Lately, I've had this heavy sense of being unsatisfied with the daily routine. Don't get me wrong, it's not an unhappiness about life or being ungrateful to the bountiful life I lead with these two:
I know raising children and keeping a home is important work, but the thanklessness of this job, and its occasional accompanying sense of drudgery at times gets the best of me. And by thanklessness, I don't mean that I want my children to appreciate what I do; I think it's just a contrast to previous work, where you had some notoriety and satisfaction in a job well-done.
I've been struggling with a creative urge that is going unanswered, mostly due to lack of time and space to make something. Knitting is all well and good, but I'm looking to do something else. And our kitchen table just doesn't accommodate the kind of artwork that requires time to make, like a quilt or a painting. Meals, play dough, and even races around the table prevent any serious art from happening. Or even just a therapeutic blog post like this one.
I took a walk yesterday to clear my head. Exercise helps, of course (tell that to my usual splayed-out-on-the-couch self, after putting the kids to bed. I strolled the neighborhood, and talked with a former professor, who sympathized with my situation. While I didn't walk away feeling marvelously better, it still got me thinking. While I try to tap into creativity via many avenues (cooking, coming up with ways to entertain the kids, etc.) I don't devote as much to myself, and I really need to carve some time out for that (duh).
While walking, I also had some weird moments, looking at houses that evoked my childhood. Something about the style of house, a certain degree of shade from the trees, or even the faint lights coming from the windows awoke a sad, nostalgic longing in me. I don't usually get like this (the past is past, my parents are no longer those of my childhood, but have a different role now, etc.) but for some reason it really made my heart feel heavy.
I determined that the feeling was more of a longing to be taken care of, to have someone else keep me safe, nourished, warm and in the arms of a happy home. Of course, I do love to provide these things myself, but every so often it would be nice to have someone else care for me again. Oh, well, that's life. We never appreciate what we have now.
And maybe that's the sentiment I need to cling onto. To be here, now, satisfied even if I'm in need of something more. Is it even possible?