Earphones firmly affixed to my ears, I sat listening to “Autumn” by Ryan Stewart, as I wrote the other day. Tears streamed down my face. I’ve noticed that epic music does that to me a lot, lately. Blame it on shifting hormones as I enter this next season, lack of sleep, the sheer beauty of notes strung together for effect; or, more likely, a combination of the three.
Whatever it was, I was taken in by the sweeping sounds in my ears and thoughts fighting their way to the forefront of my mind.
My children continue to grow up, no matter how many times I demand they stop. Time, it seems, won’t listen any better than they will. They both march on at breakneck speeds.
I’m left tearfully acknowledging that the first front tooth really is about to fall out. The first shirking of a goodbye kiss at the bustop is just around the corner. And, of course, the glaring reality that my children will not always need me.
I’ve defined who I am, this last decade and change, as a wife and mother first. Even as I struggle to make my written words conform to the pattern of my heart, I find my identity still resides far more firmly in the wife/mother camp than in the Author one.
But, something else plagues my thoughts, as the melancholy tune streams through my headphones. Sitting next to Sweetgirl as she wiggles her front tooth for the eleventy-hundreth time, I realize that with each post I craft, article I submit, and thought I express, I am, indeed, remaking my identity.
Even as it is involuntarily changing.
I’ve been intently seeking opportunities to forge my path as Writer. This blog has most definitely provided that.
As the song ended, as if on cue, I came to the realization that for everything there truly is a season.
Oh, that Solomon! So wise.
My mind started working through the reality that my time as Mama is not over. My time as Author is just beginning. And, they can peacefully co-exist. Maybe, even, bring clarity, one to the other.
I’m working through it all, knowing that if I fall more into the wrong camp at the wrong time, Grace will lead me back.
And, He doesn’t identify me as anything other than Loved.
Twenty-four hours a day.
This post, by the skin of my teeth, is day 24 of the Write 31 Days challenge.