I'm doing something radical: I decided on Friday to take a two-month sabbatical from my social life. I'm going to the things that are already planned (two dinners, an election-night hangout, two trips to GradSchoolTown to see the in-laws, and two holidays), but I'm making no new plans and not seeing anyone until 12th Night.
Instead, I'm clearing space for all of the things I want to have in my life but don't: deep thinking about and talking about race and adoption and ethics; manifested creativity; time with myself and my own brain and soul; puttering about my house. For once I want to be the center of my own life, my own first concern.
I realized that, when we moved here, we didn't just move into already-existing relationships; because of Ms. P's depression and R's divorce, I showed up here necessarily other-directed, and my life in this place unfolded from that beginning. I don't regret it; I'm glad I was able to be there for both of them. I'm glad we already had people here we knew and loved and wanted to spend time with. But now it's time to reclaim my own time as an invaluable resource.
I don't know if it's growing older or if it's the spiritual work I've been doing or if it's some planetary alignment, but I'm experiencing right now the preciousness of my time -- how little of it any of us really have in this life. I want to spend it wisely, I want to come out of it pleased with what I've made of my days.
Trying to carve out space hasn't worked. One of the blessings of our life here is that we have so many people who love us and want to spend time with us. But it's also like being pecked to death by ducks. Dinner here, dinner there, brunch here, coffee there -- and very little time for myself, in the end. And so the more radical version of things is where I've landed. I'm sure it won't be popular -- but I also know this is necessary to decouple myself from other people's expectations and desires. We'll all live through the experience.
There are so many layers here -- about growing up female and trained to judge my worth by how many other people wanted me, about prioritizing the internal over the external, about negotiating the kind of life I want to be living, about balancing the go-go-go of the city and of modern life with the dappled slowness of my soul. I'm looking forward to seeing them unfold.
The Art of Disappearing
by Naomi Shihab Nye
When they say Don't I know you?
say no.
When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.
If they say We should get together
say why?
It's not that you don't love them anymore.
You're trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees. The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished.
When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven't seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don't start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.
Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.