During a recent all moms workout, we played a bit of “Would You Rather?” posing questions to one another to get to know each other while distracting ourselves from the lunges and bicep curls.
Listen only to Coldplay or U2?
Give up chocolate or cheese?
Abandon your flip flops or the heels?
The majority of the group immediately said they’d ditch those heels.
I, of course, said I would ditch the flippies. After all, if I didn’t, I would be damaging the old blog’s reputation, right? Haha. Back to another set of squats.
But the question has been nagging at me for the last several days. The fact of the matter is that I don’t wear those heels all that often anymore. I even had to wipe a bit of dust off the pair I wore on our last date night they were so far out of rotation. I realized I don’t have a pair of current fitting jeans in a heel-appropriate length, they’re all cut for flats.
For all intents and purposes, I have given up the heels.
And that nags at me a bit.
Certainly if giving up the flip flops means giving up my day-to-day, rough and tumble playground, sock-footed baby music class, criss-cross-applesauce Hot Wheels play life with the boys, than screw it. I’ll ditch those heels in a heart beat. But I don’t think it needs to be mutually exclusive.
It’s no secret I’ve been struggling lately with how to incorporate a professional side of my life with my decision to be a stay at home mom. I haven’t found any answers yet, which is frustrating, but okay. If I’ve learned anything from this mothering gig it’s that it’s a constant balancing act with various players constantly shifting the weight around without notice: an added soccer commitment here, a possible professional project there, a new nap routine on this hand, an inflexible car pool pick up time on the other… It’s never ending and constantly morphing into a slightly different version of normal that you hardly know it’s changed until you’re well into a new routine.
I’m doing my best to keep my eyes open to the shifts, looking for the light that seeps through the cracks to see if I can capture a bit of open space for me. I feel a bit like a surfer, waiting for the right wave. You can’t force it. You know it will come. And when it does, that’s gonna be one damn fine ride.
But the surfer doesn’t sit on the beach in street clothes waiting for that wave. Nope. They zip up the wet suit, wax down the board, paddle out to the cusp and enjoy the sunshine on their shoulders as they scan the vast horizon.
So abandon my heels? Hell, no. I can slip them on any time to remind me of that little piece of me that’s scanning my horizon, waiting for the right opportunity, the perfect wave that provides a fun ride for me all the while carrying me back to my family on the beach and the sandcastles we’ll build together.
Sure, flip flops might be a little more appropriate for my analogy, but I don’t have a problem getting a little sand in my heels.