When vision gets blurred and you finally pass out.

In the past year I have given so much time to organizing life that I lost sight of just living it. So much of my week is filled with damage control as opposed to intentional living. Truth be told, I long for a simple quiet life: the kind that happens on damp mornings over a cup of tea, watching the dew gently rise off the grass. But instead each day is filled with existential questions caught between the tension of who the world thinks I ought to be, who I think I should be and who God wants me to be, all the while, scraping by, wondering how to make it financially. The ironic part, is that for as much time as I give to thinking about money, the shifting dreams I have for my life never include being rich, building equity or having stuff….but they do include experiences, comfort and hospitality – all of which cost  money. The western world is built on capitalism, but what if for just one moment everyone had enough of what they needed and what they needed was enough.

I did the math tonight and figured out that in any given week I work 50-60 hour a week. Yes, that number is right. And that is not including the time I spend being a mother, cleaning my house, doing laundry, playing with my children or blogging. There is something SEVERELY wrong with this picture. But what do you do when every dollar is needed to make ends meet? We don’t live extravagant lives so why should I have to work so many hours to make it work? Something’s gotta give. And something did give. For whatever reason, for the first time in my life, I fainted this past weekend. There could be a perfectly good explanation for it but it definitely causes me to step back and say, Whoa! is there more going on here?

This autumn, I think I might focus on gaining a little perspective. I mean really sitting down and asking myself what is important? And does my life reflect that? I wish I could say once I figure that out everything will be peachy keen but the truth is, it probably won’t. But I think it is a good place to start. When Ben and I returned from Cambridge just over a year ago, we had no plan. We still have no plan. We don’t know what’s next and our five-year plan is more of a collage with hastily cut out magazine images modge-podged together on poster board than a step-by-step strategy to making the most of this one beautiful life. Not that I am saying that is what it needs to be but rather, the goal is to find a comfortable place, somewhere in the middle. Tell me, for those of you who are caught in the poverty/lower class trap, how do you make it work while keeping your sanity?