Maybe some of you can relate to this, but I really do live in two different worlds. There’s the world I have to live in, and then there’s the world that exists no matter where I go or find myself. Outward circumstances change. Time goes on. And I’m still here.
I don’t always–EVER–know how to get out of the world inside my head. I have dishes to do. A house to clean. My brother’s wedding to travel to this coming weekend. I need to get online and start looking through books for the coming school year and my head doesn’t care about any of this. It’s like I’m caught in the middle between two worlds.
I’m stuck in here. There’s like an itch in my brain that makes being all here, as in, all there, completely impossible. The hot water heater busted yesterday morning, so I’m not washing dishes til the water is hot. The house is a mess within hours of me cleaning it.
Sometimes the stuff I write about here has absolutely nothing to do with my actual life. It’s not that I’m lying to anyone. It’s just that part of me is starting to realize that how I experience a particular given moment may not at all be what someone else experiences.
My kids, if they were to look at me now, would see a mom staring into the computer. They see me at the kitchen table typing. They have seen me doing this for hours upon hours over the past five years since we got the internet again. The image of mom on her computer will be permanently fixed in the skies of their memories. These were formative years in their lives that are forever a part of their personal family history.
I say this as if I’m experiencing guilt. I’m not. I am, quite simply, just thinking out loud. At some point, as my kids grow to experience their own realizations, as they look back and see their own past for themselves, they will come to understand the truth about me.
My brother is getting married this Saturday. I’m excited for the wedding and to see my family. This wedding has been a long time coming, for my brother, for my almost sister-in-law, and for everybody who has followed them and their story. My brother has loved this girl since he was fourteen years old, and though they have both also loved other people in the past, on Saturday, they will pledge their lives and love to each other.
Camp is over for the summer. This is another one of those things where my experience differs from the experience of others. I’m really not a part of the camp family in the same way the counselors are, and even my husband and children are. It can be sad, particularly since camp, in the past, was the place where you instantly fit in as family.
I still love the staff and campers. The difference is they don’t love me, at least not in the same, reciprocated way. I miss them, but I doubt any one of them today–right now–is thinking back and missing me. And honestly, I’m okay with this. Camp is not about me anymore, about the life-changing experience that I am having. It’s their turn now.
And yet, here I am, still blessed by it all.