Influence

I keep spinning the same artist on the CD player, until I have nearly worn her two CDs out. Luckily a third arrived in the mail today, so there will be some relief on listening to the same songs over and over. I get to see her in concert in a few days at a small venue where I’m sure I’ll be able to meet her and chat with her. She also happens to be good friends with a dear friend of mine, so of course there is some commonality there.


In listening to her, she writes about a lot of the same things, primarily broken hearts, yet somehow she is able to create a new version of the same story each time. Of course I am sure that the story is different to her and involves different lovers, but I feel for her and am completely on her side of each of the break-ups. I relate to her lyrics and feel a lot of the same thoughts, or went through something similar ages ago.


So that leads me to this: How many different ways can I express my frustration in my current life? I know deep down, my life is not bad, and I should be savoring these times, yet I feel so trapped in my current responsibilities as a mother. And of course there is the guilt too. I feel like I should be giving my all to my children, but I am exhausted and beat down by the prospect. Then there comes the “what now” after I get these kids enrolled in school. I was speaking to another mom of two at the park today, whom I had just met. I asked if she had a career to go back to after she ends the stay-at-home mom routine or would she embark on something entirely new. She, like me, will try something new, mainly due to being a mother and needing to be close to home or in her case at home. I was hoping she would tell me what she was going to do, and then it would click and I would say, yeah, I want to do that too. I have no idea what to do in my future career. I would love to work in the arts, but the field is so small and pays a pittance. Then there is the photography field, but to be honest it scares me, doing it on my own as a career.


I had a few hours to myself this weekend and spent it at the bookstore. I purchased an old CD of artist that was new to me, and a pack of blank gift cards that looked like I would have designed and photographed them. I spent the majority of my time there roaming from section to section with the middle aged salesclerk asking if she could help me find anything. I felt like screaming, “Yeah how about a book that describes all that I am going through RIGHT NOW.” But instead I politely said, “I’m just looking”. So I started at the Women’s Health section, but I am neither battling cancer nor going through menopause. Then onto the Self-Help section, which whenever I approach I do so with the stance of “I’m looking for a book for a friend, not for me.” I was getting closer, but again there was nothing there that I wanted to read, even though maybe I need to read it. Honestly it is sort of a boring section with all of its eleven and twelve and probably even thirteen-step programs. So then I walked over to the Pregnancy/Motherhood section expecting to find a book written just for me. Nope. I remember when I used to peruse the books in that section, with so much hopefulness for my future baby. Of course there were plenty of books on raising boys, which I could and should use, but again, that doesn’t even really touch what I was looking for. I walked out of Borders thinking maybe I just need to write the book myself.