Sandwiched

This is my last year in my 40s, and I am finding myself treading up the rocky path before me so very lightly.

An actual rocky path that I regularly walk illustrates my feelings about my current journey.

I do not carry much with me; only the things I need for the moment.

I do not worry too much about what lies ahead, knowing there is only so much I can know. Indeed, the shrubbery is so dense in some places, it is pointless to guess.

I do not worry too much about being alone much of the time. I know helpers are nearby; I need only to call out.  Companions, too, who can walk with me and share some of my load through some of my journey.

There is much to amuse and delight me in the landscape, even if the path is challenging.

I have learned to readily let go of my distress when my plans are derailed, knowing that fretting over matters doesn’t improve upon anything. Not. A. Single. Thing.

More often than not, I encounter one complex obstacle after another. A whole series of them. I have become agile in dealing with them, only focusing on the most immediate problem before moving on.  I call upon helpers, as needed.

This requires much stamina, and so I am mindful of pragmatism, efficiency, and the need for rest. The need to step off to the side of the road and take a break. Sometimes this could mean actual rest; others, a simple change in scenery, albeit a brief one. (Reset, go!)

One thing is for certain: the road continues beyond what my eyes can see, and moving forward is my only choice.  The road behind me has fallen away, and veering off to the side will only ever lead me back to here, wasting precious time and energy.

Such is my life of late, sandwiched between two generations, a solo caregiver attending to a multitude of individual issues, ranging from autism to mental health to physical health problems and disabilities.

I recognize that I live in a seemingly rapid, endless cycle of work and restoration as I serve the people in my life.

I am dealing with disparate goals: raising children into more-than-just-functional adults vs. seeing elderly folks safely and peacefully through their twilight years.

This monstrous “assignment” takes so much out of me, physically, emotionally, and mentally, I avoid overthinking any part of it.  Truly, it would paralyze me.

I wonder if I have somehow become desensitized in some ways, as I only allow myself very rare moments of “freak out”.  A very low rate, in fact, in proportion to the demands my life makes on me.

And yet I have not been desensitized to loving my people. Fiercely. I am consistent in showing them love through care and attention, although I do find myself holding myself slightly apart. Not holding on to anyone too tightly. Allowing everyone to maintain autonomy, and removing myself when I am not needed. I remind myself that while I am helping, I am not the fixer of every problem.

This is what it means to conserve my energy.

This is an exhausting, thankless existence, and I have come to accept this without argument. It is what it is.

Even so, I endeavor to find light wherever it can be found.  It is essential for fueling my forward movement.

I think this is because I am a joy-seeker by nature.

Perhaps this is how I function on survival mode. That, somehow, this is how my resilience is encoded in my DNA.

And so, for as challenging as this season has been, I am still so very grateful.

For my village: helpers and companions on this journey.

And for a God who answers prayers. And provides rest, peace of mind, as well as beautiful moments to feed my soul.

So in this journey of mine, I stay alert, both out of necessity and hopeful expectancy.