I definitely had this thought around lunchtime: if I don’t post something today, there will be nothing in my archives for 2014.
I often think of the poem I used to have pasted in the front of my journal, way back when I wrote in a paper journal with glittery gel pens, and its description of unrecorded days slipping away like bits of cleaving ice into a dark ocean. if a day is an iceberg, what is a year? perhaps an entire small continent, disappearing under the swells of a relentlessly rising ocean?
2013 was the year I became a mother, but 2014 was the year I became a working parent, and for me at least, that has been a whole different level of mothering. in a way, it’s been the thing that has fulfilled all the platitudes about having a baby when merely having the baby failed to do so. it’s hard, the hardest thing I’ve ever done. at least once a day I find myself questioning the decision to do it at all. at least once a day I find myself thinking that if I didn’t do it, I’d be missing out on some of the most important and rewarding parts of my life. it’s exhausting. it’s exhilarating. it makes me wonder who I am and what happened to the person I used to be. it makes me feel like I’ll never be enough. it makes me feel like a superhero.
last week, one of my students gave me a christmas card. inside it she wrote, “I’m sure you are the kind of parent your students wish they had.” the truth is I often think about it the other way around: I hope I’m the kind of teacher I wish my daughter will have.
I’ve been trying to fulfill those hopes and wishes for a year now. it’s hard work. it’s good work. and when I look back at my mostly unrecorded year, I don’t regret it. this was a landscape worth exploring.
(I do wish I’d been better about journaling. maybe I need to tape a poem to my laptop.)