Running out of time?

Just the other week I saw the recording of musical “Hamilton”. The lyrics “Why does he write like he’s running out of time?” repeat throughout the entirety of the show. Truly, why would someone, even today, write as if running out of time? Well, February 3, 2021 I returned home from the hospital- the second time home within a month. A frequent thought in my mind – almost constant – began : “I’ve got a lot of blogs in my head.” This was my mind’s way of wrapping up a complex experience into a simple thought – my life has been changed. Many people you talk to, if you take the time to ask them, will tell you that staying in a hospital for a surgery, particularly an emergency unplanned surgery, is life-changing. A desire grew within me to put into words the extent to how life-changing mine was. At first I thought I could fit it into one blog. I began praying and thinking and journaling to wrap my soul around all that I’d experienced– scratch that — am still experiencing- and found myself faced once again with what educators call “task initiation difficulties.” Heck, maybe it was/has been a task initiation deficit, not so much due to my ADHD diagnosis but perhaps because sitting down and putting it in writing makes something abstract more concrete. Taking the abstract and personal and putting it into a concrete written form puts it out there to be heard, read, seen, and you most likely still will not grasp the entirety of the experience. Sure, I’ve written personal narratives before: saying goodbye to maternity leave when my baby was growing so fast, sharing a testimony about my mental health, and others I’m sure that are personal to me and that I want to hold on to and not lose. Is this one different? Not really, except that I realize more than ever how important each narrative truly is to someday pass along to my children. If someone else reads it, well, I hope for you that you take from it what you can. My narrative will eventually wrap around to the point that life is short, time moves quickly, and I can’t leave much or take anything with me when it’s over. I want to leave, for my two sons and maybe someday grandchildren (God-willing), a history of what I have experienced and how it has shaped me, because this is story of love and hope that I want them to hold onto . As for the task initiation struggles, or as some may call it writer’s block? For me, I am learning that I live in a world of distractions. In 2021 my email inboxes (plural – there are 3) are always full with more flowing into them by the minute (some that “need” replies, some that just scream they want attention, and some just frivolous that contribute to the constant deluge of information that can make a person think they’re losing their memory when really they just have too much coming at the brain all at once) . These emails come at me when I sit down to quiet my mind to read a book or to breathe or to pray. That is just when I am sitting. When I am in my house alone, then there are the distractions of the untidy. Houses in magazines and on hgtv look dust-free, clutter-free, and oh -so-always-neat-and-organized. I may sit down to be with my thoughts – or to write – but find this and that need picked up, dusted, ordered, cleaned, moved. This could potentially go on indefinitely for all of life until no thoughts were ever written, no prayers ever said, no meaningful cards ever written, no peace ever really attained. There are varying degrees of how people want this perfection in how their surroundings look, and for some it’s because they want to impress others, for others because it feels the right way to keep things, still for others because of an innate state that just can’t relax until it’s all done. But I tell myself (and you, reader, should you care to listen): it’s never all done. When you think it is, give it ten minutes and it won’t be any longer. So I am taking this moment now to sit. Be still. Type. Empty my brain little by little (no, it won’t all fit in one blog). Read. Look at my child and take in the memory of his face as it is now. Look at my husband’s face and try to listen to what is going on in his soul today. Carve out the time for these thoughts, quiet, and what matters. My story, you will see, is wake-up call : a reminder that the next moment cannot be predicted, even on a regular old Monday morning.