This has been the Season of the Spinning Plates for me. Between running the company, agreeing to speaking engagements, and going after new business; between parenting, searching for (and finding) a new home and dealing with a whole mess of details in trying to finalize the mortgage AND be ready to move; producing several events for our non-profit, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, oh, and a quick trip to Spain and the launch of my novel, autumn has been a time of white-knuckled momentum.
A normal person would:
a. simplify
b. delegate
c. start saying “no”
d. ask for help
But I’ve never been particularly skilled at any of those things, so the last several weeks have been an amalgamation of legwork, slight of hand, deep focus, snap decisions, stress, laughs, cocktails, and a shitload of dirty soy chai.
I have an amazing network of love and support locally, a far away family that would do anything for me, and employees who would love a bigger role in what we do. If only I was capable of admitting that I needed assistance.
So what’s my first instinct? Dig in deeper, hole up, and cocoon when I’m overwhelmed.
I get resourceful and more focused for a little while, eagerly complete tasks so I can cross them off the many, wrinkled and tattered post-its I have in every pocket, and then get those phone calls or emails that decimate any sense of mastery over my time management, leaving me breathless, hopeless, paralyzed.
At that point, I tell myself I deserve a breather, break out my book (or turn on the TV and watch any number of DVRed dreck saved up there), and do nothing productive. I totally and completely drop everything wherever I’ve left it, my mental and physical space resembling a teenager’s bedroom—strewn with the abandoned fragments, scraps, and litter of my gridlocked psyche. I shut down.
Eventually, because I have no other choice, I collect the important stuff, prioritize, deliver. But usually it’s at the expense of anything else in my life (except Simone). I forget to return phone calls and texts from my best friends; I let every surface of our home and office (counters, tables, desks) pile up with mail, art projects, business cards; I forget about a bill or two.
Another effect of my plate-spinning syndrome is that I've become extra protective of the very, very small intervals of unplanned, uncommitted "me" time that present themselves from day to day and week to week. I was doing pretty well for a while there, making plans, agreeing to attend fundraisers and events, etc. But as my brain and calendar have begun to fill up, I’ve become less and less willing to actually commit to social invitations (and that includes most dates). I’m more likely to make a decision the day- (or night-) of than to commit in advance. For some reason, even 24 hours’ notice can be too much to ask of me lately.
This self-imposed hermit time isn’t a complete waste. If I retreat long enough, I get extra sleep, cook healthy meals for myself, do all the laundry (and sometimes manage to fold it and put it away, rather than living out of the dryer), and sneak out to the gym. I’ve actually dropped a few pounds, mostly due to fewer vodka-soaked nights on the town and a paucity of baked goods in the house.
When I have Simone, she is my priority over everything else, no matter how buried in deadlines and expectations I feel. She knows that sometimes I need to work on stuff when we’re together, but having her at home forces me to keep it all together—to keep the kitchen clean, to cook, to stick to a schedule, to take down time, to snuggle.
What I truly crave, though, is a partner in all this. A put-together, low-drama, smart and competent woman who could put up with my histrionics, pry me out of the house occasionally, bring over some groceries (I’m happy to do the cooking), and help me sort out the tangled filaments of my multi-faceted life over a glass of wine or a late-night cuddle. If she was already in our lives by this time, then she could hang with Simone and me when she felt like it, easing some of the pressure of solo parenting. I wish for someone who would know to do these things without me having to ask for help. Or, better yet, someone who’d encourage me to ask, specifically, for what I need (and, yes, the Peach did all of these things). Not having a partner in my life for so long has forced me to become incredibly self-sufficient, but it sure would be nice to enjoy the fruits of a loving companion.
I’d relish the oscillations of need in a relationship—take care of me when I’m losing it; feel confident that I’ll be there when your life feels overwhelming. For all my friends and family can do to support me, there’s a limit to how much psychic, mental ease they can bring to my life. That kind of thing is reserved for someone who really gets me, and who can be present for me.
It’ll happen when it’s supposed to, but, damn, it would be great to have that about now.
I’m optimistic that things will level out in the next couple of weeks, if I can stay focused and keep moving forward. My life probably won’t get less busy or overwhelming (my lifestyle is all about being involved and social, and working on fun projects). But the fraught, stressful stuff should abate (provided closing goes as scheduled, moving isn’t a major nightmare, and our big event comes and goes with a minimum of brain damage). So I just have to keep it together, maybe ask for a little help here and there, and keep those plates spinning.
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