Tuesday, August 01, 2006

A Pensive Evening

Ahh, a moment to myself. The kids went to band practice with their dad, so I am here all alone and wondering exactly how I should savor this moment. I love my kids dearly, but since becoming a mom, it's amazing how little time I have spent without another body within 10 feet-usually less.

I used to have lots of alone time. I used to spend hours alone everyday. As a kid and teenager, I would walk to an abandoned park down the street from my house with my walkman and tackle box full of tapes daily (think small town-no crime). I would listen to music for hours, just sitting on a swing imagining stories in my head. Many times I watched the sun go down and many times, much to my mother's chagrin, I would go out hours after dark. While most kids were sneaking out to drink and smoke, I was sneaking out to listen to music and dream. I think I went through at least 7 walkmen and had a collection of about 50 tapes, mostly movie soundtracks, that were covered in a fine film of dirt. That's what happens when you expose them to the elements, I suppose, but that was just wear and tear as far as I was concerned. Who knows how many "novels" and poems I wrote down there. I even thought about naming my first child after that park, although I am sure Hallie will one day feel quite relieved she doesn't bear the name "Meadowbrook". I know, it sounds kind of crazy and I am sure I looked sort of crazy. There I was everyday, that strange girl that swings by herself at the park. I think I became sort of a public monument to southern eccentricity, but I didn't care. I have always felt older than my years and I guess that even as a teenager, I knew being different wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It wasn't just that I had OCD, although I am sure it's all connected. It wasn't just that I had a job from the age of 12. It was how I got goose bumps from songs that spoke to me. It was how the sight of an old wooden bridge made me weep. It was the lump in my throat every time I heard church bells or wind chimes. It was how I read the last page of "These Happy Golden Years" over and over and circled the tearstains in the margin. Mostly, it was my depth of feeling and desire to always feel more...to go beyond where most people said was enough. I didn't just want a casual relationship with the world or with myself in it. I felt things deeply, believed things passionately, and placed great value on the power of imagination and the human soul. The ability to create was paramount to me. If you didn't create things in some way...writing, music, art, etc...then I would find you rather boring. I had no use for any discipline that didn't have a little room for interpretation or originality.

Well, what am I getting at here? I suppose I am just reminiscing about who I was and realizing who I have become. Fundamentally, not much has changed. I still get the goosebumps. I still reread all my favorite novels several times a year. I still devour history. Weeping Willows and church bells still affect me. I still believe deeply in creativity and imagination. I still think the written word and music are man's greatest gifts to ourselves. I'm still "different", although I don't think about it quite so much. Why? Well, mostly because I am pushing the swing instead of sitting in it and although it's a move of only a few feet, the view has changed. I keep getting "distracted" by these two precious kids (often 3,4 or 5) that keep hovering around me, demanding my attention. Yes, I like my alone time...every now and then. But nothing compares to what I have. It's a charmed life, indeed.

1 comment:

Jana said...

What beautiful sentiments, Jana. Got me a little teary eyed, you did.

:-)