Sometimes after getting the kids situated for the night, I go outside and sit in the car alone.
Nothing in particular causes me to do this (other than being a weirdo), I just like the quiet. Adult life is super overwhelming: all the working for ends still not to quite meet and trying to be an adequate wife and decent mom–it just takes me out. Sitting in the car helps me get centered again, like yoga for moms who hate yoga.I sit in the car and contemplate my life, then read some other blogs and articles before writing my own. It is the most peaceful part of my day. I probably would be much further along in my writing/blogging had I started doing this earlier, but hey! Better late than never, as “they” say.
I sit here going back and forth–reading, liking, commenting, writing–and wonder if this is a good thing. I sometimes feel like I am cheating, hiding from reality and valuable wasting time mucking around on the interwebs. Other times I feel like I earned the break to do this thing that I love. I am so totally conflicted: Am I actually hiding from life even if I do my duties first? Is it okay for me to spend all this time interacting with people I may never meet? And is this even going to help me be the writer that I want to be?
At this point, my sitting in the car routine has morphed into a ritual of sorts that I don’t plan on giving up. But that doesn’t take away the slight nudges of guilt. I could probably be doing productive stuff. But at the same time, I fiercely protect “my time”–Something has to keep me level and this is doing it.