"It Wasn't My Line"

I came across An Inspirational Video by Sebastien Montaz-Rosset the other day, called "Revelation: A Visual Poem"  In a rare moment of quiet in my home, I was able to sit back and really take it in, the words and images which are so inspiring.  My favorite line came early in the clip, "I towed the line, it wasn't my line".

It wasn't my line.

Ah, how many times have I felt that way?  How many times have you?  As a wife and mother, I have always felt that my family is perfect just the way it is.  We each have our separate personalities which I have made a point to glorify.  I have spent my entire adult life supporting and promoting the dreams of my husband and my children because, without even being conscious of this desire, it is very much my desire to help them become who they are; not someone else's idea of who they are.

Somewhere in all of that, though, I got lost.  There are only so many hours in a day, and most moms devote so much of their time to the family (as it should be) that little time is left for anything else.  At times, I think to myself, rather selfishly, "Who will I be, when the kids are grown up?"

Once I get over myself and think rationally again, it occurs to me that the choices I have made were mine.  I do not regret them.  Now that the kids are growing older and need less of me, I am faced with the question of who I will be when they go away.  I will always be their mom.  I just won't always devote all of my time to their needs because they will be doing what I have raised them to do; making their own choices and being responsible for their own lives.

What will be my line?

Gathering strength from the deep philosophical views on Pinterest, I've been thinking about my future.

I just like this one!

Yada, yada, yada.  Where does my heart lead me?  What is fun for me?  What do I dream about with passion?  Whatever the question, the answer is always the same.  I must be in my beloved woods.  How do I turn my walks in the woods into a career?  Therein lies the problem.  But then I receive inspiration from a random video, and with it comes the hope that someday, a long time from now, I can tow my own line.

When I envision who I will be, it falls under the category of part-time semi-adventurer.

It most certainly will not include yoga on a tightrope between mountain peaks.  It won't include running through the woods; I walk briskly, at best.  It won't include mountain climbing or off-road cycling or jumping off a cliff with a parachute.  But I think that maybe, just maybe, the line I tow might include inspiration.  Possibly, I can experience the outdoors with less adventure and inspire others to do the same.  I don't know if I can make a career out of it, but according to Pinterest, I can.

I spend what amounts to too much time, according to my family, alone in the woods.  From my perspective, I don't go there often enough.  We're working on finding that balance.  In the meantime, I take what I can get with the family's support, using each experience as a lesson for the future.

People have asked me why I want to leave my family to go off alone in the middle of nowhere.  My answer is simple.  From time to time, I briefly leave my family, but my family never leaves me.

Last February when I was walking Drummond Island alone, at the sight of a massive 14pt Buck I instinctively pointed it out to my son, only to remember he wasn't at my side.  Hiking the woods near the Two Hearted River by myself, I exclaimed over a pretty wildflower that my little Bean would love, had she been walking with me.  Out in the middle of nowhere, I think of all the things I want to tell my daughter who is soon to leave for college.  I walk alone, but I feel my kids and my husband in my heart, I silently speak to them, and I take lots of pictures to share with them later.

I travel alone because it is only in solitude that I can open myself up to being nothing.  I don't need to be in a role in the wilderness.  I belong to no one but God.  It is this time alone, a time of being nothing, that allows me to come home and be everything my family needs.  I go alone and empty myself so I can come home and be filled up again by the people I love most.  Put that on Pinterest!

I don't know yet what my line is.  I'm okay with it.  There is time yet for me, the right time is just ahead.  And the woods will be there waiting for me, while the mountains call to the real adventurers.  For now, I will focus on my family, taking a few days here and there to self impose a time-out while I live in a tin can, push myself to my physical unpotential, search for my elusive wolf, and walk alone in the woods.  The time alone is my line reconnecting me to the rest of my heart.  If I walk that line very carefully, keep it delicately balanced between home and the wilderness, it will never break.  

Future Olympian?

I love watching the Olympics.  Seeing young people from all over the world succeed as a result of incredible determination, focus, and discipline is inspiring.  It also leaves me a little sad that I never had the drive to accomplish something on any platform, let alone a world stage.  (I feel the same way when I watch the Oscars).  The Olympic athletes are all heroes, even those who never stand on the podium and receive a medal.  Just getting there is really something, and I am proud of all the athletes.

Today, I watched the Women's Kayaking.  I love kayaking, though I don't get to do it often enough.  The course was challenging, and I saw several women struggle to get their head inside the red pole, and fight their way up the mechanical current to pass through the green poles that eluded them on the pass down.  I got to thinking, "I could do that.  I could be an Olympian!"  Then I remembered I am old and have a shoulder issue, so the dream quickly died along with the many other dreams I had.

It's probably not the best time for me to watch the Olympics, since I am going through a mid-life crisis of identity.  I never thought I would have a mid-life crisis.  I used to be so together.  For 20 years I was perfectly content to stay at home and raise my family.  But when my son came home from his freshman year of college in May, and we began the typical fight between parents who want some respect from the 19 year old who wants to be an adult (i.e., no rules, no responsibilities, it's summer) it occurred to me that my children are going to leave me.  Eventually, they will do what I have taught them to do; go out in the world and make their own way.  The mid-life crisis hit me right where it hurts.  Where does that leave me?  What am I going to do?  Obviously, because I'm OCD, I will continue to clean my house, because no one else can clean it as well as I, and I will do laundry every day, though less of it.  I suppose I will even cook an occasional meal.  But is that it?  I want a paycheck!  I want to do something that earns the respect of my grown children and my husband, something that speaks of who I am beyond a mom.  The problem is, I got nothin'.

In a rare moment of open and honest discussion, I brought this very topic up with my 19 year old son, Max, last night.  He came home early, which immediately made me suspect that something was wrong, and joined me by the campfire I was enjoying.  We had a nice long talk after he assured me that no, nothing was wrong, he was just tired and wanted to come home (Gasp!).  It was the best night I have had with Max this summer, talking about life, working out a few issues we've had, speaking of youth and adulthood and balance.  I apologized to Max for not being much fun to be around lately, and tried to explain a little bit about my personal identity crisis, because he is old enough now to hear his mother speak as a person, not just his mom.  I told him that I just want to find something I am very good at, that I love doing.  Quietly, Max said,

"You already have."  Thinking that my son was about to tell me I am a good mom, instead he surprised me by saying, "You build a great campfire".

It took me a minute to let that sink in, but he was right.  I do build a great campfire, and I love doing it.  If it were an Olympic sport, I would be on that podium, with my national anthem playing and a gold medal around my neck.  I have trained 25 years building campfires, and they bring people joy and comfort.  Yeah, I'm that good.

I find it rather uplifting that Max, a college sophomore, still sees me as a hero, even in the smallest way.  It may be difficult for him to adjust to being home again for the summer, and it is certainly difficult for me to adjust to a son who doesn't need me much anymore.  But in the middle of my very adult issues, he finds a way to make me a hero.  I love that kid.  Umm, man.  Boy.  Whatever.

Max doesn't realize it, but he helped me find a new and better way of thinking about my mid-life crisis. If I can be a Gold-Medal campfire builder, what else can I do?  Can I grow to be a serious blogger?  Can I find a job with the Department of Natural Resources and spend my time doing something I love? Can I travel more often in a tin can and meet people and change their lives in small but significant ways?  Maybe.

Max gave me hope.  He planted the seed of thought that even though my children will leave me, they will still love me as I love them so very much.  He made me believe that I have done something right, which means I still have time to do more things and eventually find the thing that will define me.

As my fire burned down last night, I impulsively added one more log, trying to prolong this newly found connection with my son where we can both act like adults and enjoy something simple together.  But as the log sparked and the flame took flight, Max stood up and said, "Night, mom".  I finished the bonfire alone, but that's okay.  I do most things alone anyway, which made my brief time with Max that much sweeter.  I may not be an Olympian, but I am a mom, a hero, and a person who is ready to let my kids go and always be ready to welcome them back.  I am ready to be more.  Doesn't that deserve a medal?  Or at least a hug from my son, which is even better.