Don’t prepare. For life.

It’s almost milk. Formula milk. Good and necessary for some. But not always.

Preparation seems a little like that nowadays. Especially when we have kids. Which we do.

Or for marriage. Which I cried buckets at the 2h 4 session preparations. It prepares. But it’s not it.

And now. Preparation for life. So many people. Preparing. Sharing preparation. Searching for paths the way we used to only search for cures. The explosion of maladies. Real illness. I am just not so sure about the purported cures touted. Freely until the subscription page comes up. Percentage of guaranteed returns and success until it is not so. Or we must be the 0.0000001 (infinitely improbable as my 6 Yr old puts it)

I have decided to try this. Prepare death.

I went to the market florist for the first time in a decade 2 weeks ago. I remebered the only other time I walked into a florist for myself. 4th year of uni more than a decade ago.

Maybe. Just maybe I will get a nice flower. I didn’t buy anything. But I remember wishing I did. Just because maybe sometimes money can buy beauty and happiness.

This year. I realised its possible to drown. Even when we are loved. And loving others. Drown nonetheless. Until someone who recognised the signs and presses the defibrillator. And a shock it was. But a needed one.

 

 

All the talk and skin deep “try this” “10 steps to…” the only steps I feel is that those feet must be bigger than mine. Or steadier. Or faster. Mine.. Slides. Skids. It makes me tired. It does.

Like a bad boyfriend promising something nice. Then just anything.

2 steps. 2 steps to the edge it seems more logical and realistic for me. To impatience. To the end of all energy molecules.

And I love my life. The fact is. It is STILL so so hard. For me. And I know. I know In this world there is a lot of hard. A lot of trying. Waaay harder than mine. Waay longer. I KNOW. and that knowledge just makes my toes heavier. Steps tight. Hurried. These 2 steps to bed. To “I need a break”. Breaking or broken somewhere.

2 steps. And there is really this madness and chaos and we just trudge along. Following those before. Blindly sometimes. In faith. In hope. I am surrounded by So so much love. Mine. At best mostly Tired love. Angry love. But love. This trying love. When words give way to sounds and unfortunately shouted because nothing, nothing else feels possible. When the kids cry and I cry harder Inside and then it spills a little Outside. And. Then the man is silent. That sort of silent. 

All this. While we are in love. And there is no irony. No longer any irony. Because maybe this is our love. Not because we can’t love better. Harder. But because, here we are. This is the same love I give thanks for. And I mean it. Ask me why I am grateful. This is it.

Tell me. In 10 words. Or 10 steps. Or even 10 hours. How do u even start.

There is no true preparation. This part of life. Really. Because everyday is different. And Truly different for each child. Every other day. Every other newly invented or named/renamed Stage. Undiscovered n explored until the next blog or book. This.

My mom said. Flow. Flow with it.

I hear my husbands instructions to our oldest

If u are so tired you feel like drown. Starfish float. Turn ard. Just breath. And float. Breath and float.

And then those years of training takes over. You start to paddle a little. Kick defiently sometimes. But hey. It works. Barely. But you are afloat.

I feel like I am living in a seperate disguised universe. Feeling I need to be somewhere. No longer an option.  So we tune out. From media. From noise. Even people. A lot of people.

Then we hear. As we lift our heads from the sand and search for elusive crabs and shells. The roar of waves. The stillness between tides. The warmth of the water. The life beneath our toes.

I see. Truly. The answer to getting asked a lot what do we do all day. Nothing. Nothing is a busy time really. And it is getting harder to do nothing nowadays. I used to just feel like doing nothing. Now I long and hunger and tigerly protect these nothingness.

the time when the kids take weeks to work out that when they share a voltron it does come back. When the oldest speaks to the younger without impatience after the third accidental destruction of his 1h built up universe. Or he carries the crawler away and mumbles quietly no no. No lego eating baby. My heart watches and watches. The time that we thought as nameless play. Careless days. Mindless repeats and rewinds. The days we squirral at home. Washing bowls. Growling at laundry as a pack of humans. (it’s genetic)

I say it is starting to sound a bit poopy ( the same smell I feel before I start sniffing for a dirty diaper) . When fb feeds brag subtly about preparation for school. Prep for tests. Prep for success. And audencity about life. Learning to share in 10 words. Or a afternoon play session will “open” their mind to possibilities. 

I don’t know. But we have no space for this. No heart really.

I watch the boys mess up and build up lego. I won’t even dare say parents throw in a pinch of faith for the magic sparks. Because I am don’t. There is no point. praying no one swallow anything more than for epiphany of some sort.

But yet. Here they are. Maybe the threshold is different. But I am mighty pleased. Their dreams. Their belief. Their questions about what is the purpose of life. It impresses no one. It just warms my heart. And life. I swear all 5 lives agree this is right.

So I quietly feel this. stop prepping for life. Or banking on promises of hope for happiness and joy. Or easiness. Or the best settling decluttering book to transform sadness and hardness and mindless routine. Meet a friend. Hug a tight one. Wait in peace. Hold nothingness

If anything we say. for a good death by living good days. Or just getting thro a day.

Right now. This day forth.