It's not easy to write a post when you're working 10-hour days (today it was 13 hours). Well, it's easy to write one, but mentally impossible for it to be any good. My project deadlines at work are all happening at once. I constantly remind myself that I'm only one person and there are only so many hours in the day. I'm working on the Fourth of July. Unfortunately, as bad as this month has been (averaging > 50 hours a week), next month will be just as bad, maybe worse. Except that I've already blocked out a Friday and Monday at the end of the month for a long weekend to visit J. in North Carolina. August may look a little prettier, maybe. I expect come November I will have so many extra hours accumulated that I could take 2-hour lunches every day until the end of the year, ha ha. I haven't really achieved a work-life balance in the past year; the scales definitely tip towards work. And I'm at the point in my life where I don't feel I should have to prove anything to anybody by working myself to death. Life is too short, for God's sake. When I die, they're not going to put on my headstone, "She worked 50-hour weeks and was good at her job."
There's a poem that best describes what I'd like on my headstone, or at least how I'd like to be remembered. It's by Mary Anne Radmacher Hershey.
She danced. She sang.
She took. She gave.
She served. She loved.
She created. She dissented.
She enlivened. She saw.
She grew. She sweated.
She changed. She learned.
She laughed. She shed her skin.
She bled on the pages of her days,
She walked through walls,
She lived with intention.
I figure I've done a lot on this list already. I've danced (weddings, discos, at home). I've sang (school choirs, church choirs, Sweet Adelines, Burnt Hills Oratorio Society, Orlando Chorale). Certainly I've taken. Hopefully I've given. Definitely I've served. I've loved, not enough and too much. I've created (quilts, afghans, cross-stitch pieces, sweaters...). I've dissented, though often quietly or not when it really mattered. I've seen, a lot, but not enough. I
've grown (witness my constant battle with weight, ha ha, but yes, I've grown in other ways, too). I've sweated, changed, learned, and laughed.
So now that I'm at mid-life, I want to shed my skin and bleed on the pages of my days. I want to walk through walls. I want to live an intentional life. An intentional life has no regrets. And it doesn't include working long hours at an unfulfilling job.
There's a poem that best describes what I'd like on my headstone, or at least how I'd like to be remembered. It's by Mary Anne Radmacher Hershey.
She danced. She sang.
She took. She gave.
She served. She loved.
She created. She dissented.
She enlivened. She saw.
She grew. She sweated.
She changed. She learned.
She laughed. She shed her skin.
She bled on the pages of her days,
She walked through walls,
She lived with intention.
I figure I've done a lot on this list already. I've danced (weddings, discos, at home). I've sang (school choirs, church choirs, Sweet Adelines, Burnt Hills Oratorio Society, Orlando Chorale). Certainly I've taken. Hopefully I've given. Definitely I've served. I've loved, not enough and too much. I've created (quilts, afghans, cross-stitch pieces, sweaters...). I've dissented, though often quietly or not when it really mattered. I've seen, a lot, but not enough. I
've grown (witness my constant battle with weight, ha ha, but yes, I've grown in other ways, too). I've sweated, changed, learned, and laughed.So now that I'm at mid-life, I want to shed my skin and bleed on the pages of my days. I want to walk through walls. I want to live an intentional life. An intentional life has no regrets. And it doesn't include working long hours at an unfulfilling job.
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