It’s been said that a man can be measured by the way he passes time, and that his values can be determined by examining the things on which he spends his money. If you had to sit down with a pen and paper to audit your own life, would the results surprise you?
I have a hilarious (although very real) case of Attention Deficit Disorder. I’ll be the first to admit that my spending habits (both of time and of money) are about as consistent as my daily routine (which is non-existent, by the way.) The to-do lists (by which I live my life) are perpetually hidden in some random unsearchable spot (seldomly filled out beyond chore/errand number one anyway) while I am sidetracked somewhere practicing my teenage mutant ninja skills with the boys or screaming at them to stop dumping cups of koolaid on each other or taking them on a picnic in the nearby nature area or making mudpies and sowing seeds in my gardens with one leg shaved and one sock missing, wearing only one garden glove because the other is also missing while one (or two, or five) of my children is typically crying or injured or doing something he shouldn’t almost exactly one hour after I was scheduled to be at one of three triple-booked appointments (oops) for one (or two, or five) of my children (who can likely be found — well, nowhere that I have looked) as the food starts to burn and the missing phone starts ringing (thank goodness) all at the precise moment that my mom suddenly shows up unexpectedly — for the visit we’ve been planning for two months…
It’s all relative. Despite the absurdity and unpredictability of my wild little world, I have my priorities straight. I might not be on top of my game 100% of the time and my house has a 50% chance of being upside down and inside out if you stop by unannounced, but me and these five boys make memories with our time. We buy seeds and flower pots and water guns and cookies with our money. For us, the stuff that matters can’t be bought and can’t be faked. You can have your white picket fence. We prefer the wide open spaces.
Obviously, I’m not your average Real Housewife. I’ve never been consumed with compulsive thoughts of the latest nine-hundred dollar high heels, worrying all day about which fancy restaurant still has a reservation available, where I’ll order some indefensibly over-priced meal just to ‘see and be seen’ (in those $900 bangin’ shoes).
I’ll be happy just to get a shower in-between catastrophe number seven and disaster number nine. Honestly.
We are created in a womb, in an act of love, through a physical expression of agreement, connectedness, and union.
How, then, have we been so polluted by this world’s way of thinking that we spend the majority of our day on autopilot? Am I the only one who sees the maddening emptiness that’s eating us alive?
Everything — all of it; every single aspect of our daily monotony — has been reduced to like or dislike, follow or defriend, re-tweeted re-posted status updates of empty shallow fleeting fads which lose us in the fading.
If you’re awake enough, it can scare you to contemplate how trivial our notions of “worthwhile” have become. How seldom anybody thinks for themselves.
The African Safari, the Amazon, the Congo; any of tbese would be a terrifying place to spend our days as a human, thrust into the throws of a violent and completely wild landscape, living every moment in fear for our lives.
From where I sit, it appears that our pavement jungles present an equal — yet opposite — danger.
As for myself and my beautiful family?
We have returned ourselves into the wild.