A week ago, a friend asked me about the blog. “You haven’t been writing anything on the blog lately. When are we going to see a new post?”
I feel embarrassed to admit how much that floored me. I haven't been writing for a whole host of reasons, and thought I could quietly retire the blog in the meantime. I figured no one would notice. That someone did notice felt like they were noticing me.
And that meant the world.
My hiatus has been for a number of things. As I near the end of my time away from work, I’ve been restless. I don’t miss the alarm clock and the rigor of work life, but I long for the routines and regular human connections. I miss other silly things, like getting at least six thousand steps in the day without even trying. I miss working with kids. I even miss the commutes, when I could find a few moments to catch a full podcast while decompressing from the day. Now, it’s a miracle if I break two thousand steps, and I haven't finished a podcast in months. So I’ve been starting a soft search to transition back into the classroom. I sent my resumes to some schools and I've been going through the interviewing process with a few. It's been exciting to think about coming back to work with students, but the whole process has also given life to all sorts of strange and silly worries.
I’ve been away for a whole year - what if I’ve forgotten how to be a teacher?
I haven’t had to use my brain for work for awhile. How on earth am I going to learn all these new names and faces with this mush head?
I’ve lived with yoga pants and stretchy waistbands for ten months. Can I even fit into my old work clothes anymore?
While we're on the subject of change, here's another one. We're trying to grow our family. James and I have waited for nature to take its course for years and years, but the baby never came. So we had to consider other possibilities and now, (deep breath) we’re starting the process of IVF.
It’s something I never thought I’d talk openly talk about. In fact, there was a time when I wished no one would talk about babies around me because our fruitless waiting and hoping had turned it into such a sore topic. But as we’re starting to walk this path of doctors, meds, needles (gulp), and lots of scary unknowns, I've found myself wishing more people around me did talk about these things.
Because one of the things that makes change so scary is having to do it alone.
As with returning to a classroom, starting IVF has come with its own colorful array of concerns - both rational and ridiculous.
Is it normal to be crying in the waiting room? Why am I crying in the waiting room?
Am I going to be left with any blood for myself after I'm down with all these vampiric labs?
Why are these nurses trusting me with sharps? Didn't we learn in kindergarten to NOT touch sharp things? Why are we breaking these rules now?
Why couldn’t my body do what other women can do so naturally? Is it my fault? Did I do something wrong?
What if this works? How will I be a good mom when I can barely handle my own self?
What if this doesn’t work, and all this painful process will be for naught?
If you have answers for any of those, I’m open (desperately open) for answers. But moreso than answers, I’m searching for safe spaces to simply ask the questions.
So I’m unboxing my life a bit more than I ever thought I would on the blog. I hope that’s okay. I started this thinking I would only ever want to write about books and food. But I’m at a place in my life where my appetite swings too wildly to fully enjoy a meal, and I can’t remember the last time I spent quality time with a book. My head has been too consumed with other things to approach, let alone enjoy, such an escape.
One thing I have read is poetry. I’m not usually one for poems, but they’ve been just the thing for a distracted reader like me - short, punchy, and meditative. Mary Oliver is one of my favorites, and she wrote this in a poem of hers I read recently -
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
What is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
I’m determined to tread through the next few months with such curiosity and amazement. It’s not how I generally tend to deal with the unfamiliar and unknown, but these have historically been the seasons where I’ve grown the most as a person. So, as I’m metaphorically taking this world into my arms - this return to work and this long road to baby-making - I’m trying to keep myself centered with gratitudes.
I’m grateful for the friend who encouraged me to come back to the blog.
I’m grateful for doctors, who use science to make impossible possible and do so with tender patience and care (our doctor is absolutely amazing, and I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else).
Finally, I’m grateful for you friends, who are still willing to come along with me for the ride, even if it doesn’t have to do with food or books.
Thank you.