We have been trying to finish the basement for the last 12 years. It’s been done in stages and we are finally reaching the home stretch. Everyone wants it done. No one wants to work. It always seems like the “perfect” day to work on the basement is when I already made plans to do something else. Maybe it’s a girl thing, but I hate changing my plans and at the same time I feel horrible guilt sticking to them.
I end up having a conversation in my head that sounds like this:
What if I stayed home and caved into that guilt that I should be helping lay that carpet in the basement? I could relinquish my own agenda. After all, going to my ladies’ writing group seems selfish even if it is only once a month. Right now, following a dream, nourishing a craft or creating art doesn’t seem as practical as putting carpet down on cement while negotiating the arguments of teenage boys. I should stay. They need the help. Who will make lunch?
Nah. I should go. I need to grow. I need to learn.
My creativity needs to be fed.
Still wafting between my decisions I walk downstairs. “I hate this carpet.”, “I thought we were getting shag.”, “Your son isn’t responding to my texts.” That basement was teeming with negativity.
What if I stayed? I’d get sucked in, that’s what! I would move the pen and paper from my writing group hand and put on the white glove of a diplomat while I explained over and over the wisdom of practical carpet. I’d calm down an old man at the end of his rope. I’d make sandwiches.
I need to be fed too. No way are carpet squares going to trump an opportunity for growth. I might not have an epiphany, I’ll be late as well but I’ll also be me. Today l am not mom, not negotiator, not chef, not maid and not home.
Sometimes you just have to be a girl.