We spend too many hours in the sun, eat too much sugar, play too much--if that's possible-- and generally unwind from the previous 10 months. Life is good. Any parent knows that if your child/children are happy, then the odds are that you're happy too. This summer has been good in that regard. Oh sure, we've had the dramas of not wanting to go to camp, wanting to stay longer at camp, or whatever the daily topic may be, but overall, it's been a good summer for the young Ranks. And therefore it's been a good one for the Missus. Until a few days ago.
Malaise is the best way to describe what I feel--or what I don't feel. Lest I get too philosophical too soon there are pragmatic reasons for my mental lethargy: ongoing insomnia, a more relaxed mentality that can border on laziness(!), lack of work day structure, and so on. But malaise is not the same thing as depression, which I am not currently struggling with. Malaise, to me, is that slow moving slug of a thing that enters my being so stealthily and sets up camp in my soul.
My initial reaction when I sense malaise creeping in is to prescribe my own antedate of busyness. After all, the WORST thing a stay-at-home mom can be is unproductive. It's downright uncivilized! The problem is, I've never been a great "doer" (oh, sure, I get things done, but not to the domestic heights that my German foremothers exemplified) so trying to ramp up my productivity when I feel motivated to do nothing typically results in a few piles moved and, if I'm lucky, a few loads of laundry completed. Not a total waste, but definitely not a remedy for my malady.
A common sense solution to my problem of wanting to do nothing but needing to do something has been to catch up on my reading. It's been a very practical option: I can take the kids to the pool and plop myself in a shaded corner to catch up on book club picks. At least then I could say I'd done *something,* even if the house didn't reflect my efforts. So last week, after finishing my easily digested adolescent novels I dug into The Count of Monte Cristo. All 2000 pages of it. I muttered a few choice thoughts about why we had to read a book this ginormous when they typical window of alone time lasts no more than 30 minutes, if I'm lucky. Nonetheless, I got started. In pure pragmatic fashion I decided to try and tackle 100 pages for the next 20 days. Certainly that was doable. After all, I was NOT going to have any excuse for not finishing it since it was summer vacation. After about day one I found myself not wanting to put the book down. Its been a long time since I've re-read one of the classics like Dumas' and I was struck at how matter-of-factly he diagnoses the human condition. There's no justification for the villains acting villainous. They are motivated by selfish greed, pure and simple. Conversely, the righteous are motivated doing what is honorable and the thought of not doing so is comparable to death. They are internally driven, whether towards right or wrong. At this point in my reading The Count has begun exacting justice against his former tormentors and my curiosity is peaked to see if he will succumb to his anger or whether Dantes will reappear.
In the midst of my malaise I ask myself a similar question: will I give in to listlessness and dissatisfaction or will call myself to the better purpose of resting in the moment. Purposeful resting is not something that comes easily. Deliberately sitting and listening to the world and people around you instead of shouting at them to try and be heard is what I'm attempting. Learning that sitting peacefully to reflect on what's ruminating in my heart does not equal laziness is a new-found freedom I'm trying to enjoy. Transforming listlessness, or a directionless, sedentary state to a thoughtful, resting state is what I desire so that summer may be a time of blessed "re-set" and repose….
One of my all time favorite novels...
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