Cleaning up the garage

Posted on October 15, 2023

A series of conversations over the last several days lit a fire in me that I didn’t know needed lighting.

Two of these conversations were about parenthood and how your time measures differently when your kids are young. Each time, I told the story of reading The Hours by Michael Cunningham back when I was in grad school, before I had kids. In an early scene of that book, a housewife gets someone to babysit her son, and she goes to a hotel and reads. I went to the class discussion asking about whether reading was a euphemism for having an affair in that hotel room. “No,” I was told. “She was just reading.” Huh. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me at the time.

Then I had kids, and I remembered The Hours. I understood.

Both times I shared this story this past week, the other parents nodded along. Yup, they seemed to say. Makes perfect sense. Go to a hotel room and read. Ahhhh.

These conversations reminded me of something I can easily forget as I analyze how my life could be better or what I want to be doing in the next six months or two years or when I retire or as I stress out about this concern or that worry or as I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about work and then get mad at myself for waking up in the middle of the night and thinking about work or as I get mad at myself for not working out enough or not eating healthy enough or not writing enough or not being gentle and giving myself a break enough. Phew. Sometimes I can be exhausting.

Anywho. Here’s what these conversations reminded me of: The life that woman in The Hours used as her escape is the exact life I am currently living. I go to work, and I have some obligations and responsibilities outside of work, but, mostly, I get to hang around and read whenever I want.

***

The second conversation is harder to explain, but basically someone who cares about me expressed some kind of concern for me because I didn’t have plans for my entire Sunday once my friends who had visited overnight left in the morning.

I felt a little sad and a little embarrassed that someone was feeling sorry for me. I don’t usually see myself as someone needing pity, and I felt really uncomfortable with being pitied, like maybe I’m a loser and just didn’t realize it….like maybe my loser status is apparent to other people and I’m the only one not clued in.

So then there I was, alone on Sunday, the day spread out before me like a patient etherized upon a table…Wait, no, that’s not me, that’s J. Alfred Prufrock. Let’s try again.

So then there I was, alone on Sunday, the day spread out before me like a page yet to be written or a living room yet to be rearranged or a garage yet to be organized or a dinner yet to be prepared and enjoyed or a workout yet to be, um, undertaken, I guess?

***

The fire that was lit that I didn’t know needed lighting reminded me that retirement isn’t in the future; retirement is now, in all the time I get to structure, in all the choices I get to make about what matters and what I can let go.

It’s one of those obvious things that we say but that is actually hard to live. I have the power to make my life what I want it to be, and I do it with my daily choices. There’s nothing I need to wait for. I can do it now.

***

You may have gathered this, but I’m going to get real plain here. Today I did some book writing for a project due in January. That matters a lot to me.

I rearranged my entire downstairs. I live in a renovated one-room schoolhouse, so the downstairs is one big room. I think rearranging furniture was a metaphor for revising my perspective.

I had breakfast and lunch and will soon make dinner. I watched a little tv while eating.

I painted a couple of used nightstands I’ve had for awhile and that could use some sprucing up.

I did some major cleaning out of the garage, breaking down boxes, bringing things inside so I can go through what I want to store and what I don’t, setting stuff out on the curb for people to pick up as they drive by, sweeping out leaves, and more.

I texted or called three people about three plans. Two were my kids. I’m going to see them both soon, and I’m really looking forward to that as I always do. They are awesome human beings, and I hope there weren’t negative effects from their mom sometimes needing a little space to herself when they were small and depended on her a lot.

And I wrote this.

I’m still going to do a little more book writing tonight because my Intro and Chapter One are looking good and I want to put Chapter Two to bed today or tomorrow. I will probably work out, practice the Thriller dance for the Thrill the World flash mob in a couple weeks, and shower before I sleep. It’s not miles to go, and it’s not promises I have to keep. It’s a simple embracing of the moments I have available.

***

I don’t know if my Sunday measures up to anyone else’s standard. But it’s been an extraordinary day for me, a day doing things I wanted to do. A day with energy and relaxation.

A day when a fire was lit in me that I didn’t know needed lighting.