Time To Myself

It’s a rare day that I get a chunk of time to myself without feeling guilty or like I’m hiding from my responsibilities. 

This week the little one has theater camp so I get 3 hours of time to myself. I’ve been looking forward to it, thinking of things I want to do while I have this unadulterated time. I could read, podcast, sew, or even write. 

And yet here I sit in a gorgeous park with some coffee and a book. The shade laps at my skin, brushing lightly as the breeze pushes the leaves above me. Shadows dance around my feet as the delicious feeling of warmth and summer kiss my shoulders. 

And yet, I’m restless. I can’t focus on one thing. I read a bit of my book then flip through my phone to read a message or spy a picture on Instagram. I can’t seem to relish this freedom and instead I’m fighting to keep focused. 

  
I want to relax and find peace in not doing too much. The peace in feeling free to worry about me and only me for a few short hours. 

I feel the need to move. To find another place to rest while I wait for my son to finish class. 

When did my life become nothing but moments I spend waiting for someone or something else? Have I lost myself so completely? Is this the fallout of marriage and parenting, the keep and utter loss of a sense of self?

I’ll continue to contemplate this in my free time. Contemplate who I am and what I stand for while I wait for everyone else. 

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