I want to write. I used to write all the time (being an English minor-almost-major in college will do that). I miss writing.
Being back in my college town, back at my alma mater for convention this week, has me looking back and pondering all the things I miss. Going to the morning chapel service yesterday, listening to the crowd swell with the four-part harmony of one of my favorite hymns, brought me to tears. I miss singing.
I used to be surrounded by people my age, people going through the same things as I was, people coming to the same great discoveries about themselves. I’m sure those people still exist in our small town, but the people I know are mostly a generation or two ahead of me. They came to those discoveries several decades ago. I miss having friends close by.
Being a full-time mom is hard. Especially so far this summer, with trips, and events, and periods of time with Jesse gone, it has been a struggle to make time for the things that I want to do that are simply me, as a person. I have been mom, I have been wife, I have been daughter, I have been sister, but I haven’t spent a lot of time as me. I miss that.
So how do I make more time for me? How do I fill my cup with those uplifting moments that come when I spend time with people who just get me, and what I’m doing right now?
I used to hold afternoon naptime sacred, as my time. My oldest doesn’t nap any more, and he likes having that special time with Mom. I like it too, but my alone time is gone. I try to make time in the morning while Hannah naps, even if that means throwing on a movie to distract the other two, so I can have a cup of coffee in peace. That works sometimes.
I’m not trying to be melancholy. It’s more of a wistful remembrance of times past. Most days I feel truly blessed where we are, and I can see why we are there. But coming back to where we used to be brings me back to those times. And some days, I miss them.