shakespearemom

I am struck by how instinctive it is for me to back away from control. In most of my past, eating was the biggest area where I lacked control. I couldn’t seem to resist eating any leftover food, especially if it was sitting right in front of me. I often ordered the worst possible meals at restaurants (think fettucini alfredo!), and when the huge portion arrived, I’d nibble and nibble until my stomach was breaking and I felt completely sick. But that dish was usually empty.

It’s easy for me to claim no control over the rest of my life, too, especially when I am home with my children. Suddenly, the reason I don’t get something done is because of them, because they were needy, or they were sick or under the weather, or they made messes I had to clean up.

But the truth is, 90% of my life is a choice. I choose to perform some tasks over others. I choose to eat all that food. I choose not to work on my novel. Even with the responsibilities outside the home that I have–I have chosen all of these, and it is my right to choose to end those responsibilities. I am lucky to have that choice. My husband doesn’t–he has to go to work–but in a way, that is also his choice. He could choose to stay home with the kids while I worked. Then again, more than likely our income would be cut in half, and he would go mad inside of a week, but that choice could still be made.

We tell our eldest child that she has a choice, every morning, to see the world happily or to approach the day with a more negative outlook. You can call that a “Pollyanna Syndrome” and mock us for it, but choosing to look at the world positively can make all the difference. Nearly any activity or event (barring someone’s death), can be seen positively. Not getting a particular job can be a relief, as that job may have been more torture than the salary was worth. Having to move can bring all sorts of opportunities. Even when my children are sick, that gives me time to snuggle all day with them, make hot tea, and watch Harry Potter and Spiderman movies.

And choosing to write–choosing to turn an afternoon into a dozen pages of my own creation, choosing to make something tangible with my time rather than cleaning the bathrooms again or picking up the playroom for the fourth time that day–that is a choice I love to make. It isn’t always easy, but it’s always rewarding, even if what I wrote doesn’t last…even if I realize it needs a complete overhaul two years later (as in the case of this novel I began and then left alone).

Most importantly, knowing I can choose, knowing that I retain the control over most of my life–well, that’s priceless. I hold the power over what I do, and it is my choice, each morning, to decide what I will do with it.

And today, I will write (and play with my kids!).

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