I’m sitting writing peacefully, once again, in the back garden of the coworking space in my neighborhood. I had a nice walk up to my workout, a great workout that made me feel both challenged and strong, and now I have two hours to myself to write before it’s time to get home and relieve the babysitter. Reading that sentence back to myself, it sounds like heaven, like exactly what I’ve been saying I wanted all this time. But it doesn’t feel like heaven. When I sat down to write (it’s already better now that I’m in the flow), I felt distinctly unsatisfied, annoyed even, at my circumstances. I’ve become accustomed to this, to these blocks of four hours each Friday, and suddenly they’re not good enough. Now that I have this, I want MORE.
Walking up to my workout, it hit me that, not too long ago, just going for a short walk alone felt like the most delightful thing in the world. The freedom! It was so rare. It was such a treat. I mean, the first weekend that Jamie was away and I was alone with Ava for three days, a friend coming by and sending me out for a 15 min walk by myself felt like a blood transfusion. And yes, the newborn days are long behind me now, but I remember thinking that I’d never again take any type of a walk for granted ever again.
Just a few months ago, all I wanted was a couple of days a week of regular childcare so I could see my clients and do my workout and have some time to myself each week. I pined for it, the predictability, the freedom, and the blank space each Friday that would belong to me and me alone. And here I am, having exactly what I wanted, finding it not fully satisfying. Maybe I need to move things around and do my workout on a different day? Maybe I should open up another day for clients and stop having this aimless time each Friday afternoon? Surely there’s a more optimal schedule I can come up with that will make everything work better? Surely if I just get everything scheduled just right, I will feel better?
There is enormous value in thinking about what your ideal week looks like, and then doing what you can to bring your life into line with that, and that’s something I’ll continue to work on. But for the moment, what strikes me most is that I’ve gotten exactly what I asked for, and yet I find myself unsatisfied. Wanting more. Always, always, wanting MORE. This is such a profound part of the human condition that it’s almost laughable. Like Ava holding a full piece of toast in her fist this morning and asking/yelling for “more toast!” Just so classic.
And, of course, we live in a world that is constantly selling us the idea that as soon as we have ___________, we will feel happy. Or we will feel safe, or complete. Or we’ll feel sexy or successful or free, all of those elusive good feelings. As soon as we get the house or the botox or the new car or the kitchen reno or the handbag, we’ll feel better. But, of course, even if we’re five pounds lighter or carrying the “it bag” of the season, we’re still stuck with ourselves and our own hungry hearts. We’ll get used to our new circumstances shockingly quickly, move those goalposts further afield, and continue the cycle of believing that happiness lies just out of reach, and as soon as we “get there”, we’ll finally be able to relax.
I remember so distinctly after having Ava, once my body was past the agony of the surgery recovery, how immediately my weight became a focus. I’d dropped a ton of weight immediately, but then things plateaued. As soon as I get within 10 pounds of my regular weight, I’ll be happy, I told myself at first. And then later, once that seemed within reach, Even if I end up five pounds above my regular weight range, I can live with that. And then If I can get to the higher end of my normal range, I’ll definitely be happy with that. And then It would feel really good to get back to the low end of my normal weight. And then, inevitably, How great would it be if I actually weigh less after having a baby than I did before?, until I dropped all the way down to the lowest weight of my adult life. Finally, during a visit with my naturopath, I realized that maybe being constantly exhausted and crying a lot and dropping weight like crazy was a sign that I wasn’t particularly well, and so I started taking better care of myself again. I can say with full confidence, almost exactly a year later, and back up to the higher end of my normal weight range, that I am vastly happier now.
To be clear, I wasn’t dieting or even being “disordered” with my eating, I was just nursing a ton, taking care of a baby full time, and barely remembering or having time to eat. But did I love watching those pounds drop off the scale? Yes, I most certainly did. There was almost a glee to it by the end I weight the same as I did in high school! How far can this thing go??? As a woman in this culture, you don’t make it much past elementary school without having the message of thinner = better, thinner = more successful, thinner = happier stamped onto every inch of your psyche. And as with everything else, those goalposts just keep moving. One can always, always, be thinner.
I went on a bit of a tangent there, but I’m going to leave it in, despite some temptation to cut those last two paragraphs and “save them for another piece” (aka never to see the light of day). I had no intention of writing about that when I sat down today, but I’m going to trust the mysteries of the creative process and leave them be. Thinking back to how I felt then, as I stepped onto the scale each time, I see now that I was grasping for something. Some fleeting moment of victory, something to tell me that even though I was exhausted and had no idea who I was anymore, even though I had no time to shower or brush my teeth and at times felt like a hollowed out shell of my former self, I was still succeeding somehow. I was still winning.
Unsurprisingly, whatever happiness I felt in those moments was incredibly fleeting. I was looking to something external to fill an internal void, so it missed the mark every time. I’m trying to keep this in mind these days, when I find myself wishing for more of something. Would having more time or more money really make things better? Or is what’s missing more internal, like more motivation or a sense of purpose, or even some dang gratitude for how great things already are?
A friend of mine once said to me that “humans are the great forgetters”, and it’s an idea that’s stayed with me. How quickly we forget the things we once said we wanted, the things that we were sure would make us happy. How quickly we take things for granted once we have them. So I’m making that my project this week. Spending a few minutes each day to be actively grateful for all of the things that I have, things I once pined for: A loving and healthy marriage. A strong and pain-free body. A wonderful daughter. A beautiful light-filled home. (A rental, yes, but beautiful and light-filled none the less.) A flexible work schedule. A wonderful part time caregiver for Ava.
The list goes on and on, once I actually start thinking about it. And so I am going to start thinking about it, more and more. I’ll let you know how it goes…
Well, you've nailed 2 of life's most important lessons! We always hanker for more - it's the human condition! And, gratitude is transformative. Magical, really! (Ooops. And, as always, so well-written. Your writing is always as clear as a bell!)
Loved this. So relatable.