Will’s involving all things golf with segues into fly fishing or spincasting or minnow catching (aren’t they all the same thing?) and begrudgingly mowing a few lawns to keep him in golf balls. (Did I mention I’m glad we’re done with fireworks season?)
Jen’s involving ways to gut a stuffed animal, fill it with tubing so as to mimic the digestive process of a ‘real’ dog (without the mess), trips to the craft store and coconut oil treatments on blisters created by spins on the horizontal bar that now graces the back yard.
Mine involves tending a belligerent garden, stopping up water leaks, pretending to write on a third book, finding new things to grill on the Weber and repeatedly washing the same three golf shirts.
As I find myself bumping between these agendas, I mostly feel content with the general direction we three are headed. She has free reign to pursue her passions involving fabric, glue guns, popsicle sticks, glow sticks and other kinds of sticks. He has free reign – with regular check-ins when he has the car – to pursue his passion, which centers on a little hard white ball. I have free reign to facilitate my kids in their passions even though I sense this undercurrent that I
should ought to be doing something on a grander scale – writing, saving the world from narcissists, or proving that I can function in a healthy adult relationship. (It’s most certainly an INFJ thing to feel that I ought to be improving the world to some degree, although the jury’s out on whether my being in a healthy relationship would improve anything other than my irritability at NOT being in a healthy adult relationship.)
And that’s what brings me to my point, which I quickly scribbled on a piece of scratch paper while making a BLT for him and a Cheeto sandwich with a side of bacon for her. (A Cheeto sandwich is a typical grilled cheese that she has renamed because she says they taste like Cheetos. Grilled cheese does NOT taste like Cheetos if you go so far as to put bacon on the sandwich. Makes sense to me.)
The note reads:
I go through my days feeling like something is missing, or the circle isn’t complete.
Maybe a relationship would make it all come together?
(At this point I get mad at myself for thinking a relationship would make it all come together. Isn’t that what society wants me to believe? Since when do I care what society thinks? Haven’t I – we all – been force-fed this notion that the circle is only complete when we are paired up?)
The note goes on to say:
Then, in a still moment, sitting on the front porch, watching the sprinklers in the park across the street, smelling fresh coffee, and looking forward to a walk with the kids, I realize the only thing missing is gratitude for just how good I’ve got it!
And then the note says:
Either that or it’s EPO.