That object at rest is me. I tend to stay at rest unless acted upon by an outside force. As I have mentioned here before, that force most often comes in the force of my wife. She is the object in motion. She has been moving all about the Pacific this past week, visiting friends and family in the Hawaiian islands. As a result, my mind is full of conflicting impulses: Stay in bed. Watch YouTube videos. Clean the kitchen. Catch up on paperwork. Inserted into this chatter comes the daily noises emanating from my dog and son. They need to be fed, watched, debriefed, and have doors opened and closed for them. Staying put is harder than I had previously imagined.
It occurred to me, as I scurried about the house on Friday evening, just how much of life after the age of twenty is maintenance. Fix this, clean that, check this, find that. As primary adult for the past few days, I've found all kinds of ways to stay busy. It gives me all kinds of renewed respect for single parents across the globe, starting with the ones who drop their children off at the steps of our school five days a week. I feel quite fortunate for the training my wife has given my son on getting himself across town via public transportation, and his relative familiarity with feeding himself. I am grateful that she made arrangements for a neighbor to drop by and help our dog out with what would have been extremely long hours trapped indoors. I'm glad that she got some time away from the rut that we have all dug here in the coast of northern California.
And I miss her. Not just for the extra set of hands and willingness to get the day's work done, but for the sound of more than one hand clapping. Working together isn't always a zen experience, but it sure beats having to do everything yourself. It also gives me a chance to tell somebody that I'm flopping on the couch for a reason: I'm tired of being in motion.