Stolen Moments -
My life is so busy now, so very busy, Most of it is good - things I love. Spending time with friends and loved ones, doing theatre and other things I enjoy. But when those types of things start filling up my days, then free moments are filled with the necessities of life: paying bills, washing dishes, running errands, which aren’t exactly fun, but there is a satisfaction in getting them done - in having a clean house, a balanced checkbook, a well stocked pantry.
But with that comes a lack of quiet time, of free time. Time to curl up in a chair and read, time to write in my journal, time to poke around in the garden. I can’t complain, my life is good, and yet, I miss those quiet times. Back when I was single I made them regardless. Even if I didn’t have the time, I stole it. I skipped paying bills or doing laundry. I didn’t call my mother that week. I took the phone off the hook. Sure, I paid for it later, but it was worth it.
Now that I am married, I don’t seem to have that flexibility. Again, not that I am complaining, and in fact, Michael does more of the housework than I do, but when you have someone else in your life, routines are established, patterns are formed. When I lived alone, I didn’t have a television, now I find myself watching the news almost every night. Alone, my dinner companion was a book, now Michael and I will spend hours over dinner discussing the state of the world. I used to run my errands after work, eat dinner at 9:00, go downstairs and hang out with a neighbor until midnight or later. Now I know there is someone at home waiting for me, someone who has planned their life around mine. There is less spontaneity, less fluidity. Michael complemented me recently that for a woman who was as set in her ways as I was when he met me, I have adapted remarkably well. But sometimes I wonder.
I went down to rehearsal recently and when I got there there the space was still full of kids and parents from a dance class that took place that afternoon. So I sat in my car outside, waiting for them to leave. I had a bottle of juice I had picked up at a convenience store on the way and a great book tucked in my purse. I cracked open the juice, tilted the seat back, and took out my book. I had about fifteen minutes, parked in the last of the setting sun’s rays, listening to the traffic going by, enjoying the time that was all my own. It was a stolen moment of irresponsibility - there was nothing I had to, and nothing I should be doing, and the time was all mine. I was sorry when it ended.
There are advantages to having daily routines. It is comforting to me to know that there will be dinner on the table when I get home from rehearsal tonight, that the house is clean and tidy, that there is order. The trick is somehow making sure that those routines are adaptive, not restrictive. I think that takes work, and an equal understanding on both sides about what the other person needs, both in terms of order and in chaos. It is something that takes time and compromise. I know this, and I feel wrong for occasionally chafing at the bit. There is so much of my life that is wonderful and perfect, I feel like I shouldn’t have to celebrate my quiet 15 minutes. I feel like I should be able to accept things as they are and not want more.
But sometimes, I do.
But with that comes a lack of quiet time, of free time. Time to curl up in a chair and read, time to write in my journal, time to poke around in the garden. I can’t complain, my life is good, and yet, I miss those quiet times. Back when I was single I made them regardless. Even if I didn’t have the time, I stole it. I skipped paying bills or doing laundry. I didn’t call my mother that week. I took the phone off the hook. Sure, I paid for it later, but it was worth it.
Now that I am married, I don’t seem to have that flexibility. Again, not that I am complaining, and in fact, Michael does more of the housework than I do, but when you have someone else in your life, routines are established, patterns are formed. When I lived alone, I didn’t have a television, now I find myself watching the news almost every night. Alone, my dinner companion was a book, now Michael and I will spend hours over dinner discussing the state of the world. I used to run my errands after work, eat dinner at 9:00, go downstairs and hang out with a neighbor until midnight or later. Now I know there is someone at home waiting for me, someone who has planned their life around mine. There is less spontaneity, less fluidity. Michael complemented me recently that for a woman who was as set in her ways as I was when he met me, I have adapted remarkably well. But sometimes I wonder.
I went down to rehearsal recently and when I got there there the space was still full of kids and parents from a dance class that took place that afternoon. So I sat in my car outside, waiting for them to leave. I had a bottle of juice I had picked up at a convenience store on the way and a great book tucked in my purse. I cracked open the juice, tilted the seat back, and took out my book. I had about fifteen minutes, parked in the last of the setting sun’s rays, listening to the traffic going by, enjoying the time that was all my own. It was a stolen moment of irresponsibility - there was nothing I had to, and nothing I should be doing, and the time was all mine. I was sorry when it ended.
There are advantages to having daily routines. It is comforting to me to know that there will be dinner on the table when I get home from rehearsal tonight, that the house is clean and tidy, that there is order. The trick is somehow making sure that those routines are adaptive, not restrictive. I think that takes work, and an equal understanding on both sides about what the other person needs, both in terms of order and in chaos. It is something that takes time and compromise. I know this, and I feel wrong for occasionally chafing at the bit. There is so much of my life that is wonderful and perfect, I feel like I shouldn’t have to celebrate my quiet 15 minutes. I feel like I should be able to accept things as they are and not want more.
But sometimes, I do.