Snatches from the Trenches of Motherhood
Apr 15 2007
Something is happening to me. Either I am losing my mind or I have stepped onto a path that I can no longer deny exists. Each time I try to carry on with my everyday life, my list of meaningless items to accomplish, there it is again. Slapping me in the face.
What is this thing? How to explain it?
I tried at one point several months ago to confess it to my husband in some botched attempt at saving my marriage. I figured, naively, that I needed to learn intimacy. To be intimate with one’s husband, one must confide one’s deepest scariest secret. Silly me. I had several drinks on a highly loaded date night where we were supposed to bond meaningfully (or else!) and blabbered it all out. I think it went something like this:
“I know you’re going to think I’m crazy, but there is this large thing that keeps following me around, a large idea… or a series of ideas. Each conversation that I have with a stranger or book I pick up seems to lead the idea a little farther along. Strange coincidences keep happening to me. I will talk about part of the idea with someone and they will add the next piece, like a giant puzzle that keeps coming together on its own. Do you think it’s crazy to think that the universe is trying to talk to you?”
He said, “Yes. That sounds pretty crazy.”
Shit. So much for intimacy.
I looked at him and realised how reserved he is and has always been. How little he tells me about what he’s thinking. I wanted to smash his face in for how he humours me, how he nods and says, “yes dear” in that snarky yet defeated way. Let’s face it, we are totally different. I’m never going to understand him and he’s never going to understand me. Ok girl, now get over it.
After all, he’s not the only person in the world. There are other people, lots of them, who say, “YES YES YES” when I tell them a part of the idea. They get it. They get me. I’m not fucking crazy. At least, I hope I’m not. Or at least I choose to believe that I’m not.
Einstein said that there are two ways to look at the universe, either everything is a miracle or nothing is.
Ok here is a perfect example of just that. So here I am writing this down, or attempting to and I think, oh I should put in the proper quote by Einstein, don’t be lazy, try and look it up so that it won’t be left there looking unprofessional and I type into google “einstein quote miracle” and voila! It comes up right away. So the real quote is:
“There are two ways to live your life – one is as though nothing is a miracle, the other is as though everything is a miracle.” Albert Einstein
But the point I am trying to make is that of course there are other quotes on this page.
“If A is a success in life, then A equals x plus y plus z. Work is x; y is play; and z is keeping your mouth shut.”
“We can’t solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.”
Both of these ideas seem to speak loudly about my husband and I. “Of course,” I said to myself, “this type of thing, it happens all the time.” We receive input and we find a place for it, a meaningful spot in our minds. Someone says something that we have just been thinking about, or you open a magazine and there is an article on the very thing you are interested in. So what? Some of the vast universe of ideas and information and media are bound to have some personal relevance to us as individuals. In fact, they are trying to find things that are pertinent to the average person so that the information will be consumed with pleasure.
Plus I used google in this example. I am obviously a spoiled westerner who has access to all kinds of information and so therefore, it would be silly to think that none of it would pertain to me personally or to my personal thoughts.
To take this kind of coincidence personally is in fact insane. It’s called ‘delusion of grandeur’ and it is a classic symptom of losing your marbles.
After that flopped conversation with my husband, I licked my wounds, pulled up my socks and sniffed. Ok let it go. The universe is not talking to you. You are an ordinary person. Get over yourself.
I lived my life. I let myself become swept up in the chaos of life.
Albert also says, “Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.”
Is it crazy to consider that every piece of the life you live has meaning and that the vast majority of these tiny snipits of information bombarding you are actually pieces of a great story that it is up to you to put together for yourself?
That is, in essence, my dilemma. I only half believe in what is happening to me. I want to believe in it. I think believing will make my life more interesting. I think it will make me happier. Even if I am wrong, and the whole of my existence has no meaning and every event is simply random, so what? Wouldn’t it be nicer to believe in a beautiful lie? And might the believing create a whole new reality of its own?
I think people who have found Jesus know exactly what I am talking about. Suddenly, they feel a huge change in their lives, in themselves and yet how can you express this to those around you? People will think you’re crazy or sadly deluded. No amount of evidence will convince them.
I have no hope of presenting evidence for this case. That way of proving things does not apply here and never will. I have to choose. Can I give myself permission to live my life as though everything is a miracle?
Yes, I think I can.
So now comes the daunting task that I have been so long putting off… if everything that has been fitting together into a large mass of connected ideas in my mind is a miracle, then I should probably try to keep track of it and write it down. Ug. It really doesn’t seem possible, not to mention the fact that I don’t know if I am up for the task. How on earth would I structure such a piece of writing? Where would I begin? How could I explain how each part relates to all the others? Would it make any sense to anyone else?
I suppose that’s their problem. I certainly have enough trouble trying to understand it all myself without worrying about anyone else. I’m sure there will be someone, if I can manage to piece it all into one great long flow of words, there will be someone who at some point, somehow reads it and it strikes them. It feels important to them or means something to them, perhaps not at all what I intended.
That seems to be the way of my writing. I write things down and give them away and they get passed along to people I have never met and eventually word gets back to me that someone wanted me to know that they really loved something about it. Each piece seems to take on a life of its own that I have no control over. It doesn’t seem to matter if I tell people that my pieces are private and not to be shared. The pieces go where they will. I must learn to send out only polished drafts of things because I’m always kicking myself later that strangers are reading some awkward phrase or some stupid spelling mistake.
Ok so as a believer, which I have now decided to be, I suppose I could say that I am up to the task of this project because I have really already begun. I have been collecting and fashioning little pieces of the puzzle already and these are being directed against my control and often against my wishes into the hands of those who are ready to receive them. At least I have learned to be less embarrassed by my work. I have managed a detachment from things I have written, not exactly as if they were written by someone else, but rather as if they were people of their own, completely separate from me.
It strikes me as odd at this moment, that I am incapable of writing the word ‘separate’ correctly. I have always spelled it wrong and I’m sure will continue to do so. Thank god for spell check is all I can say. Perhaps, with my new believer hat on, I could say that this is because I am incapable of understanding the idea of things being ‘separate’ from each other. To me it is all connected. Maybe that’s ok. Maybe that is a version of reality that is just fine with me.