I Want Too Much

I want to write creatively, for pen and paper to meet, sparks igniting the tip of the pen until a cloud of smoky words drifts into the air, inspiring anyone who wanders into them.

I want to sing, in German and Latin and Spanish, and to sing covers of pop songs and versions of original songs, and to have someone tell me to be sure to keep my shoulders back (look in the mirror when you practice!) so I can fill my lungs with air and not be breathy and flat, and to focus when I'm sight-reading.

I want to play, for my fingers to glide over the piano keys as I close my eyes and forget anything else exists. I don't even want an audience or a YouTube video or a compliment.

I want to take an art class, since my clumsy hands have never learned to paint or sculpt or draw; I just think I should know these things.

I want to take a math class, since I stumbled through pre-calculus with a "C" and no trigonometry background; I want to prove to myself that I can master the unit circle and Pythagorean identities.

I want coffee in the morning and running in the evening and baking gluten free cupcakes in between; I want to clean with homemade, nontoxic cleaners and sew with a sewing machine.

I want volleyball with friends, and glasses of wine as we watch reality TV or play card games.

I want to volunteer on weekends, do Bible study on weekdays, and sit through a church service without thinking about how much work I have at home.

I want books and crossword puzzles to keep my mind sharp and my vocabulary expanding; I can feel myself getting dumber and dumber with time. The brain's a muscle; you have to work it.


But what do I have?
Papers to grade, piled so high I could cry.
Data to analyze and turn in to bosses.
Meetings in the morning and meetings at lunch and emailing over the weekend.
Lessons to plan...if I even have time.
A dusty piano.
Cobwebs covering my vocal cords.
A looming mountain of laundry.
Yogurt for dinner, and lunch, and sometimes breakfast, if I have time.
Little time for who or what I love.
Friends scared to call because I keep flaking out.


I do not know exactly what life is supposed to be, but I know it is not supposed to be all work and no peace, all punishment and no pleasure.
Family, friends, fellowship...these are the important things...right?

I think life is too short to live this way.
Or maybe, I just want too much.

To Be a Superhero

A couple weeks ago, someone quipped, "You're like a superhero! You just do it all!"

No, I'm not, and no, I don't. Far from it.

When Randy and I first got married and lived in H'burg, we NEVER ate out. I mean, seriously. We ate out maybe TWICE in our first year of marriage. I cooked from scratch every single night; Sunday was always homemade pizza night. I cleaned our tiny apartment at least once per week (vacuumed, mopped, scrubbed the bathroom, dusted, etc.). I had a "laundry day" (mostly because I had to go to the laundromat) and always made sure laundry was folded and put away promptly.

Then we moved, and he started school, and I started teaching for real. And coaching. And playing volleyball two-three nights a week. And hanging out with my friends every weekend. And now, I'm in grad school. And teaching is harder and more time consuming than ever. And I'm coaching five nights a week.

And somewhere along the way, homemade soup gave way to Campbell's, and homemade pizza became frozen pizza, and it became acceptable to eat yogurt and cereal for dinner.

And instead of laundry being done once a week and completely folded and put away, I now frequently pick out outfits from clothes draped over the drying rack or sitting in the dryer. Just last week, I rummaged through a few laundry baskets to find a pair of clean underwear.

Despite all of this, my sweet husband still tells me I'm the best wife ever.

But last December, I realized life was going in a direction I didn't like. I don't want to have a reputation as a workaholic who is busy, busy, busy all the time, and frankly, I didn't want to give that label to myself, either.

That doesn't make me happy anymore. It doesn't bring me joy or peace. 

Life is short, and we only get one chance. To me, that used to mean "cram in everything while you can."
Now it means "don't waste time on the small stuff; pick and choose what's really important."

Choose what brings true joy. Choose what brings peace.
Choose family and fellowship. Choose God.

I know this is not what American society tells us to do. Society dictates that we work ourselves until we are exhausted, and then we bring home work and work some more. We do, do, do and go, go, go.

I think the real superheroes are those who defy these expectations and live simple, quiet lives.
I want someone to say, someday, "You're a superhero! You stopped doing it all and now do only what's important! You take time to go on walks with your husband and write songs on your grandmother's piano. You take time to volunteer in your church's soup kitchen and visit the old folks' home. You spread JOY to others!"

THAT is the kind of superhero I aspire to be. I don't want to DO more. I want to BE more.