We’ve all heard the famous Descartes quote “I think, therefore I am.” Well, my question is who in the world has the time to think? For me, between raising two little girls and navigating a busy career, I’m racing instead of reflecting. The time I spend thinking about something other than work and peanut butter sandwiches may amount to half of a shower. But occasionally—when I least expect it—a thought or feeling hits me and makes me pause. Recently, I was stopped in my tracks.
It was a typical summer Saturday. My husband—whom I’ll call “John” because that’s his real name—and I had risen at a time earlier than we’d like, brought out of our bed by the chattering and bickering of our daughters. We threw in some laundry, read to the girls and entertained a million questions about topics interesting to a three- and six-year old (“no, we’re not getting a dog” and “yes, we have to wash your favorite nightgown” topped the list).
John took his bike to grab lunch for us—he’d been in need of a bike and found one at my daughter’s school rummage sale. He was proud to fix it up “good as new” and show us all the errands he could do on two wheels versus four.
While he was gone, the girls were playing contentedly for the 30 minutes a day they’re capable of, and I was at the kitchen window doing dishes. I looked up to see John bringing his bike through the back gate. He was a little flushed from the ride and bounded up the back stairs with energy. Normally, this typical scene wouldn’t catch my attention. We stay so busy that I probably wouldn’t notice if he decided to grow a beard until days later. But for some reason, I couldn’t stop staring.
He just looked so healthy and full of life. I realized I didn’t ever want to see a different version of my husband—I wanted to freeze this moment and this image of him and of our life.
As much as I joke about needing a walker at my kids’ high school graduations—I was labeled an expectant mother of “advanced maternal age” and have the crow’s feet to prove it—John and I are able and active. We may have aged out of young professional events and our faces may not be able to hide a late night out anymore, but we are still capable of playing tag with our daughters and (barely, painfully) “duck, duck goose.” We don’t set any speed records, but we can and do go for runs.
And our daughters—they are healthy and lively. While the six-year-old is beginning to roll her eyes and the three-year-old would if she could, our girls still want us to hold their hands and listen to their hearts. They find wonder in the world and are oblivious to the natural and manmade disasters dominating the headlines. They are still goodness and innocence and are refreshingly silly.
Believe me, our life isn’t perfect. We are too busy and too impatient. We raise our voices too frequently and we catch our breath too infrequently. We are tired of wiping mouths and bottoms and trying to balance work and family.
We are exhausted—but in a great way. We’re not exhausted because we’re trying to get our family the best treatment for cancer. We’re not exhausted because we’re trying to figure out how to deal with bullies or the myriad of other things that may break our daughters’ hearts and bones in the future. We’re applying band-aids and tying shoes, and it’s delightfully simple.
Thinking about the future when you’re a child is exciting. Thinking about the future when you’re middle aged is less so. My husband’s father and grandfather didn’t make it past 55. I have no idea what’s inside mine or my daughters’ bodies that may rear its ugly head. You only have to glance at your Facebook feed to see that serious struggles are real versus rare.
The future may contain beautiful “firsts” for my daughters and beautiful trips for me and my husband. Or it may not.
I have experienced diagnoses in my family that have changed life and life expectancy. I have seen accidents in friends’ lives that have altered their course forever. I have witnessed emotional voids and distances between people destroy relationships that seemed unbreakable.
I want to save my family from any of these fates. I also realize it’s not in my hands. We can try and live a healthy lifestyle and root our children in a strong environment, but sometimes, the other shoe drops.
I’m sure many people would disagree with me, but I’ve found it’s exhausting—and even dangerous—to overthink life. If we focus too much on what could happen in the future, then we may be too paralyzed to be present today.
So l’m going to try and savor these days, focusing less on the stress and more on the realization that I’m in the prime of my life, albeit with more grey hairs and fewer grey cells. I can’t freeze this moment, but I can do a better job of enjoying and appreciating it—even the “duck, duck, goose.”