“I just hate change. All I can see is what’s slipping away. I’m not in touch with the good parts.”
Those were my opening words to my therapist recently. It wasn’t a complaint so much as a wish to have different vision. Like a figure skater who can’t land a jump on her left leg, I can’t survey my life and conclude, “Hey, this is going so well! Much better than I thought.”
And nothing’s wrong– it’s just different. A recent birthday party for my son filled my house with more of his friends and less of mine. It wasn’t bad, but it was a shift to not have my kitchen filled with my best friends who’ve loved my family since the day it was created. With all the new families we’ve met at both kids’ new schools, it’s hard not to wonder who will stick around and be around in two years. Or four. Or until I die.
It’s already March and I’ve met lots of great people in our new communities, but I’m struggling to take it to the next level. I sit in the carpool line and wonder who, if any, of the moms I see will one day be close enough to me that I ignore her voice mails or text her in the middle of the night to complain about Jeff’s snoring, Sadie’s attitude or Simon’s erratic sleep. Like the old chestnut Are You My Mother? I search each face wondering if I’m looking at a bird of a feather or just an airplane or crane.
My therapist dusted off his Yale-educated brain and came up with a brilliant answer to my implicit question: Will I ever love what I’m gaining as much as what I’m losing? I was referring to friendships that have grown more distant, job offers that never came, dreams that have been deferred well beyond my timetable.
“You gained weight during your pregnancy, right?” He said.
“Um, you don’t remember those glorious 40-50ish pounds I sported thanks to the actual baby and the Fritos?”
“Well, did you lose that weight?”
“Well, there’s something you lost that you don’t miss.”
Kind of hard to argue with that. It didn’t stop me, but it was an uphill-battle-barefoot-in-icy-nettles kind of situation. And since that conversation, I’ve felt less like a snow(wo)man in a miniature globe, the pieces and people in my life swirling furiously around me. I feel more like a woman whose willing to wait and see– what will remain and what will become part of a treasured history. No pointing in chasing the flakes– I’m just letting them fall around me, trying to enjoy the view.