I’m no good at small talk. I’m no good at the generic response, “I’m good. How are you?” In some cases, that makes me a not-so-good Southerner. Southerners like to spout off the “How are yous?” without really wanting you to answer. I need the front porch and a glass of tea and hours-long talks in the sunshine.
I’m trying to be a better person. Some days are better than others. Some days I finally, finally fall asleep wishing I’d tried harder to be patient with the boys, wishing I hadn’t worded that important text the way I did, wishing I’d stayed at work just ten minutes longer to handle that issue. So the next day, when we get to start all over, and the slate is clean- I remember and I try again. But like I said, some days are better than others.
I write paragraphs in my head- while I’m driving, in the shower, at night before I finally, finally fall asleep. I can never seem to get them down on paper anymore, much less type them here. But I’m writing, still. This is the legacy I’ll leave my kids when I’m old and gone, when I’ve lived all the live He’s given me to live, if nothing else- these words of mine that are worth nothing but love.
I have 2 half-filled calendars. If I put them together, I’d probably have a clear picture of what’s going on and when and where. But I seem to do an ok job with the juggling so I’ll just half-use the calendars and figure it out another day- because this weekend, there’s sunshine and less work to do and more time to give to those two boys of mine.
We had two carnival fish for a few days. Sadly, they died. (I might have been happy about that.) But Finn got flushed and Tom got buried with glitter and now we don’t have to swat the cat off the counter for drinking fish water anymore.
It’s a day by day, week by week kind of deal over here. We get by the best we can and when things punch us in the gut, we keep going and do our best to dodge the punch next time. If we can’t dodge the punch, then at least by now we have abs of steel, right? Ha. Well, in theory.
Whatcha got to give today? What story are you dying to tell me? Spill it. I need more sweet tea, I’ll meet you back here…
That I relate. I yearn for true authentic relationships, for people to really listen rather than brush me off, for friends to understand and stop making eveything about them, for friends to hear my heart, that I’m overwhelmed and feel like I’m drowning and not judge me but understand me and have compassion and genuine concern.
That as much as I love, love, love my life, it’s crazy and a lot of responsibility and though I wouldn’t change it, I just want someone to validate my busyness and my confusions, to tell me they understand. Not to pity me or look down at me, but to truly have compassion.
Sigh…
I so agree, I am seeking face to face conversations and not just the how are you’s , okay now I can tell you about my life. I desperately love hearing other people’s hearts, I love sharing what’s going on with them, but lately I have felt like all but one friend, thanks for her, don’t even hear me when I say, “Life is hard.” “I’m really struggling.” “This is a difficult season of life for me.”
I feel like people give me pat answers, the good ones, but the meaning just isn’t there because there is no compassion behind it. That they didn’t even stop to think about what I said or what they said in return, all they thought about is moving on to tell me about themselves.
Thanks for listening and creating a space where I can be honest.
I get it, Mama. I hear “I don’t know how you do it.” or “You’re so strong.” and it’s supposed to be a compliment, but eh. Step in my shoes for a minute, or yours, or someone else’s- figure out how they do it, understand that they do it because simply put- What else are they gonna do?
Let’s all just get real with each other and know it’s not complaining, it’s just life. And life is hard a lot of time, no matter what shoes you walk in.
We’d be best of friends if we lived close. I just know it. xoxo