I’ve been tracking my time lately…trying to figure out where the heck it ends up. Often at the end of the day I have no idea what I did all day…and I find that a little alarming. A whole day? What did I do? I didn’t used to think about this stuff so much. Is this a mid-30’s thing?
So for a couple of days now, I’ve been writing it down. Logging my hours to myself to track it. So at the end of the day when I wonder where the time went, I can see where it went. But…it’s not really helping. I feel frustrated that it takes me an hour to fold and put away laundry. Although it needs to be done, it doesn’t end up feeling like a good, honorable use of an hour. So, instead of feeling settled with how I spent my time, I just wish I had had more time.
Which, I must say, is infinitely better than being bored.
This morning, as I got Andrew off to school and I saw the state of coughing, wheezy Isaac, I decided he needed to stay home. I needed to ignore my time card and only pay half attention to my to-do list. I need to let go of my quest to understand time today, and that’s hard. Ultimately I need to let go of my quest to understand time altogether. I tie up my sense of value too much in what I’ve done, instead of who I am, and I need to shift that all around.
But often what you need to do and how you need to think and the things you need to let go of…are just so hard to change. I don’t attribute intrinsic value to what my kids’ have done today. Isaac’s done a whole lot of not-much…but he’s still infinitely valuable. I know that I should extend myself that same grace, but I can’t seem to help myself. The list of crossed-off items is much more tangible than a list of character traits.
And so I wrestle.
But, if I get to the bottom of this. If I can find peace with who I am and separate that from my list of what I did today…well…that would be nice, wouldn’t it?
Yesterday I made a scrapbook page while helping Isaac finish up some decorations for his birthday party and after organizing a money-management spreadsheet. Sigh. Let it go, Robyn. Let it go.