Rainy Day Thoughts

I’ve never enjoyed silence as much as I do now, particularly now that I’m a mom. There’s a softness to it that I never realized before, a soothing touch that eases at least a little bit of my perpetual exhaustion. I’m not complaining, mind you; being a mother is something so wonderful that even I can’t put it into words (I’ve actually tried, on an occasion or two, and failed miserably. I’m convinced that there simply are none big enough).

I don’t get a whole hell of a lot of it anymore, at least not these days. I am always moving, tending to needs, answering questions, mediating arguments, teaching life skills…there is no stopping, and there is so very, very little silence.

I’ll be honest; some days, the noise really gets to me. It drags at my patience and steals my joy, spinning me up like a spool of thread, wound far too tight to relax. As with most things in life, balance is crucial, and, quite frankly, sometimes it’s hard to find.

Today, it’s raining. Aside from the peaceful hum of the water falling from the sky and the steady rhythm of my own fingers on the keyboard, the house is quiet.

When it’s quiet, my creative mind screams for attention, and I feel it in my bones. It’s so real, a psychological hunger that somehow manifests itself as a physical ache that reverberates through my entire body.

When it’s quiet, I remember successes and failures, lessons learned and mistakes made. I remember all of the dreams I have. Some, I’ve carried forever; others are much newer, still immature.

Silence allows me to breathe. To process. To think.

To remember, even for a moment, me. Not the parent me, not the wife me, just…me.

Honestly, sometimes, I’m easy to forget.