Healthy Regression

I’d love to write about mental clutter today, but my head is too full of… mental clutter…

I will say this. Last Friday at this time three hours and half an ocean ago, I was just emerging from sleep. Some GFs and I took a quick dip in the Estate’s private pool, then had coffee overlooking the ocean from the outdoor kitchen. We then lazily prepared to spend a day on a Maui beach…blue water, sun, white sand, and good friends. I Boogie boarded with the Hubby by my side. It was great – even when I got hit by two waves at once, cart-wheeled underwater, and ended up with a great deal of sand in places that are not so receptive to a great deal of sand…not receptive toany sand, in fact.

A week of nothing but throwing on beat up shorts over a bikini. Barely washed my hair, certainly never combed it, kept a clip handy at all times, or it was in braids. I looked in a mirror all of MAYBE once a day.

We hiked to a waterfall, saw a Bamboo Forest that took my breath away, swam in a natural pool just 100 yards from the crashing surf. Black sand beaches, sunrises, sunsets, climbing a tree so big it made 6’1″ D look like a Keebler Elf, and flying through the air on a Zip-line.

It didn’t hit me until D said something… he said he enjoyed watching me play in the surf, even though I was getting beat up by the waves now and then, because I kept getting back up smiling like a little kid.

Like a little kid. Like when I was ten spending summer with Grandma at the lake….I went everywhere barefoot, had my bathing suit on at all times, and much to my grandma’s frustration, barely washed or combed my hair but it was in braids all the time anyway. I climbed trees, built forts, played on the beach. I had nothing to worry about. Not a SPECK of mental clutter until summer was over.

The only real difference between Manistique summers and Maui? Sunscreen. I actually wear it now.

What waited for me when we came home? Meetings and attorneys and parenting plans and work and bills and trying to find another rental and saving for a house and all the clutter mentioned in previous blogs. Instead of flip-flops and bathing suits, it’s high heels and pencil skirts. Braids are unprofessional, so hair is long and straight, or a sensible pony tail. Instead of playing in a giant tree, I’m at the computer with the budget and another paper planning a move. The only sunscreen is in the Oil of Olay, and it’s only a 15.

C just turned ten. His greatest complication today is making sure he can find Squiddy in time to take to a friend’s house.

I want to be ten right now… ok, not be ten, but maybe feel ten. So why couldn’t I?

It would be grossly irresponsible to act like a ten-year-old right now. . . it would be a VERY bad idea. However, the essence of ten could be attained with a little effort and an attitude adjustment. It’s a matter of clearing space, mental and physical, and it ties perfectly into what I’ve been trying to attain… except, now the goal has a name, an identity – to feel like a happy little kid. (Disclaimer* I know not EVERYTHING about ten is awesome… just focusing on a certain mental state, here.)

So, we’ll take care of what needs taking care of – bills will get paid, we’ll work, etc. Stuff will continue to exit the home, and with it the frustration of the time spent on maintaining it. The mental clutter, that has to go too. It’s time to make more room for climbing trees, playing in the woods, experimenting with food, tickle fights, and laughing at and about everything.

I like this. This fits us as a family. And if I ever get stuck, I know a great ten-year-old who can remind me of all the finer points.


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