A Most Selfish Creature
I think if I had been left to my own devices,
I could have been a most selfish creature. My days drift in a pattern of
serving others. It begins often before I am even awake. Somewhere between 1
and 3 a.m., when my 6 year old crawls into the bed and I slide over to make
room. Even my smile seems selfless at times. I often bestow it wearily in my
attempt to hide my worry for one of my children. Daily, I practice giving of
myself. Despite being decades into this practice, I still, at times, find it
unnatural. Which leads me to my current mode of thought: I could have been a
most selfish creature.
I imagine I could spend hours lying in bed each morning, too exhausted from thinking of myself the previous day to get up. I believe that I could spend an additional few hours powdering my nose and meticulously hiding my flaws. I suppose I could prepare a meal with only me and my desires in mind and then leave the mess to clean up itself. Indeed I have no doubt that I could talk endlessly about myself with such flourish that those around me have no choice but to be silenced. I know that this could all be pulled off with amazingly little effort on my part.
Thankfully, I was not left to my own devices. And, although at times I resent my responsibilities and find my mind in a state of unrest, I know that these same responsibilities and 'stressful' thoughts are what keep me from being the anti-heroine in my own novel. They are the catalysts moving my story somewhere, in my humanness, I was never meant to go. A place of wholeness that can only be found in losing myself. At the end of this exhausting day, I am grateful to my family for helping me become what I should never have been.
I imagine I could spend hours lying in bed each morning, too exhausted from thinking of myself the previous day to get up. I believe that I could spend an additional few hours powdering my nose and meticulously hiding my flaws. I suppose I could prepare a meal with only me and my desires in mind and then leave the mess to clean up itself. Indeed I have no doubt that I could talk endlessly about myself with such flourish that those around me have no choice but to be silenced. I know that this could all be pulled off with amazingly little effort on my part.
Thankfully, I was not left to my own devices. And, although at times I resent my responsibilities and find my mind in a state of unrest, I know that these same responsibilities and 'stressful' thoughts are what keep me from being the anti-heroine in my own novel. They are the catalysts moving my story somewhere, in my humanness, I was never meant to go. A place of wholeness that can only be found in losing myself. At the end of this exhausting day, I am grateful to my family for helping me become what I should never have been.