Even though my moon was hiding, waking up to fog this morning was, in some ways, perfect; because for a moment, my inside landscape matched the scenery outside perfectly.
Now, I wish I could say that the outside fog lifted and carried along with it my inside fog. But it just didn’t unfold in such a serendipitous way. Hours later the view out my window is sunny, but the view behind my glasses still seems a bit hazy.
This fog of mine rolled in a couple weeks ago. Ever so slowly, it crept in and made me quiet. This force has temporarily cornered me and has created this reticent, sedated version of myself. For several nights, I’ve tried without success to write about my blurred vision, but I can’t seem to figure it out. Little nuggets of clarity have certainly come and gone, but nothing solid, clear, or focused.
I’m not worried though – this too shall pass. My hunch is that my foggy funk is related to my Steam Engine Theory. For months, perhaps years, my head has felt like The Little Engine that (Sometimes) Could. My days have been spent putting out the proverbial teenage fires, meeting with teachers, checking homework, and figuring out if he is where he says he is. Yes, this list sounds pretty typical, but for some reason the magnitude of his storm has been difficult for my scale to balance.
As M has settled into his new school, I suppose I too am settling into my new routine. I miss him, but I don’t miss the yelling. I miss his humor, but I don’t miss him teasing his brother. I miss his animated discussions about his world history class, but I don’t miss the sneakiness. I miss watching him make his crazy Oreo milkshakes at night, but I don’t miss finding bad things in his bedroom.
Change is hard. It doesn’t matter if it’s “change for the better” or “change for the worse.” The art of establishing new “normals” takes a little while.
Okay…the fog is lifting. I’m ready to snap out of it.