sunday afternoon

So often we (meaning Jeremy and I) have the television on, to keep us feeling like we're doing something besides lazing around, to keep us from getting bored, to keep us from getting lonely, to keep us motivated to do housework (okay, the last two may just be me). Right now, though, it's off, and I can hear my husband's breathing from a chair across the room as he goes in and out of sleep, the wind outside, the clickety-clack of the keyboard. It's nice. I wish I enjoyed this when I was by myself, but usually I'm too afraid of my thoughts, of being alone. I've gotten different as I've gotten older--more afraid, more anxious.

For example: I used to adore big thunderstorms. I would go outside, feel the wind in my hair, and would be so excited, so exhilarated by the feeling of freedom, alone in a big, dangerous world. I felt bigger than myself, a part of something so wild, without boundaries. Now I check the news minute-by-minute, listening for the town sirens warning of a tornado or hail or heavy winds. I wonder when Fear crept its way into that part of my spirit. And what other parts of me have been infiltrated or damaged or simply unalterably changed by its presence there.

When I remember how I used to feel, I'm scared in a different way about what that means for my heart and spirit. What kind of wife I am now, what kind of mother I will be... I don't know what has happened, or what I need to do to regain that wildness I used to experience, but I know that it's missing now, and that I'm desperate for it to reappear.