Tag Archives: work

Work of Human Existence

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The other day Mattie asked me, “When I’m  a grownup, will I work, too?” I was a little slow to respond as I thought through how to answer, but eventually just said, “Yes, honey, you will”. He just nodded his head, taking that in, and went back to what he was doing.  It didn’t turn into any big conversation about what he was going “to be” when he grows up, in part because, when I think of work, it’s about so much more than that. As grownups, we’re nearly always working. Whether it’s for income, inside our homes (cooking, cleaning and creating a comfortable, nourishing environment), raising our children, tending our gardens, or working on ourselves and our relationships, the work-to-play balance shifts in adulthood strongly in favor of work.  

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I am very grateful to be able to work part-time, from home, so that I have more time for child raising, home creating, garden tending, and the like. However, this can be a tricky thing to balance with my partner, who works out of the house more. Lately, my dear, wonderful husband, Ken, has been busy with not only his day job, but also his creative work (lots of gigs this month), and a new foray into Shambhala Buddhist wisdom and meditation training. Let me stress how completely supportive I am of all of these things — before I voice the fact that I’ve also been feeling resentment about how much everything else falls to me while he pursues these other things. Don’t get me wrong, he does his best to contribute, even when he’s out of the house so much. But when the things that feel like burdens (washing dishes, doing laundry, and cleaning toilets, for example) seem to fall mostly to me, I get grumpy and resentful.  

Fortunately, I’ve also gotten pretty good at noticing what’s happening inside me and voicing it as soon as I notice.  And, thankfully, Ken’s response is most often a compassionate one.

Take this morning, for example. After pouting silently for a little while, I realized what was going on (aforementioned resentment) and pulled Ken aside in the kitchen to share what was happening in me. I emphasized that I’m aware that it’s not just the imbalance around physical tasks, but also the lack of connection between the two of us (since we’re often like ships passing in the night) that makes me feel so stormy. Ken graciously received this with understanding and tenderness. Whew!

He even took it a step further and stayed home to do the dishes before leaving for work. This means, of course, that he will spend less time working today, which means that he’ll (we’ll) earn less money. But the relief of being seen, acknowledged, and reminded that the burdens of daily living are shared, and not mine to shoulder alone, makes the loss of income feel very worth it.  

I also notice, however, that I feel shame and guilt about sharing that interaction, and that mean voices in my head say things like, “I can’t believe you made him stay home to do the dishes.  How childish.”  Except I didn’t make him. And there isn’t anything wrong with sharing my very real feelings or asking for help. But the underlying secret feeling, that also belongs to the inner critic part of myself, is this: I should be able to do it all, without asking for help, and definitely without feeling resentful. I should be able to cook, clean, care for our child, earn an equal income, and not need help with any of it.  

What the fuck is that?!

I suspect that the answer lies buried deep in my lineage somewhere.  And, I also suspect that many other women feel this way.    

How does any family find a balance that works without resentment, or martyr syndrome, or one partner, (or both), burning out from either too many hours at the office or sweeping too many floors and changing too many diapers?

The answer lies in the ongoing paying attention and communication, I think. I know that we’re on the path to this balance that I seek, even on the days when it feels elusive. There is an ebb and flow to this, and there will be imbalances on a daily, or even weekly or monthly basis. But on days when I’m not feeling it, when everything feels out of balance and I’m grumpy, I hope I can remember that the commitment, from each of us in this particular partnership, is there in the long view.  We have committed to supporting one another’s creative endeavors, to ongoing exploration and communication, and to sharing burdens as well as joy.

I’m damn lucky to have a partner who is so engaged in this work with me.

This is the work of human existence.  

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Where I’ve landed at the end of writing this makes me want to circle back around to Mattie’s four-year-old question again. This is what I want to say to him, and to myself also:

Come to think of it, my dear boy, we come into this world working; even as tiny infants we are working to understand the world around us, ourselves, and the people in our lives. That work continues all our lives, and other kinds of work get added in to earn income, care for our homes and families, and to seek fulfillment and live out our values and purpose. It will be up to you how you choose to balance the work of human existence, but may you find joy and meaning in the exploration and the journey.  

And may that be a reminder to me, too. Let there be imperfection and mess and even joy in the exploration. It’s okay to not know how to do this. There won’t be balance every day, but trust that it will even out when you work to make it happen. Seek out nourishment and connect with others to fill your own bucket. Priorities and even purpose can change over time. Melt into spaciousness and trust, and allow the unfolding to occur.

Coming To My Senses

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Oy.  My brain is tired and full, straining to remember and hold onto all the details that need to be coordinated over the next 3 weeks to submit 20 documents to the federal government on behalf of 8 clients.  I’m writing all day long, telling other people’s stories in the body of application templates — researching, analyzing, calculating, categorizing, strategizing – using my left brain far more than I’d like to.  I feel stressed and overwhelmed, like there’s too much work to be done in not enough time and the pressure is getting to me.

Especially since I’m trying to do it all – to work as much as possible AND be with Mattie as much as possible.   The result is that I feel as though I’m failing at both.  And the shift from being with Mattie most of the time to working most of the time has been tough.  I’m longing for this to be over so that I can return to spending my days with him and clear my mind to allow it to fill again with creative ideas, to play, and to write my own story.

Lately I feel as though all my senses are dulled in this all-consuming singular focus on my work.   I spend each day in our cluttered office: typing, thinking, talking on the phone, making lists, crossing things off lists, and sending email upon email upon email.  Then when I can’t stand it anymore, I get up from my black swivel chair, brush away the accumulated crumbs scattering my desk, and collect my plates & cups from the meals of the day.

I walk down the stairs that are increasingly cluttered with clean folded laundry, dog hair & other random items that (I cringe to admit) currently includes a box of brightly colored wedding thank you cards that were written and never sent — rediscovered nearly 6 years later in a recent cleaning frenzy making room for more Mattie gear.    If you are one of those people who never received their thank you card, please receive this as my formal apology!   Oh, the guilt!

I set aside the guilt, deciding to leave the collection of things in their places for one more day and complete my descent, unlatching the baby gate at the base of the old staircase.  I push open the shiny green curtain in the doorway to the living room & barely have time to set my dirty dishes on the seat of the oak foyer bench before Mattie notices my entrance.

And then I am his.

He reaches for me, needing me.  If I am lucky, I will be greeted by the two sweetest syllables I know, “ma-ma”.  But more likely, once in my arms he will just scramble to lift my shirt, desperate to nurse & reconnect after the long day apart.  We’ll settle into our spot on the worn leather sofa or a stool in the kitchen (if Papa is cooking) and drink each other in, skin to skin. I might sigh, overcome by his beauty, his sweet pudgy, sticky face and big brown eyes locked on mine.  His fingers are now busy exploring – stroking, twisting, and pinching all over.  He may pause nursing periodically to look at me intently and say “up” and “down” (pointing with emphasis), or “woof” or “naaa”.  And with a smile, I’ll confirm, “yes, that’s up, and down”; then look over to our dog “yes, there’s Girl,  she says woof”; and then locate his stuffed plush lamb strewn on the floor; “and yes, there’s your lambie, naaa”.  And he’ll return to nursing contentedly, satisfied that I’ve heard and understood him.

Maybe my senses aren’t totally dulled after all – I’m just saving them for this moment, letting them all slowly flood back in until I’m fully present.  Because this is when I need that awareness most, to engage fully in this intimate conversation between mother & son reunited, rooted in the sensual exploration of one another and the world around us.   This is what I’m living for these days.  This is what’s getting me through.  Yes, it’ll do.