I think about this space often. About how maybe I could’ve planned a specific leave here so that it doesn’t look like I fell off the map. Though, I guess, maybe I have. Fallen off the map, that is. Or maybe it’s the map that changed. The whole landscape of my life different, as if an earthquake came through, shooting mountains up and breaking apart land.
The horizon’s different and so am I.
Parenthood will do this to you. I know I was warned. Things like you’ll never sleep again and good luck on ever taking a vacation, but those words just serve to separate you from those who are already in it. Pre-baby and post-baby. You think, no, that won’t be us even though you’re terrified it will be, and then what?
More importantly, all those dire warnings absolutely miss the nuances of the total, never-turning-back commitment of raising a kid. It doesn’t cover the deep, complex feelings your body runs through minute by minute, because how can words describe this heightened buzzing that is taking care of a tiny little person? How can I explain to you that I’m being the most resourceful I’ve ever been while every single one of my resources are bone-achingly tapped?
I can’t. Hence, my absence.
Though that’s not entirely true either. I’m writing this. It doesn’t have specifics that you can hold on to, but it’s something. And I’m writing it in a race against the baby’s nap, but this is time I didn’t have to myself even two weeks ago, so it’s something. A new path, a clearing.
Like getting to drop your backpack and sit down on a long hike, every little bit refuels me. A tarot card pull, a few minutes to journal, finally having the capacity to read fiction again. And writing here.
Telling stories is how I get my bearings. And if I want anything right now, it’s to understand myself relative to this new life I’m in, this new map. So my hope is to check in here a bit more often, to piece together a trail, and drop a few markers, if not to figure out where I’m going, then to at least tell you where I’ve been.