Sometime life as Supermom stinks. Well, frankly, it’s a lie, the whole “supermom” idea. Working a full-time-plus management job, ticking away at a masters degree one class at a time, and striving to be all things to all the significant people in my life (and being ever mindful of the gap between who I am and who I ought to be)… well, life (or what I’ve made of it) simply can be overwhelming.
I realized a few weeks ago, shortly after returning from Grandma Kay’s funeral (in a pensive mood about life in general), that most times I really don’t see life for what it is, because I’m looking too closely. I’m in the middle of it, so I can’t see it. I miss the patterns for the particulars.
People have so many metaphors for life. Life is a river. Life is an empty tomb. Life runs at you sideways when you’re not looking (overheard that weird random imagery recently). Life is a truth wrapped in a lie, a hedge, a gate, a journey. Life. Always a metaphor. Nobody dares to look her straight in the face and name her.
I once heard a man say, “Sometimes the monkey on your back is just a lonely friend who misses you.”
I think life is a monkey.