On Purpose

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These faces. They are my purpose.

Every year, as part of Stratejoy’s Holiday Council – even when unofficially ghosting – I’ve reflected on the past year and set my intentions for the coming year. Less like resolutions and more like core values. Guiding principles in ways of being for the year. A mission statement for my life.

I’ve been rotating between years focused on stretching, reaching, doing the big scary things – or at least making myself admit when I’m avoiding the big and scary – and years savoring, relishing, playing. This balance has helped make small steps toward “my thing” with room to course correct in the forgiving framework of the year’s purpose.

But it hasn’t been enough.

Life is never enough.

As I lie in my husband’s arms this morning reunited from our week apart, I thought, “I will never get enough of this.”

As I drank in the delicious milk breath of my babiest girl, I sighed, “I will never get enough of this.

As I lay eye to twinkling eye with my first baby girl, whispering in toddler gibberish so not to wake her sister, I knew, “I will never get enough of this.

This family. Our family.

Your family. This is it.

This is life. This connection. The beautiful, messy, painful, joyful bliss of it. The fragility that quietly walks alongside the feeling of invincibility. This is the purpose.

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Finding center 

  
I never wanted to be one of those moms who lost her individual identity to the co-mingled existence of “mom”. A mishmash of desires, callings, fears and dreams – one  richocheting off another faster than my mind had time to process whether they were catapulted from my desire to be a free creative soul or deep, primal need to create the best life for my child.

I didn’t expect to question my friends in secret shame when they said they didn’t want children. While I absolutely don’t judge their decision, an uncontrollable part of me reacts. It tries to voice the indescribable. Tries to explain the undefinable. One part acknowledges how sappy this voice sounds, pleading there’s no way to decide on something your mind can’t yet comprehend. The other part logically acknowledges that this argument has no place, no right and no business being voiced. 

But I’ve become that person. I am that mom. I am a mom. 

I don’t feel like a defined entity the way I did before kids. 20-something, ambitious, type-A, creative, inspiration junkie, and on and on. But a person with a description. Even if that description went on at length. The point was there was a word for every facet of who I felt I was.

I feel like a cosmic ball of energy points held together in a cloud of light and some magnetic force. I feel a white space filled with lights and emotion. I feel this cloud weave within and around the definable entity I used to associate with my identity. 

I feel whole and at the same time shattered into a puzzle that can never be solved.

I float without definition, yet instead of freedom I feel pressure. The pressure from external forces that undoubtedly hold these orbiting balls of energy into a somewhat discernible shape.

There’s no way to fully describe it to satisfaction, so I won’t try.

But at the core I feel centered in a way I never had before. I feel a calm powerful enough to shut out the chaos and hold back the pressure. It’s a center I can find anywhere, any time without struggle. This was never the case before. Before when I was a list of descriptions my center would shift. It would feel questionable at times and be completely missing at others. But now I only have to focus on one thing. It doesn’t magically unravel the tangled web of fears, excitement, anxieties and desires. But it brings me back to peace for as long as I need.

Back to my daughter. She is my core. And thinking of her brings me back to center every time.