
Phone-free, I realized how noisy my life has become. If we’re not chauffeuring, emailing or working, we are liking, favoriting and commenting. We are awash in a steady flow of Facebook notifications, tweets, emoticons and texts. Being thick-skinned is a requirement now when I turn on the computer. Not just to handle a snarky comment but to sift through the barrage of information. I’m not lamenting the information age (are we still calling it that?) and hearkening the good ol’ days because, c’mon, sending a quick text is far superior to the telegram or the postal service or even voice mail. I have to press 1 and # again? I love cute photos of kids, funny stories and a good, soulful blog post. But I am recognizing a gnawing in the pit of my stomach, a craving. For quiet.
Quiet makes room. For rest. For perspective. For the unimagined and unexplored. Feelings get lost, buried in noise and I don’t want to miss sadness or joy. I can’t stop everything right now. I don’t want to escape, although I wouldn’t mind moving to Paris. I’ll live vicariously through the people with wealthy employers on House Hunters International. I accept that life is busy and in the middle of overwhelmed I need to make room for quiet.
Tara Pohlkotte is a gifted writer (one of my favorites!) who has a collection of poems and essays all tied up beautifully in Dreamcatcher. Her writing both stills and feeds my soul. You can get your copy here.