It’s 30 degrees on April 15th, and I’m content to sit on my couch with my computer and a cup of tea. I’m under a fuzzy blanket, and I’ve given up on the ideal of productivity for today. I’m reading a book that’s stretching my brain and reminding me of the beauty of words and the transformative power of a phrase previously unheard. I’m texting Bea upstairs because she’s being reclusive and I’m not above bribing her with takeout. I’m enjoying the sound of my husband playing Tom Petty on the guitar while the kids and their friends shout a combination of accusations and friendly insults that punctuate an intense game of preteen hide and seek. While I listen to their shouting, wondering if I need to intervene, I can’t help but think about the dynamics of this timeless game and how much learning happens in the context of these unscripted social interactions.
I love that my boys have friends to play with. I love when they choose to be active instead of sitting and staring at screens. I love hearing them laugh. But the game always turns sour. Someone gives up. Someone is cheating. Someone steals someone else’s hiding spot… and they need to solve it. They need to work it out. And the deepest value doesn’t come from the running and the laughing or even the exercise. The deepest value is in the struggle. It’s in navigating how to disagree and still remain friends. It’s in learning how to stand up for yourself without trampling someone else. It’s in learning how to behave when you’re called out for having done wrong.
The past few weeks have been a whirlwind, and I’ve been a car spinning my wheels; first stuck in the mud and then careening toward a tree because the rubber finally met something solid and unexpected. I haven’t been feeling very grace-filled lately. I’m feeling stressed and tired and pulled in too many directions and overall a little edgy. I’ve spent a lot of time procrastinating and cleaning up dog pee and making slapped together sandwiches and overanalyzing mundane events. I haven’t written anything publishable in a while, mostly because my writing has been too personal and raw and incoherent to share with the world. I haven’t yet had a chance to sort it all out in my head, but I am compelled to write anyway, so here I am.
Maybe it’s the dreary nature of an April that feels like January; maybe it’s the pressure of a job that sometimes feels thankless; maybe it’s simply the repetitive nature of mothering, day after day after day… the endless refrain of “be nice to your brother” and “where are your shoes” and “get the guinea pig off the kitchen counter.” Regardless of the cause, the result is a sort of mild depressive state, wherein I seek solace, not in comfort foods, but in comfort beverages; flavored coffee, chamomile tea, chardonnay. These are what I look forward to when I leave my classroom with a bag full of papers to grade and the knowledge that my children will likely greet me with requests for homework help and the persistent, daily desire to be fed an evening meal.
I know how this works. I’ve been here before. I even know how to get out of this rut. I need connection and exercise and play and laughter and a night away with my husband. There is seeking that needs to be done. When contentment and gratitude and peace are evasive, it’s part of a natural cycle. They haven’t disappeared; they’re simply waiting to be found. So I search. I try to eat well and laugh and stay motivated and accomplish things so as not to fall into a rut. But how do I cope when all of those things feel like effort, and I have nothing left to give?
Sometimes the pressure to be grateful and content feels like more of a task than I can manage. I feel the need to take action, to solve the problem, to just keep looking until I find peace. But what if I’m going about it all wrong? What if I’ve forgotten to take my turn hiding? What if I need to settle in a warm, comfortable, quiet place? What if I’m being called to be still? How often do I forget that the hiding has to balance out the seeking?
This rut that I’m stuck in won’t last forever. Eventually, I’ll gain momentum and my tires will find solid ground. The contentment that seems so hard to find during the last portion of our endless winters will come out of hiding and settle at the kitchen table or in the backyard hammock. The sun will come out and the rhythm of the school year will become less of a drudging beat and more of a frenetic rush to the close. The kids’ spring fever will be satisfied by longer days and higher temperatures and more time outdoors with friends.
As I sit here surrounded by this cacophony of noise, there’s a palpable relief in thinking that I don’t have to jump up and intervene with every shout. There’s comfort in thinking that my inaction may be as important as my action.
Maybe my cozy blanket and my cup of tea and my good book are not so much an escape, but rather an integral part of the interaction. Maybe I crave connection so much because I need to be able to hide with the firm knowledge that my people won’t let me stay in this dark, quiet place forever.
As we go through our phases of searching and waiting to be found, it’s comforting to know that we’re not alone. I’m grateful to be surrounded by amazing people who help to remind me that is beauty in the struggle, that there are lessons to be learned from failure, and that there is a time for both the hiding and the seeking.