The (elusive) end

I'm not going to lie to you, I've had a funny week. And not in the haha sense. Nothing too major but after a month or so of feeling pretty content I went and changed the game on myself. I swapped my favourite motto, low-expectations-high-satisfaction, for its annoying twin, high-expectations-low-satisfaction. I found myself complaining to Mr G at the end of the day that I wasn't getting anything done. Which wasn't strictly true. I just wasn't getting much done besides looking after the girls, feeding us all at regular intervals, cleaning the house, paying the bills, writing a blog, booking flights to Brisbane, seeing friends, washing our clothes, arranging Foxtel, doing the groceries, toilet training a toddler, buying Miss I new shoes, getting Miss L immunised and answering every curious terrorist's favourite question, 'Why?', approximately eight thousand times an hour. Despite completing these tasks (and more) I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't doing enough. Reading an article in Marie Claire about high flying women under 30 did nothing to alleviate my concerns. "I don't do anything and I'm so tiiiiirrreeed!!!"", I wailed. "What is my purpose even?!?"   

Nothing like a little existential crisis whilst sleep deprived. This time I'm happy to report I seem to have nipped it in the bud early. Possibly because I am too tired to waste energy thinking about anything other than coffee or sleep. But also because I read two things that helped me clarify my tune. Big time. The first was this piece from journalist Wendy Squires about losing her mum. The second was a response from Bec Sparrow. It reminded me of something I wrote (with far less eloquence and poignancy) last year. 

Two weeks after Miss L joined this world, I read about a young woman's death. She was 17 years old and lost her life at schoolies. For many days it made me think. Not about schoolies, or teenagers, or balconies. But about life and death. There was a sad parallel between what was happening in my world and what I read was happening in someone else's. A brand new life beginning while  another ended. Not after a long life but prematurely, at the end of school. On the cusp of what is always a new chapter but in this case a chapter that will go unwritten. 

I didn't post this at the time because, well, for lots of reasons. At best my words, reflecting on the death of a person I had never met, seemed trite. At worst they seemed callous. The innuendo in gaining perspective from a family's tragedy put me off. No matter how much wisdom something awful triggers it is never worth the price. Not even close. But wishing I hadn't the cause to think or feel something, sadly, doesn't change the reason or fact I did. And this week was a good time to be reminded. 
  
In an ideal world losing a child is a fate no parent would face but sadly we don't live in an ideal world. In this imperfect world fates that are less than favourable are faced all the time and while that's not worth revelling in it is worth remembering.

As a parent of a newborn it is impossible to forget the fragility of life. Falling pregnant, carrying a baby to term and delivering a healthy child are among the early, not insignificant, hurdles every new life must clear. It is morbid, I know, but it is also true that those hurdles are not always cleared. In pregnancy, like life itself, there are countless obstacles and there is no blanket guarantee that any of us will overcome all of them.

At the time I kept thinking about that young woman's parents. How cruel and tragic and sad to have their daughter robbed from life. Having successfully cleared all of the hurdles to bring their daughter into this world and get her to the point of finishing school, they had her taken away before they had a chance to watch her grown up life unfold. It is unfair and unfathomably wrong. But it happened anyway because life can be unfair and wrong.  

Because the ugly truth is that none of us are guaranteed anything more than the day in front of us. Not for ourselves nor our children. Whether it is accident, tragedy, illness or something else, we don't have the power to prevent the unfathomable. And while that may seem a horrible thing to dwell on it actually isn't. At least not entirely. Because the corollary is that really the only thing that matters is what we're doing right now, on this day, in this moment.

It is easy to forget. It is easy to fall into the trap of believing there is some elusive end point from which time everything will be okay. To think life will be better or more right or happier when we get a promotion. Or lose three kilos. Or find a husband. Or buy a house. Or have a baby. Or have a grandchild. There are unlimited variations on the sentiment that greater fulfilment is just around the corner but they have something in common. They are equally futile. Because, and forgive me for sounding pious - I say this more for my own benefit than yours, fulfilment is in enjoying the things we have. Because we never know how long we'll have them. I am so bloody lucky to have two healthy, thriving girls and while it's hard to maintain that perspective in every moment I'm trying for at least every day. Because there are no guarantees.    

Heavy stuff I know! How do you remember not to sweat the small stuff?