Circling Around

Recurring themes. I find them in the works of most of my favorite writers. I'm in the book, I'm humming along with their words, enjoying the song they sing inside my head, when I come across that certain image. Or that idea that occurs over and over throughout the pages.

Writers cannot help but come back to the ideas that hold the most fascination to them. Whether an invocation of sexual heat in Gabaldon's Outlander Series or an exploration of place as identity in Susan Straight's work, writers circle around and around these nuggets that occupy their minds. Every writer I can think of has memes that crop up again and again, little hints at the person behind the words.

I wonder what my themes are. Sitting at my kitchen table, split between my laptop and piles of "necessary" paperwork, I consider writing a story to give myself a little break. But then again, I'm sick of my stories. I don't feel like creating a character, and then watching her (or him) wander in the world, searching for a place. Searching for meaning. Searching for love. Blah.

I am particularly tired today. The week has been hectic; the nights have been late. And it's only Tuesday. The nonstop effort of raising fabulous children continues to be both draining and exhausting. I encourage myself, and every other mother I know, all of whom are equally tired and some of whom are even more cranky and prone to sudden outbursts than I, with the reminder that it is all fleeting. The time has raced so far, and once it races a few more years into the future, this hands-on, daily grind will be done forever.

"Just eight more years," I point out. Six years for some moms, ten for others. But for none of them will it be the eternity it can sometimes feel like. The children will become adults. Their neediness will become independence, even distance. Lonely space may fill days that right now seem crammed so unbearably full.

"You can make it there," I counsel both them and myself with a smile. "And try to savor it right now, because the lovely parts of these times will be gone as well."

Looking at my environment, my theme just might be responsibilities. The bills I have to see paid, the shopping I must bring home. I push aside that little spark within me, that whispering possibility. I listen to its whispering and I bank its warmth for the future. For moments when I can sweep the table clear of the piles, when I can sit, only sit, at a small, cozy table and beckon my voice to come and speak with me.

But around those rare moments, I will keep doing what I do. The bills come first, the groceries, the car repairs, the laundry, the playdates, the homework. Because my theme is dependibility. My theme is caring. Again and again, I come back to the deep satisfaction of doing my best for all of those I love. And hoping that all of their lives, and mine as well, turn out to have that balance between duty and freedom, between self indulgence and giving.