We all struggle through life. In one way or another, we are stumbling and crawling to the next milestone.
I have a hunch this is the meaning of life. As this could lead to a tangent of massive proportions, I’ll stop right here.
I am a writer. I am also a lower middle class worker bee, a mother, a wife, and a homemaker. I thought I knew struggle at the age of twenty. I had no idea.
My life is blessed, in many, many ways. I’m not complaining, per se. Commiseration is the key.
How many people out there find it hard to juggle their passions when they have so many other hats vying for their attention? How many of us feel disconnected because we can’t link all our hats together?
I certainly do. I feel like I jump in and out of myself all day. Sometimes it’s so exhausting that I just stay outside. It’s so much easier to be the glue machine that holds it all together- easier than to ask for time.
Time equals guilt. Time equals resentment from those who exploit my maternal instincts.
Then they wonder why I don’t work harder to pursue my dreams. They wonder why I just. don’t. feel. like. it.
Apparently we are in some kind of space-time continuum that allows you to do an unlimited amount of tasks in an unlimited amount of time. Strange that I don’t see this.
As you can see, I’m struggling. With my juggling. Where’s my dexterity when I need it?