I hate fake, so when a friend asks, I take stock in a nanosecond. How am I? I can see why we all resort to our familiar fine or good. It’s too much work to take my temp and assess how I’m feeling, and it’s too complicated to calculate how much she’s really interested in hearing and how much of my heart I can really share. And really, who has time to chit chat? I’m as guilty as anyone and, besides, most of the time I’m sincere when I answer patly, “Great!”
Because, compared to most of the world, I’m doing better than great. I’m at the prime of my life and totally healthy, I have all my limbs and most of my teeth. No auto immune diseases or even allergies to work around. My home hasn’t been washed away or burned up (although at times I wonder if that would be easier). I’ve got lots of family—related and otherwise—and everything I could ever want or need. So when someone asks, what else can I say?
But if that friend would pause for just a second longer, and if I sensed she was really legit, I would probably start to cry. Not because anything is wrong, but maybe just because it feels so good when someone really asks.
Because there’s always more behind our smiley eyes. Even when we have every reason in the world to be happy.
If a friend really wanted to know, I’d say sometimes I feel heavy. The news of the world worries me. I’m like you, I want to be informed, but it saps my energy and optimism sometimes. And then of course I feel like I’m not doing enough to combat all the craziness. This weighs on me. Because I’m tentative. Cautious. Private. I wonder what my part to play is, is there a small role left for me? So even on a beautiful sunny fall day, I can feel cloudy.
If she asked, I’d say I’m a sort of a mess. I run all day and still it feels like nothing stays done. The garage is a piece of work. I have projects all around me and I feel overwhelmed. I just want to read the books in my pile. I want to learn. I try. I run around most days. I don’t know that my efforts look like much on the outside. But if I had to be honest, I’d tell her inside I feel like I’m mostly hitting the really important stuff, and I’m actually ok with messes.
If she demanded real, I’d confess that I wonder how God thinks I’m doing. Do you? I try so hard to dismiss what people may think, but I do occasionally ask what He thinks. Do I waste too much time? Am I off-balance? Is he ok with my choices or is he waiting for me to finally figure out what he needs me to do? I wonder about it all sometimes.
If she prodded further, I’d tell her it’s not fair. That I have a life that is so easy when so many others struggle. And then I’d really start to cry. Because this weighs on me more than anything else in the world.
And if she pushed, I’d confide in her. I have my lonely days. Not always, but every now and then. Especially in the winter. I spend too much time by myself. I wonder if I’m the only one who feels this way.
I’d admit, if pressed, that sometimes I want to move to a cave where life would be easier and safer. Not everyday, but I could be tempted. Because my heart is tender. And stretched. I’m sad about the friendships that are now only memories. I long for closure, an explanation to help me understand where I can do better next time. My heart wants to be protected. A cave sounds good some days.
As much as I love the freedom of this phase of life, I’ll admit I’m wistful. Maybe grieving. For my young mom life. For my littles. I love this stage so much with big kids, but I miss the way things used to be. My heart almost aches for my babies and toddlers and elementary school kids. I miss that they used to need me so much more. That they were here.
I know I say I’m good, but at the same time I’m thinking about those big kids. They’re kind of always in the back of my mind. I ponder on what they’ve told me. I think about what they think about. I straddle two worlds, I sit on my hands, I hold back. It’s hard for me to know how to be a parent to older kids. I long to tell them of all my mistakes, stories I know could help them. But they don’t seem to care or want any of that. And so I feel like I’m on my big blue yoga ball, trying to keep my core engaged, not leaning too much into their lives, but just enough so they know I totally love them. I wonder if this is a good time, if I should even mention it, if I should stay out, if they know how much we care.
But then I’d have to tell her how, more than anything else, I’m so grateful. For all I’ve learned, for all I’ve been given, for incredible friends and family, for the immense peace I feel despite the news and my delicate heart. I’d tell her how much love I feel. From God. From true and loyal friends. From my family who never fails me. For God’s creations. For his children. I’d tell her I’m so glad I don’t live in a cave. I’m glad I can call a friend who will go walking or to lunch with me. I’m thankful for productive work, projects, a needy house, and an overgrown yard. I’m so in love with my life. And my people. I’m hopeful, I see so much good in the world. I’m excited to wake up every morning. I’m content.
So I guess I’m not really lying when I say I’m great. I just wish she’d give me a minute to explain.
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