I wish I could remember the book. I would re-read it—I believe it was something written by Natalie Goldberg and she was writing about writing—specifically making yourself as a writer sit down in the midst of all the distractions and chaos that is everyday life and just write. I think about that advice often as it relates to a variety of purposeful functioning as a single mom: managing to thrive and create in the midst of unending chaos.
I’m not someone who thinks of herself as operating well in crisis. Some people do. They feel they create their best work under threat of deadline or in the midst of upheaval. Nope. In fact, I like to make lists and feel organized. I was one of those students who did her essays and projects well in advance of the due date—just in case things came up and I didn’t have time at the last minute. Procrastination was not a part of my personality.
Then, I became a mom. Alas, my children did not arrive and take up their place in the world as miniature versions of me. What a shock! Instead, they did create chaos, save things for the last minute, bring home extra people, animals and appetites to dinner, start projects and then drop them, turn in papers late, leave huge messes, lose EVERYTHING, need money constantly, and just generally create quite a mess of my anticipated organized life of productivity and creative purposefulness.
Needless to say, I have not written the great novel of the twenty-first century (although I’ve probably started 21 novels) and it is a rare day indeed when I actually check off everything I’ve written on my to-do list. I am forever making too much for dinner or putting off the grocery shopping one more day—thinking I’ve time and finding a houseful of hungry adolescents scrounging for food (shopping day wasn’t supposed to be until Friday!). Despite my plea for “advance notice” of the need for permission slips, money, supplies or whatever—I cannot count the times I’ve found myself rummaging in the change jar for money (“You can’t expect me to actually take pennies!”) or writing hand-written permission slips because the paperwork has been misplaced.
Most days, I confess, I do not feel as though I am thriving. What I feel is more a sense of survival. I do manage to write and work, but not nearly as much as I had hoped. Each year, as I collect all the files and paperwork for my taxes, I can’t help but wonder how much money I could have made if I’d had that extra hour, day, week, or whatever of focused time. Still, I’ve learned to write in grocery lines, on the bus, in the bath, fall asleep with a pen in my hand and get up that hour earlier in the mornings to get a head-start on the day’s list (that won’t get finished). I wonder if the sage wise oldsters are right—when I look back over my life will I wish I had been more productive and successful at my work, or will it all be blurred by the blissful chaos of family life?