Sadly, not a post about ice cream.
It’s been an odd series of months. Just kind of existing. Work, housework, kids… Lather, rinse, repeat.
I feel like a shell. Like some sort of magic, mystical shell. Nothing fancy with the pretty rainbow interior, just a shell.
I live for everyone else. I make decisions for everyone else. I teach. I motivate others. I fold socks. That is all. Nothing fancy, and nothing for me.
I’m struggling to find my purpose. I guess I kind of give that right away with having children; my purpose becomes taking care of my family.
Not that I’m here to argue that at all… I am fortunate and blessed that everyone is healthy and not in juvenile hall.
But there is almost a panic that takes over when I think about what is going to happen when everyone is gone.
I’m sure I’ll still be here, working and teaching and petering around with this writing thing… I just wonder if I’ll find my calling. How old is too old to finally fill in the blanks? What if it never happens?
Like, I think about how cool it would be to date and to meet new people. My friends and acquaintances say that I am funny, and smart, and that I’m a hoot. I’ve been told by the people I teach that I am inspiring. Why don’t I feel it? I just feel like a shell.
Shuffling through the house, from one side to the other, putting blankets back on the couch and picking up dirty socks and cleaning crumbs and signing homework and paying the light bill (late, again)… Then back to the other side, straightening the shoes and hanging up wet towels, and getting out hamburger to thaw, and feeding the Mollies and slightly feeling guilty for possibly overfeeding them. It’s work no one sees. It’s backstage work. Everyone gets up in the morning and things are as they should be. Dust-free, clean, quiet, and there is Mom the shell.
I guess if I have to be a shell I want to be one of those super cool bedazzled ones that people make for Hermit Crabs. At least I can shine while being useful.