For me, autumn is always some sort of end of year. Summer is gone and the schools are about to start with a new year with renewed energy. And I, although not having had a vacation, again, this year, still feel energised and ready to go.
But this year is different, not in a bad way, but maybe in a more profound one. Maybe even a more “introvertly” profound way?
Lately I have been more and more finding my way in my new found life here in the countryside, here in England and even here as a mother. One day goes after the other, seemingly similar, an everyday sort of existence that quickly goes by without making you ask any questions. Until one day, one moment maybe when you against all odds a put in front of a choice and you ask yourself “what do I want” and the only answer is a silence (maybe with a small echo from your question! ). You simply do not have the answer, you do not know what to choose, because you are not there.
Earlier this year I went to Prague and went through a return to places, lives and emotions past and for a moment I thought that I had retouched with myself, that the silence have turned into a whisper, just amplify it a little and we are back in business. But of course things are not that simple. On the contrary, they get more complicated.
I really enjoy my life, that is the paradox I think, I really enjoy to be active, to do millions things at once to juggle all sorts of projects (I even learnt how to juggle once as a pet project, really) and I do not want to give anything up. I love my cooking, I love my sewing and all those housewify things that I do. I love my gardening, although I secretly long for a gardener to do it for me instead. I do not want to give these things up but they quarrel with what I have to do, and that is my creative life whether it is my writing, my films or my pics, I need to do them or I will go mad (I know I tried it !). Not to mention that I since soon 5 years back am a mother and that is definitely something that doesn’t link well with overly introvert examination and realisation and analysing “who am I, really !”
But if I don’t analyse like that how will I get the voice back that previously guided me so well, through my studies, through my life and my choices.
I think the clue to all this is to realise if the road I am on is the right one. There are so many to choose from, how can I know that the road I am on is for me, not knowing where it leads to. I think women some time ago had an easier task. There were only a limited amounts of roads to take so the choice was not as hard. And within these roads they could create their own little paths to realise themselves . . . . I am not suggesting to turn back the clock and to return all ladies to their ties by the stove. But is there maybe something that we have lost along the way to freedom?
I do not know, and probably I will not find out. But for now I will let this midlife crises do what it pleases, because the apple cake is burning in the oven, my son wants a story read and my husband complains that the house is in a mess! I wonder if this ever happened to Hitchcock ?
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