It's not that I don't love my life. I do. Added up, I have so many wonderful and fulfilling elements in my life. So many I have that it seems almost imbalanced with other people. Somewhere someone else is missing some great things because I have too many for a person. I have a great family who I get to see really often. I have amazing friends who would support me no matter what happened in my life. That is a very reassuring thing. I have a wonderful husband who loves me with my flat boobs and flabby arms and cottage cheese butt. He actually finds me attractive and can't get enough of this hot piece of ass. Amazing. I have this ridiculously cute and hilarious daughter who fills up my spirit to overflowing. I love my job. It is rewarding, creative and flexible. I work with the best people who are so understanding and positive about life. You see? How can this be?
Yet, today, as I was driving to the Metro, I caught the Joni Mitchell song, Urge for Going, on the radio. It was odd because I had it in my head already from hearing it the night before. I was humming it and craving it, and I heard it on the radio. It was like my soul sighed with relief and said thank you whoever orchestrated me hearing this song at this moment. I freaking LOVE Joni Mitchell. Her voice pierces my being and makes me listen to every word and every note. She sings with such longing and captures that human quality of homesickness that we all live with every day.
It reminds me of a quote by Joan Didion:
"The impulse for much writing is homesickness. You are trying to get back home, and in your writing you are invoking that home, so you are assuaging the homesickness."
I've been feeling that way lately - a little homesick. It's like I'm searching for the comfort, relaxation and ease of being at home as a child. I think I'm longing for no responsibilities, no one needing me. It feels wrong to feel this way considering my life and all the happiness therein. But the longing is still there. Maybe it's just a longing to be with myself, to have the private moments of pensive thought I once had. I'd like to smoke pot and take a bath and get inspired and write for hours. I'd like to turn on some crazy good music and dance around in my underwear with no reason to stop. I'd like to play in the rain and get good and muddy and grassy and smell the summer in the steam from the ground. I'd like to sleep in and be completely lazy.
But life just pushes you along. You find yourself constantly in motion. I'm cleaning the sink. I'm loading the dishwasher. I'm switching the loads of laundry. I'm changing a diaper. I'm checking my email. I'm on the Metro. I'm going to the grocery store. I'm sorting receipts. I'm making dinner. I'm cleaning the sink again. I'm going and going and going with no end in sight.
I know that's life. I know that's being an adult. I know that is what it means to be a mom.
But the longing remains. The homesick aching hangs in the back of your mind. And you get the urge for going. You get the urge for taking a flight to Cozumel or Costa Rica. You get the urge for a road trip down Route 1 and camping in Big Sur. You get the urge for going home even though you're already there.
Well, I feel a little better now. My soul says thank you to my hands for writing.