Wow. I’ve turned into one of those parents. The ones that only post pictures of their kids.
Taking a flip through my feed I see shocking evidence to support this. Countless pics of the Bug and Peanut. Doing things that I find nauseatingly adorable. Assuming therefore that everyone else in the universe will too.
I don’t know that I’ve ever been the kind to post selfies or take pics of my goings-ons, but I did write a lot more. I used to convey my being as a sum of more than my child parts through my writing.
And now, I’ve made no room for that. And if it comes down to it, for me. Between work, travel, family and sleep there are no more minutes. Until this weekend when I realized there are. I’m just failing to find them.
This past weekend I spent 2 days with fellow YC alums, just being. There was talks of brain emulation by the campfire and debating the merits of membership models at the volleyball court. It may sound like the nerdiest thing ever but I was in heaven.
Because for 2 days I was surrounded by other people driven by that same demon within – the one that pushes me to forsake pretty much all else in this quest for something more. For 2 days I didn’t have to explain the why, but could get help with the how.
There were other parents struggling to be equally true to their two babies. There was brilliant people floundering with their businesses. There were good people, just willing to help because they could.
And as guilty as I had felt for taking these 2 days away, asking J and my family to step in once again, it was exactly what I needed to recharge and see what I was missing in not finding the time and space for me.
Not a lot. Just a smidge.
Just enough that when I look back I don’t just see pics of my loves. I see a true accounting of me and my days. I see me sharing with my friends my life in all its jumbled glory.
Not just the filtered, fancy. But the muddled, messy.
It’s who I’ve always been. And it’s time to get back.