I have a clear memory of being in second grade and feeling anxious. Though, I wouldn’t have been able to identify that that’s what I was feeling. Scared? Stressed? Worried? To comfort myself, I began going over my schedule for the week. On Tuesday night, I had soccer practice. Wednesday, I’d go bike riding with my dad. Thursday, the Simpsons – one of the two tv shows that I was allowed to watch each week – were on, and I’d watch with my brother and dad. (My mom didn’t watch TV through my entire childhood, save for Mia Farrow’s interview on Dateline and the day that we started bombing Iraq.) This is the first time that I remember feeling soothed by the illusion of control over time, by the comfort of organization, by the illusion of knowing what would happen with a degree of certainty. First this, then this.
A few weeks after I left CPS last year, Daniel looked over my shoulder at my still very full calendar, laughed, and said, ‘One day, I’m going to stop working, and I’m going to show you what that looks like.’ I will tell everyone, always, that all I want is some unscheduled free time, and yet: I never, ever create this for myself. Part of the reason for this is that our culture rewards and encourages busy-ness and I am a product of that culture, dutifully hustling away to earn my worth in the world. And part of the reason is that I rely on the order and rigidity of my very full schedule to keep me feeling safe, comfortable, in control. I long for free time, freedom, space, and yet, any time that I do actually get it, my first feeling is anxiety. What am I going to do with myself now?
Cut to now: I am on a five week vacation with Daniel. It’s a literal dream come true, one that we’ve been talking about and budgeting for since before we were even engaged. Many people – at least, in the US, where we have inexplicably decided that two weeks of vacation in a 52-week year is sufficient – will never get an opportunity like this. I am the luckiest, and am insanely grateful to get to spend this time with Daniel, in these gorgeous locations. There is no work, no chores, no scheduled outings or events. We are staring down the barrel of days upon days of empty calendar space. We are free.
What am I going to do with myself now?
Little Emma is always with me, always worrying. She’s afraid of stillness, afraid of space, afraid of freedom. They are unpredictable, unorganized, unexplored. It’s embarrassing to be so afraid, so seemingly ungrateful for the privilege that is this trip. Fortunately, therapy & healing have taught me – over and over and over – to orient towards Little Emma with compassion. She’s scared because her 7 year-old life was scary; and she does the very best that she can with what she has.
And so, I tell her the truth, which is: She is safe now. And she will never be alone in the darkness again. Because she has me, a competent and capable adult who has done the work and made the choices to make it so. And I will be here and I will take care of her, always and unconditionally.
And while I may not know what we are going to do with every moment of these next four weeks of spaciousness, I know that we can let it unfold and rest in the knowledge that we are loved and held. We can listen to Daniel read us sweet poems that he wrote about the life of pebbles, and finally read Foundation and Dune, and swim in the crystal blue ocean, and watch the beautiful purple sunsets, and be okay.
She Won't Stop Talking 