Gulfport >> New York >> Washington DC >> Gulfport >> Chicago >> New York >> Gulfport, MS.
Can you hear the thrum of the Charlotte airport terminal as I write this? I am somewhere toward the end of the above travel pattern, on the last leg of an extensive travel schedule that has taken me from the deep south of Mississippi to the beaches of California, to the snow of Minnesota, and all over the Eastern seaboard in just a few short months. The end of this last bit will deliver me promptly on the steps of my seven year old son’s first school play, without a moment to spare.
All of that travel? Oh my, all of that travel is because I have a mom blog. And I am damn good at it. Mostly because I work damn hard.
I spun a need to write into a knack for business, unexpectedly discovering that all of it soared when I focused my eyes and spirit on the linchpin of community. Although the “How” came naturally to me, keeping the thread of “Why” securely twined around my finger was the key.
But when I get tired, I forget the Why. I stop looking at the reminding thread around my finger and begin to vacantly stare into space. Even when that space is occupied by national landmarks that should make my heart do the soaring.
I snagged my finger on something this week and the pull of the thread reminded me to look at my Why again. Why am I doing This? Being good at it is no reason to do it. I need to remember my Why. Which means I need to adjust my perspective.
When a car crashes, the damage done to the bodies of its passengers is not just from the impact of body on car, but of our inner selves on our outer shell. Our insides keep traveling at the speed of the car, even though our bodies have stopped abruptly.
When this body lands at home tonight, the momentum that has kept me moving through a busy work period will need to slow down before the crash. Because, people, I am ready for a full stop. I need a full stop in order to appreciate soaring again. I need a full stop in order to relearn how to focus my eyes again, see the beauty that surrounds me. And you.
This post is full of metaphors. I’m rarely as straightforward as you’d like. Frankly, I don’t know what you like. I like to lead you through mazes, looking over my shoulder and encouraging you on with a wink or a nod. And always a smile. I’m so glad you are here.
I do wish I could see you better. I wish I could appreciate the curve of your nose and the way your hair falls when you work. I wish I could appreciate that place which you call home but which I so often relegate to a stop on a trip. I am surrounded by beauty in such magnificent amounts that I’ve stopped seeing it.
They are going to call my gate soon and I want to pack up and dive back into the book you see in the photo above, before I dive back into my life at home again. But that book made me stop, made me think, made me want to talk with you. I have so much more that I want to discuss about our privileges and successes and need to reassess our Why from time to time, but I also just want to come to a full stop for a moment. However abruptly.
In the meantime, talk to me about something. Don’t just think about what I’ve said. Talk to me about you. Toy with the string on your finger, as you tell me a little about it.