I’m Irrelevant And Normal And I Don’t Do Anything I Want To Do And That’s OK

I went down one of those Internet rabbit holes today where you start reading an article and it takes you to a link which takes you to another link and before you know it, you are reading something by someone who basically describes your entire reality. In an unflattering way. In an I-don’t-want-to-be-X-age-and-look-like-this-and-act-like-this-and-not-have-done-this descriptor. And you try not to take it personally and of course you don’t take it personally. Because the person who wrote this descriptor, they have NO idea who you are and it’s not like they are watching you, bad mussed up haircut and oversized leopard print pajamas and smeary mascara because you were too tired to wash your face last night, contemplating but NOT YET cleaning up the cat vomit on your kitchen floor. They really have no idea they just described your entire life.

Yesterday Me-N-The Mommyish Girls had sort of this mutual nervous breakdown where we all talked about motherhood and careers and mommy guilt and how yeah, that’s basically it, the guilt, the guilt the overwhelming, soul crushing guilt of motherhood. And our identities outside of motherhood. Because I’m usually the eldest “girl” in any group of women (at age almost 44) I basically told them that it doesn’t get any easier.

Because it doesn’t.

Because even at my ripe old age I still question my own identity and who I am as a mother and who I am besides the label of mother. And when I went down this Internet rabbit hole today and ended up reading everything this writer said she didn’t want to become when she gets older I realized I probably felt the same way twenty some years ago. I don’t know if our values change when we age (I mean, I am sure they do) or if we just get tired, but I’m basically cool with the fact I am everything she said she never wants to become – irrelevant, normal, and unable to do the anything I want to do.

I still have ambitions. I still care about myself. I still worry about the things all women worry about.. to an extent. But fuck if I’m not just too tired to care as much as I did when I was younger. And now that I have four other humans I am doing my best to raise to be good humans that’s my priority. Even though I was once the twenty-something girl who raged that I would never become like THOSE women, the the women who get super excited over an “A” on a test paper and a stain coming out of a tablecloth and a new episode of a television show (That women enjoy!) and a glass of decent wine and no one being sick, or hurt or sad in my house, that’s my normal. That’s my thrill.

I haven’t finished my novel. I don’t backpack across Europe. I have boring hair. The people who find me the most compelling in my life are all under the age of 18.

And I get really excited when the laundry comes out clean. And that’s okay.

(Photo: Getty Images)