That’s an uncomfortable word. And if you know that feeling then you also know the feeling of this one: Plotting.
I am plotting my escape to a new lifestyle right now. I have been for awhile but I didn’t know it in these terms until the wee hours of this morning when I woke up from a heart-racing dream of being stuck in a teeny tiny elevator made of glass. I could see out but no one seemed to see me and the height of the thing was just tall enough for me to sit cross legged on the floor and leave an inch of space between my head and the ceiling. That’s what I dreamt this morning. This is how I spent my sleep. Not restful, exactly. And just when I was about to lament, when I wanted to give into the feeling of exhaustion I was sure I would have when I sat up and started walking around the house – I realized that my fearful and uncomfortable dream would serve as a refueling of a kind. Though I did not rest peacefully last night, I awoke with a burning to plot my escape.
Right now my biggest challenge is to stop feeling like a victim. I hear it in my voice and I can observe it in the way I behave. I feel like I don’t have time. I leave dozens of blog posts unedited and unpublished in the administrative window of my webpage. I have journals with only a few pages written in them littered all over the house. Can you identify with this? I would like to now put my plotting energy to activating all of the efforts I know very well that I have to make. I have all the tools lying around me in a tidy half circle on the floor. I just need to pick them up.
It may me I have to stop sleeping. Right? Do I? Last night I had all the intentions in the world to write and I started to but then I was interrupted by my son’s very honest and obvious needs – a bath, dinner, attention, a lunch made for him to take to preschool tomorrow. By the time I had finished those things, I found myself with my hands poised over the keyboard and my eyes drooping shut in front of a Disney movie.
Then there’s the business I mentioned earlier: www.shop.com/asherin. This is my online shopping portal. It’s the project that can fund my escape. My biggest challenge in running this business so far is that I do not talk about it enough. And how are people going to know if I don’t advertise? So here is a brief advertisement: If you create a login for yourselves on this site, you can comparative shop at thousands of popular stores and earn 2%-50% cash back while you shop. This site helps you find all the best deals and then gives you an added cash back discount on top of them. It isn’t complicated and there are no strings attached. If you are in another country, I have a global site: global.shop.com/asherin that will lead you to a wide range of high quality products from supplements to skin care to household cleaning products and offers free shipping on purchases $50 or more. Contact me for any details.
To arm myself for a future PhD in Islamic studies, I practice Arabic in the subway and have conversations with old friends in my head. I teach my son silly things to say to my husband in Arabic and we all laugh. Baba, nta mudhik (Dad you’re funny). I have begun telling people: “I speak Arabic.” which I shied away from saying before because I thought it wasn’t really true. But it is. I am not proficient but I do. speak. Arabic. And I am simply brushing up in order to qualify to take a test that will make my CV look like one of an Islamic Studies doctoral candidate. I say this because I have to Because it is one of the threads of the web I am weaving. (Imagine this web being cast out and down from a broken window in my elevator cage – I squeeze through and nimbly shimmy down to freedom. I am the mother of a three year old boy. Spider-mom).
Right now I am wheel spinning in a limbo position of when and how to make my transition to freedom. It seems as though time is all I really need but is that an excuse? Doesn’t everyone say that? Did all the great ones have a lot of time to pursue their passions? Isn’t it true that the best of the best were desperately forging their paths in stolen moments just as I will need to do? This is official a call for stories, people.
I am going to publish this one here not because I believe I have blessed anyone of you out there with a great piece of writing but because I HAVE to publish it. It is 7:15 am on Friday morning. I will close my computer and rush through dressing and preparing for work. Then the day will start to spin away from me. The publication of this humble piece of writing is an act of rebellion against the voices in my head and the ticking of the clock. It is an enactment of the process one of my dear girlfriends reminded me of yesterday: “Ponder ponder ponder until you find your own magical and radical solution.”