Where is the time going? Perhaps it’s going to non-existant sleep. My son, Ethan, is now 6 Weeks old. In adult time, six weeks is a blink. In baby time, it’s 42 days of rapid changes, turning from a tiny newborn to a ravenous infant, staring at the world in wonder in between waves of frequent meltdowns.
It’s odd having my child’s milestone birth months and years mark the passing of my father. Just one week after celebrating my kid’s first birthday, I’ll be mourning the loss of my dad. And so it will go every year, every birthday, for the rest of forever. I’m trying my best to not think about dad much these days, as I’m in pure survival mode. I want not to be distracted by the feelings of panic and guilt and loss, which pop up every now and again. I put them on silent mode and proceed to attempt my game of “get baby to latch.”
As I stare at my son in the 3am light seeping in from the hallway to our darkened bedroom, everyday I see a person, not a baby — a small person who is growing at a remarkable speed. I consider that as adults we too are growing rapidly each day, we just don’t think about it in the same way, but our months and years that go by that paint deep lines on our foreheads, crepe our hands and weaken our bones are made up of these precious days where everything in ourselves is constantly in motion: growing, aging, living, dying.
Ethan is just starting to realize there is a world out there. He stares in awe of the bright light slits between the dark rectangles of our window shutters, his lips pursed and eyes open wide at this magical view. He sometimes looks at me, more and more each day, but the window is much more interesting. In the past week or so he’s begun to vocalize beyond his wounded-cat cries that, when most desperate, turn into what I call his Spanish cries with a rolled “r.” When he’s calm, which is rare, he lies and flails about and goes “coo” as babies do. He’s yet to figure out smiling, though he does it by accident on occasion, and every time it melts my heart.
I wish time could just slow down, but that’s not possible. I’m hoping some day I will figure out how to feel happiness again. Maybe I need to stop seeking this youthful happiness, but instead accept that adult happiness is different — it’s providing for your family and helping your child get to his next milestone. It’s the happiness that comes with giving to others, to helping your elders as they navigate the mental and physical maze that is their senior years, to doing your best job at the office and achieving goals, to supporting your children (or pets or friend’s children or the charities that matter to you) to grow.
This is why alcohol exists and is so popular. For adults, I think the only way to feel this kind of happy is to be drunk (or otherwise intoxicated.) Of course, the opposite effect is quite possible. I’m avoiding anything beyond a single glass of wine for now — it’s much too dangerous.
In rebuilding or building myself anew, I look to the invest in the things that have the potential to bring happiness:
- a home, rented or purchased, with a large enough gathering space inside and outside to invite people over to nurture old friendships and develop new ones (a huge challenge in the Bay Area, but a goal nonetheless.)
- a financial plan and portfolio that reasonably gets our family to some sense of stability by our 40s, with enough money to travel close and far, and make it to every family event possible in the coming years.
- simplifiying and having a small amount of material things. I do like to save items which bring back memories — photos, souvenirs, items which smell like a time which will never come back. But clothes and other stuff are not necessary beyond a few good outfits. Getting rid of things is hard but cleansing and allows one to focus on what matters.
- sleeping when I can and trying my best to be awake when I can and really give to experiences with my family, whether that’s going out to a street fair, camping in the wilderness, traveling to a new location, or simply cuddling in bed reading a book together or baking brownies and playing a board game together or helping with homework when the time comes… finding the precious moments to really be a family before they’re gone.
- commiting, again,to work and my career. Trying my absolute best to provide the most value to my team and company. Figuring out how to do this while also being the mother I want to be. Taking it one day at a time. Focusing on just being the best employee I can be, and being ok with being ok at some things. Focusing every day on being a good manager and contributor, and commiting to what is reasonable and getting it done to the best of my ability.
- getting outside. Seeing the sun. Going for walks. To the park. To the swimming pool. To go for a run — it’s so easy to sit inside and lose the day, day after day. This isn’t good for my family and isn’t good for me — so we’ll go outside.
- making decisions fast. This one is hardest for me. I put things off in all aspects of my life because I struggle to make decisions — it causes a huge amount of anxiety as my mind quickly runs up a tab of all the outcomes for any given path a decision puts me down. If I can solve my decision-making issue, this would have an amazingly positive impact on my life.
That’s about it. I guess things suddenly seem a lot simpler. I never really had a purpose in life. I was floating along, finding fleeting moments of happiness in the intrinsic rewards of recognition from others and in making people laugh. I still have a funny bone, but I’m ok now with silence and with just keeping my head down and not needing that response from others. I’d almost rather be invisible at this point — and that’s definitely a change in mentality. I hope it’s for the better.
life with interest 