I didn’t laugh out loud when Tony asked me to write a guest post for “Declaring Freedom.” I knew he was graciously offering a platform to a neighbor who’d had just enough success as a writer to declare writing their profession. But I did allow myself an internal chuckle. Because unlike Tony, I couldn’t be further from declaring myself free, not as I’ve always defined it anyway.
Freedom to me means lounging on my own private island, while enjoying pizzas delivered regularly from the mainland by drones. Communicating via FaceTime or written correspondence with my employed, college educated offspring. Flipping through the NY Times (also delivered by drones) to see how The Rock’s presidency is going. Walking next to my self-sufficient pets (no more leashes or poop bags or Alpo). Flying in my physician or acupuncturist or yogi—or whomever best helps me to maintain my now tension-free musculature, balanced gut, post-menopausal lack of hormonal cray-cray and click-free joints that glide like a top-o-the-line Nordic Track. Freedom to me is seeing everything I currently stress about resolved in the most perfect way.
Right now, I’m gripped by an overpowering sense of Anti-Freedom.
Please let me explain.
I represent both the target audience who most needs to practice Physical, Mental, Spiritual, Social, and Financial freedoms—and those most resistant to practicing these freedoms due to “perceived” and “real” physical, mental, spiritual, social and financial restraints. Anti-freedom is the belief that taking action to bring about personal freedom eats away the time needed to accomplish all the stuff I should be doing rather than bringing about personal freedom. It’s a dark place. A vicious cycle. But a common perception for a beleaguered stereotype like myself—the overwrought middle-aged mom currently consumed in every way with acquiring and preserving freedoms for their children, spouse, friends, aging relatives, co-workers and fellow overwrought moms—but not themselves.
Even with a reasonably tight budget, it’s hard to channel funds towards a retreat rather than braces. Real decluttering is tough—right now—because most clutter I have was made by my kids in preschool on through middle school over the past sixteen years and will only be sifted through when we finally downsize to a smaller house. Those quiet moments are few and far between but when they do appear, it almost physically hurts not to fill them with unloading the dishwasher, paying bills or Googling mid-sized liberal arts schools for my son.
What was revelatory in talking to Tony the other day over coffee, wasn’t the fact that I was able to carve out enough time to sip rather than chug said coffee—it was realizing what could be the one antidote to Anti-Freedom. The one thing that could help a mom stereotype like myself.
That would be POV. Point of view. Goal-oriented perseverance. Or as “Declaring Freedom” would encourage—freedom of thought. Because while crumpled over the steering wheel of my minivan, frozen in silent scream at remembering that I’d forgotten snacks for yet another travel soccer game, the one positive action I instantly have available to me is controlling my brain.
What’s great about freedom of thought is that it happens at the speed of—thought. And thinking is 100% free! You don’t need to worry about scheduling an hour of deep breathing exercises when you don’t have an hour to spare. You don’t need to shell out thousands on a personal trainer to confirm that, “yeah—it wouldn’t hurt to stretch those knots you call muscles once in a while.” You just need to realize in a nanosecond that it won’t be this busy or costly forever. One day, college will be paid for or at least adequately covered by a student loan. One day, even if you don’t have enough money to buy a retirement cottage in Hilton Head, you can most likely enjoy early bird dinners and regular matinees with your significant other and friends. One day, that walk you allow yourself won’t just be to find the largest to-go coffee imaginable or taken with a nonchalant dog who poops and pees on every tree between your home and that park you don’t have time to sit in. One day, a new, young mildly-beleaguered mom will take over all snack responsibilities for the soccer team.
Peaceful, goal-oriented thoughts can obviously be targeted and reflect a more immediate time frame. For example: “I’ll have all the wrapping done tomorrow and can rest after the birthday party.” “My last car payment is in February and then we can enjoy a family hibachi night.” “Midterm elections are less than seven months away. Woohoo!!” Such revelations offer in a flash the bliss felt after a morning run, a productive writing stint, a good stretch or that rare moment when you stop to smell the roses before climbing back into the minivan.
Yes, even dedicating 3.5 minutes to reading my blog post can feel like more zoning-out than most moms-in-the-trenches can afford. But having that goal—that image of you on the beach at sunset, sun shining on your smiling stress-free self—race through your head at quantum speeds, can bring about enough peace for you to keep trudging through life until you can finally hang on your own private island. That is until the drone finally arrives with your pizza.
Today’s guest blogger, Cindy McCraw Dircks, is a writer who dreams of her own private island while raising a husband and three children in the leafy suburbs north of New York City (http://www.cindymccrawdircks.com/)