fast forward: pause: resume

I have not spent much time over here in weeks. (I miss it.)

The summer has been F U L L .

I was lamenting to a friend with children of similar age recently:

Remember when we decided some activity for our family and everyone got in the car and did that activity together because there was no such thing as choice?

Remember when a busy week meant we took the toddlers to the zoo one day AND to the museum on a different day?  Phew – what a full week.  Missed two naps in one week??? We were so wild and crazy.

Remember when every child was sound asleep by 8 pm and the next few hours were wholly and completely our own precious silent time?

That’s not my life any longer.

And I loved that life.  I liked my mandated schedule and my holy quiet time every afternoon that I treated as sacred.  I loved four year old helpers and hilarious ideas ad stories that the preschool age shares.

Fortunately, I love this life too.  I like the funny conversations and the clever words these kids say. I like seeing how creative and kind and engaging these humans are.

But all this transition is hard on a human.

I’ve been chugging through my days at pretty much a break neck speed for a while.

We’ve emerged from the finding our way through the dark days after family trauma.  And we’ve found a different sort of normal that fits and functions for the most part.

It’s funny, isn’t it?

How quickly we can forget where we’ve been? What we’ve seen? How we felt?

I’m not in that horrible hard spot any longer. I don’t live there.

The wrenching pain of divorce is less visceral. It’s not so in my face. 

It’s no longer a challenge to drag my body out of bed and to face the trials before me.

I’m living my life and I’m happy.

(That is not to say the residual fall out and ramifications from divorce are erased and vanished. That is not true.  I’m pretty certain that will never be true. Ripples from a tsunami are far and wide and they resurface in unexpected situations routinely.)

What I’m saying is – I don’t have to remind myself to breathe any longer.

I’m just breathing.  

And, because I’m a person who would rather look for the silver lining than bemoan my fate, I sometimes allow myself to not dwell on painful topics and hard subjects. I sometimes fast forward right over those.

A friend recently was asking me about my forgiveness journey as she is wading through her own version. (A blog post for another day. Someone remind me please.) And I was reminded that I haven’t actually thought about it in awhile. 

More so, I was reminded that – although my pain has shifted and my story is no longer a fire bells ringing, someone save us from this burning building, sort of story – other people’s stories are still in that rubble.

Other stories are just sitting there in a pile of sad and frustrated and they feel like they are going nowhere.  Or worse – backwards.

I’ve forgotten when I shouldn’t have.  I’ve pushed the fast forward, hold on to the seat of your pants, eyes focused ahead on your own situation button. 

I’m a better cheerleader than I am a mourner – and that’s not to my credit.

I like feeling better.  I’d like everyone to be feeling better.  And when they’re not, it’s a little scary to sit down and stay because I don’t want to fall in to the quicksand myself.

And that’s not fair.

I don’t get a rewind button. (Oh, for the love – what wouldn’t we all give for a rewind button???)

But I’ve got a pause button.

You do too.

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