I am sharing with You this article that I wrote for my beloved Bella Grace magazine blog. I just adore this magazine and everything around it. Here You can find more: http://bellagracemagazine.com/blog/no-debate/
When I became a mother, I was told I got a girl, who will often show me the way. A girl who will turn the tables every now and then, and show me, loud and clear, that she knows much more than I do myself. Her gentle, subtle antennae work flawlessly, and so she can catch all the invisible signals that make humans such fragile beings. She sometimes reads minds in a way only children know, when they say nothing, at least not at first, but you can clearly sense they understood everything much better, saw much further than us adults.
Sofia is the one that lights up the dark for me and makes sure I find my safe harbour. And if there isn’t one, she wills it into existence. Those of you who are mothers, perhaps know what I’m talking about, and perhaps feel the same yourself. To me, it’s as if everything in life comes and goes, friendship, love, relationships in general, but children are the one thing that remain as a steady rock. I’ve lost a part of myself with the passage of years, but I’m not complaining. I can write this down without a guilty conscience or even nostalgia, because the transformation was a part of my growth and quite clearly a process that I needed. I merged myself with my job, a job that I love and is my life, and yet a sinister thought crosses my mind every once in a while that the price was rather steep. Little spare time, lots of responsibilities and expectations, not only from others but from myself, because I don’t allow myself to stay in one place for too long.
It may be my love for life that makes me not want to miss out on the slightest thing, which in turn makes me race and then race some more, always toward a new goal. Once you turn 40, your values change, and so do the things you sincerely, deeply wish for. And herein lies the wonderful side of maturity, when you stop fearing solitude and silence, and actually start enjoying the moments when nothing is going on around you. I know it sounds strange, but I love peace and an empty apartment, dimmed lights in the living room and the smell of morning coffee. I like fresh linens and piping hot water in the tub, having the apartment to myself and open balcony doors, because this lets me know that life outside is continuing steadily, even when I’m not there. And I don’t anticipate. I don’t think too much. I’m alright. I’m simply me in a room, free and perfectly calm.
I recently visited a tourist farm and observed a woman, who was evidently the owner and also the waitress. She had three children, a cat, a dog, and seven tables with six people sitting at each of them. She was alone. I watched her rush across the restaurant, in low sneakers and skinny pants, a smile on her face, rosy cheeks and hands that have clearly done more than a fair share of hard work, and the look in her eyes that have probably seen many things in life, and her will, an iron will to do it all. No debate. I think we’re all similar to one another, because we play so many roles without a debate; we’re mothers, daughters, friends, partners, business women, sisters, even waitresses, every one of us in her own way. We serve. We rush. We make wishes come true, listen to other people’s dreams, while we put a smile on our face; and so what, if it’s never our turn?
Maybe late at night, when all the lights turn off and the rhythm becomes less demanding, when we crawl underneath the sheets with cold feet and a book in our hands, maybe then we realize that another day is gone and there was no time in it for our dreams. Then we fall asleep, sometimes deeply, sometimes lightly, when the children interrupt it now and then, because they need us at night as well.
Maybe it’s only then that we can live our life without expectations and without tasks, at least for a few hours. Just like that, like free birds without a nest.