I've had this line running through my head for the last week, and today especially it's been echoing again and again. It's from a talk by David Whyte that I first listened to years ago, and played again last week. When this line comes up, he's just asked a friend/mentor/monk to "talk to me about exhaustion."
I was in my late twenties and living in Santa Barbara when I first heard this, and it didn't mean much to me then because it didn't seem to fit my life of constantly streaming sunlight, bottomless glasses of wine and sporting endeavors in every direction (mountains, sea, soccer fields and tennis courts!). Five+ years, two thousand+ mile moves, and two children later, it resonates so deeply now. Sometimes the endless days of nap-fighting, tantrum-throwing, constant-attention-requiring creatures give way only to endless of nights of hungry babes clinging to my chest. Sometimes, there is no relief.
Since hearing this line again, though, I've been trying to practice more wholeheartedness in my life. Rather than browsing the apps on my iPhone while nursing Leif, I just nurse Leif. Rather than trying to start a new project or finish an old one while Leif struggles to go to sleep or stay asleep, I give him my full attention and embrace that he is just a baby, learning to live and sleep and even just breathe. When August comes home, rather than trying to clean his room and unclutter the bureau, I play with August. I watch how his little body moves around the room, how his eyelashes flutter against his round cheeks, listen to how he puts together ideas, words and sentences. In the midst of all this, I'm still tired -- but I'm not exhausted. I am wholeheartedly enjoying my boys, their all-too-rapid growth, their fits and starts.
Recently I've found this especially difficult as I struggle with being "just a mom"; with not having an actual career with its concomitant work history that I can point to and say, "this is how far I've come, this is what I've done"; with not having a life here in Stockholm outside of my children, my family, my apartment; without having capitalized on any of that potential my 6th-grade teacher noted on my report card. Sometimes I'm exhausted from all this striving and yearning; but then sometimes, I am wholehearted in loving my boys, in taking care of them, in nursing and nurturing them, in occupying my own life.
(We've discovered another antidote to exhaustion: the toddler getting a mild virus every now and then; he slows down and sleeps early and long.)
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