| Something invaded her body like a raging out of control fire, whizzing through dry timber. She was seventy-three.
Within hours, her son posted on Facebook: “It is with a heavy heart and profound sadness that I mention the passing of my mother, Marlyn Weinstein. She lived a full and happy life, and will be sorely missed by those whose lives she warmly touched. Always kind and thoughtful, she was a wonderful mother who gave her time generously to the many friends and family she loved so much. This is how I will remember her.”
Marlyn and I shared the same birthday, both fellow Leo’s. But we roared in different ways.
I think my sons would most likely post about me: “My mom was a creative person whose passion was birthing new ideas, but whose life was laced with self-imposed pressure to incessantly learn and passionately pursue new avenues of endeavors. So relentlessly busy, she trained her friends not to call her to touch base, but to text her instead. And be brief. She had little tolerance for minutiae. And she missed a lot of birthday parties.”
Not such a great legacy.
And truthfully, I’ve been thinking of cutting back for awhile. Marlyn’s death was just confirmation that I’ve been driving myself too hard.
So I’m taking a break from writing my weekly newsletter simply because I’m emotionally exhausted. It’s been a rough couple of months – which followed a rough couple of years.
I’m tired.
It’s not that the well has run dry on subjects to write on. Or professionals in the Eating Disorder field to reach out to. Or podcasts to record or Facebook chats to set up. Or mastermind groups to run. My idea notebooks – by sheer force of habit – have as many budding ideas scribbled in them as ever. Lists of more how-to books to order and read. More techniques to experiment with in the ever-emerging and always challenging social media field.
Even though I write about “Preserving Your Bloom,” I’m not doing such a good job of preserving my own. My blooms are withering on their stalks for lack of nutrients.
My creative juices will re-emerge after dormancy. Of this I am sure. But first I need to rest and replenish. I’ve got to re-embrace with loving care – not impatience – my husband’s attempts to draw me close. I need to connect with my kids and grandchildren less sporadically. I need to give myself time for yoga classes, knitting projects, an intense conversation with a friend, a lengthy walk to nowhere or simply settling down on my shade-dappled porch with an enticing new novel. I need guilt-free time for frivolity and pleasure. And spending time with those I love so passionately.
Webinars on “How to beef up the quality of your Instagram photos” or “The five biggest mistakes newly-self-published authors make” will be around forever. My time is finite and as President Clinton once noted, “There are more days behind me, than ahead of me.”
I want to go watch my favorite baseball team play a game – without mentally going through my to-do list, while simultaneously lamenting the loss of “productive” time. I don’t want my kids to repeat the same thing they told me three times before, because I was too distracted to listen to them the first time.
Marlyn won’t get the chance for do-overs and re-assessments – in anything she aspired to. And for that I grieve.
And I also grieve for me – who foolishly is squandering her chance for do-overs because she is too busy trying – as a fellow creator confided to me just yesterday – “to be unique, admired and sought after.”
I think I’d rather be wildly relaxed and well rested, for a change.
My garden is in need of weeding, watering, pruning, cutting back and cultivating. Fertilizing. Aerating. Filling with nutrients. The withered blooms need to be carted away and, in its place, glorious blooms need to begin to push through the well-tilled soul – seeking the sun. That’s when I know I’m living true to my brand of “Preserving Your Bloom.”
And that’s when I’ll be back.
My guess: about four weeks.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris |
