When Last we Met.
Oh Summer, you slip through my grasp like an old memory. 15 August, and you're almost gone, and with it, my children! Back to schooling, boys of youth! Back to rhythm, sequence and planning. Back to structured time, with routines and running and long stretches of time in which I am not asked to settle a fight, or pour a glass of milk or "just go swimming" for an hour.
Summer, you see, has been both a panacea for all that has been wrong in our family for years and a bitter financial pill to swallow. Bitter, but not deadly.
We're making it, after all. I've been incorporated since the first half of April, and have been spreading the gospel of 2 Fish Company, purveyors of miraculous creative. (Yes, I'm aware that I walk that line. I always have. Call it a calling.) Old clients have been very receptive to working together again, and I'm making new clients weekly. I'm constantly busy, but have yet to truly master the cash flow machine. Soon, soon.
I want to write that "all is well." And truly, for the most part, that is true. We have done as well as can be expected when converting from a predictable salaried paycheck to the unpredictability of freelance work and cashflow management. Bills continue to be paid, we're no further behind then we were when I was working for an agency. I expect that eventually, we'll catch up.
Yet I feel unease. I'm 39, out of shape, working on my own, and my children are growing and changing faster than I know how to map. I, being a control freak, feel little sense of control in my life. Why is this such a recurring theme?
It sounds like a cry for help or pity, the above. But its more like reporting: here's where I'm at. Not so sure about it all. A moment of weakness. This weekend, when my wife and kids came home from camping, I felt put together, still uneasy, but assembled none-the-less. I've grown used to the gaggle of children running about, the noise and chaos of Summer lingering about me, whilst I try to complete a website design, or work on letterhead, or craft a brochure. The continuous interruption of life. I like being home!
And now it shifts again. In my previous employment, day after day, I went away, oblivious (ignoring?) the changes. No, not oblivious, immune. Impervious? Seasonal change mattered not. I had to work. Now? I watch my sons' hair grow with great interest. I listen to the quiet breathing of my wife whilst she lies next to me. I rub her back and read my book and note the textures of her skin.
In March, I think I was released from this prior, somewhat disconnected life, and given an opportunity to reconnect that that which I have always longed for: a loving and close family. Now that I have it, and live deeply within it, I find that it is more complex and bewildering than I ever expected. It is deep and joyous and painful and exhausting.
It is fleeting.
Summer, you see, has been both a panacea for all that has been wrong in our family for years and a bitter financial pill to swallow. Bitter, but not deadly.
We're making it, after all. I've been incorporated since the first half of April, and have been spreading the gospel of 2 Fish Company, purveyors of miraculous creative. (Yes, I'm aware that I walk that line. I always have. Call it a calling.) Old clients have been very receptive to working together again, and I'm making new clients weekly. I'm constantly busy, but have yet to truly master the cash flow machine. Soon, soon.
I want to write that "all is well." And truly, for the most part, that is true. We have done as well as can be expected when converting from a predictable salaried paycheck to the unpredictability of freelance work and cashflow management. Bills continue to be paid, we're no further behind then we were when I was working for an agency. I expect that eventually, we'll catch up.
Yet I feel unease. I'm 39, out of shape, working on my own, and my children are growing and changing faster than I know how to map. I, being a control freak, feel little sense of control in my life. Why is this such a recurring theme?
It sounds like a cry for help or pity, the above. But its more like reporting: here's where I'm at. Not so sure about it all. A moment of weakness. This weekend, when my wife and kids came home from camping, I felt put together, still uneasy, but assembled none-the-less. I've grown used to the gaggle of children running about, the noise and chaos of Summer lingering about me, whilst I try to complete a website design, or work on letterhead, or craft a brochure. The continuous interruption of life. I like being home!
And now it shifts again. In my previous employment, day after day, I went away, oblivious (ignoring?) the changes. No, not oblivious, immune. Impervious? Seasonal change mattered not. I had to work. Now? I watch my sons' hair grow with great interest. I listen to the quiet breathing of my wife whilst she lies next to me. I rub her back and read my book and note the textures of her skin.
In March, I think I was released from this prior, somewhat disconnected life, and given an opportunity to reconnect that that which I have always longed for: a loving and close family. Now that I have it, and live deeply within it, I find that it is more complex and bewildering than I ever expected. It is deep and joyous and painful and exhausting.
It is fleeting.