Finally

The work week is over, the kids are in bed, the dishwasher is humming and the world outside is quiet and dark.

It has been a busy week- a week that tested me mentally and physically and emotionally. I am weary, drained, and again want nothing more than to simply sit. Exist. Be.

So I say, What the hell, and do exactly that. Sit. Be. I search for peace, for warmth, for clarity to come over me in waves, but it doesn’t. I tense up my muscles intentionally, and try to convince them to relax afterwards. It doesn’t work. I cannot stop my mind from running. I think it would be the same as someone who just completed their first marathon—my guess is that your legs still feel like they are running for thirty minutes after you’ve crossed the finish line.

I don’t run anywhere, much less marathons, so I wouldn’t know.

And I feel guilty—guilty because there are still plenty of things to do, guilty because I cannot let go of the things that need to be done, guilty for not being able to say no—even to thinking about this crap, and guilty for even worrying about all of this when there are so many other people out in the world right now with real problems and legitimate concerns.

Then I decide to lie on the floor, stretched out on my back, and I take a deep breath. I count to seven as I draw the air in, and I count to eight when I slowly push it out. I have no idea why I do this—and I do it every time I take a cleansing breath—but somehow, this simple act, repeated over and over (7 for in, 8 for out) is what finally calms me.

It also makes me think.

I begin to think, really think. I am not thinking about the mundane things that occurred during the week or the tasks left to be done or the fact that I feel overwhelmed. I think about the big picture—what it all means, what the purpose of my life will be remembered as when I am long gone. What will my children remember me for? What will my friends think about me when they do think about me? What type of legacy am I leaving behind? What contribution to the great scope of humanity am I providing?

Because I do think that everyone, no matter how large or small their contribution, gives something of themselves to the world, and that our existence would not be the same as it is today if it weren’t for everyone who is here or who has come before. It doesn’t even matter if you know them personally—the actions of someone two continents away can indirectly influence your life and sway the choices of your loved ones. In other words, the energy that you exert out into the universe does matter—it affects everyone.

The contribution I am leaving behind should not be one filled with trivial worries and overbooked schedules or concerns about things occurring in my home or professional life of which I have no control. These should not the things that define me, and I will not allow them to be.

Although, the fact that I worry about particular things and I take cleansing breaths in a certain way and the fact that I love nothing more than to lay on a cold tile floor also make me who I am. When I view things this way, when I look at all of the little intricacies that make me the person I am, I am torn.

As I contemplate all of these things, as I turn each of these stones over in my head, I also wonder at the fact that so many of us (or, at least the ones who I read their blogs) are grappling with similar issues in a similar timeframe. I am not the only one-- and while this brings some comfort, it also brings more questions. Is this part of the cycle of our lives—the introspection and the crossroads? It is tied to the season—as the wintry world grows cold and calm, we turn inward? Or is it the fact that we are capable of swaying the public dialogue (internal or otherwise) more than we think? Do I read someone’s words about a similar topic, and then promptly forget them (or at least, think I do) as a grapple with other tasks, but those words have pervaded my spirit in a way that bloggers are never given credit for?

All of this, without even asking why we must go to the bank and the post office and the playground and the movie theater and the vet and even work. All of these thoughts, and I’ve not got around to asking why!

That’s when you know—when you can feel that your heart rate has slowed and your breathing is regular, that it is time to stop thinking for the moment, and just go to bed, while you can.