To tell you the truth, as I begin to write this post, I have no idea where I am going with it. As mentioned previously, I’m in total writer’s block mode and this is one of several posts I have started and stopped writing several times. This one is all jumbled in joy, authenticity, judgement, confidence and self-worth swirling in my brain trying to catch a coherent train of thought.
I was at a party the other night. A party filled with brilliant, accomplished women with wine, food and talk. As I mingled from conversation to conversation, I was struck at the underlying theme of apology drifting from each one. Sorry for not exercising enough, working enough, cleaning enough, playing enough… Sorry for my tantruming kid in the aisle or being frazzled at the pool or for having no time. Talk filled with the nots and shoulds of our lives, instead of the hell yeses and damn rights of it.
Which, I confess, I got sucked into, even though I had the best day and a wonderfully glorious moment of HELL YES that very day. But I didn’t share it.
Because it didn’t fit the theme of the chats? Because I thought the fellow mamma’s would think I was crazy? Because I thought it would seem like I was showing off? I honestly do not know, but I did not.
So here now, let me share my HELL YAH!
I was driving to the city. By myself! No kids, no plans, no agenda. Just a day away. You know? So I’m driving and the scenery is spectacular which on many days is maybe a passing thought but on this day, these days, it can not be taken for granted. So I savour it, really feel the gratitude for it, then maybe even chuckle at the hokiness with which I am feeling, in the car, on a drive done hundreds of times, in my Cheerio-laden four-door. At about this time, with all this gratitude and serenity bursting forth, it is almost a certainty that the haunting thoughts come knocking.
What if it was you?
Shake it off. It is not me.
Another mother can not say the same thing. Guilt. Sadness. Helplessness. Fear. So much damn fear.
Then again, gratitude. Because if you can’t be grateful and live and love and be so very grateful, what is the point?
So I get back there. I summon up Strength and Love and I send it the other mother’s way then I appreciate this getaway, the sun rays passing through wispy clouds and turbulent ocean, and have infinite thanks for that which I have.
Then I blast some music. My music. And I rock out. In the car. By myself. Singing horribly bad and not caring in the least.
Soon a funny thing happens. I often rock out in the car, especially with the girls. We love our ‘girlie parties’ Raising a Glass with Pink or Waving Flags with Knaan. But when we start to hit heavy traffic, I totally tone it down.
Not on this day though. Just as I’m exiting into the city, Mat Kearney’s Hey Mama comes on and I sing (wail), bounce (jump), head bop (bang) and tap (slam) the steering wheel in the worst rhythm you can imagine. But the thing is, I do not care. At all. I don’t worry about what the car beside me is thinking. I do not try to be cool or normal or even sane.
I just be me. Which was so very freeing. And fabulous. No censoring of my moment for fear of judgement, just one small moment of complete authenticity. A moment filled with joy, fun, gratitude and a whole lot of dorkiness.
Can I get a HELL YAH on that?