Dreams and Distractions

It’s November 1st, a new month, and the unofficial beginning of the coziest season of the year. For me, and my writing, it’s also the beginning of my biggest ambitions and probably least productive time. There’s no sunny backyard to distract, the kids are (mostly) in school, and there really is nothing that makes me happier than a cup of tea, a cat, and my laptop.

But that same coziness also brings with it the little creeping distractions. I’ve already planned out our Christmas crafts, started shopping for stocking stuffers, and just this weekend, Willow and I made maybe the best muffins I’ve ever had. I’m currently stuffing my face with one of them and let me tell you, the roly-poly feeling is not conducive to deeply creative thought.

I’ve of two minds on productivity. On the one hand, I’ve got a “butt in seat” mentality. You sit down, do the work, and don’t stop until you’re where you want to be. “You can’t edit a blank page” and all that. On the other hand, as a parent who is trying to work, there are moments where the exhaustion/worry/neverending task list obliterates anything resembling excellence. And I do believe that rest is part of work.

What does rest mean? Does it mean sleep? Does it mean frequent breaks during the day? Does it mean significant time spent on nonwork? What about hobbies that are fulfilling but physically hard?

And the final piece is that there is literally no room in our society for the mentality that rest and work are not opposites, but rather two sides of the same coin. There’s no room to realize that forcing oneself to push through the exhaustion is occasionally helpful but mostly just borrowing from my future self. (And let’s be clear, that future self is the one who spends time with my kids. They get the mom who is running on empty.)

There’s a luxury in this life of mine and it’s one I am self-conscious about. A few years ago, I was allowed to decide what I wanted to do with the next ten years of my life. There were a lot of parameters put in place by the realities of my life, but all of those had to do with time and flexibility and my ability to randomly spend a couple days in the hospital if my kids’ needs flared up. Money was the piece that didn’t have to matter. I can’t even express how thankful I am for that.

But that flexibility that this path offers me is a double edged sword. I can be anywhere at anytime (in fact, I must be able to be anywhere I’m needed at anytime) but there’s also no one prioritizing this writing but me. (And Forrest, of course, who is a total rock star, except for his habit of begging me to write the books he wants to read instead of the ones I actually want to write.) And without a boss, or a true deadline, or even a clear path forward, it’s hard to navigate the work/rest/play balance.

I don’t purport to have any answers. I set my little writing goals and I put a timer on and turn my phone to do not disturb and then I spend my time falling down a wikipedia rabbit hole that is only marginally related to the work at hand. And the holidays will bring their own work/rest/play balance, or imbalance, of course. Most of all, it’s nice to remind myself that no one knows the answer. There isn’t one. There is only persistent effort to try to get it right, try not to let down the people I value most. And remind myself that one of the people I’m trying not to let down is me. Because if I don’t value her dreams, how can I ask other people to?