I started writing something ten minutes ago before being pulled away into a conversation with a teenager who wandered into my office. Now, I look back at the start of the sentence and I see,
| I wonder what to do with me |
The curser flashes patiently at the end of the thought. I suspect it was supposed to be “I wonder what to do with my” but the typo offers me a new question to consider.
This is, ultimately, the question that I have spent most of my life wanting an answer for. And honestly, it’s not that I have wanted to figure it out. I’ve wanted the answer to float down from the sky and land pleasantly in my lap, light as a feather and warm to the touch.
The question has evolved over the years - what to do with my eight year old self left to her own devices and feeling bored, what to do with my college degree at 21 years old. What to do when my young children were off to preschool and the baby was down for a nap - I could count on at least an hour of adult time. What to do once they all went to school full-time, and I wasn’t needed in the same minute to minute way?
The question looks different to me now. What if the “me” at the end of the phrase isn’t something to figure out or plan for as if I’m a a half head of cabbage in the crisper?
What if the question is about how I want to spend time with myself?
I notice how asked that way, the question feels like it invites possibilities and creativity. And perhaps this has always been the secret of this question. In years past, I allowed the question to hold a hidden expectation, an unsaid “should” as if there were only one or two right answers.
Today, I am allowing the question to be an invitation into what is possible. How do I want to spend my time today? What do I want the year 2021 to be about for me? What do I want the next decade to look like?
In these questions, the words "to do" have evaporated. Instead, I can lean into and appreciate the sense of being-ness present.
I suspect the doing will come along of its own accord.
How do you navigate the terrain of expectations and shoulds? How do you want to spend time with yourself?
This is, ultimately, the question that I have spent most of my life wanting an answer for. And honestly, it’s not that I have wanted to figure it out. I’ve wanted the answer to float down from the sky and land pleasantly in my lap, light as a feather and warm to the touch.
The question has evolved over the years - what to do with my eight year old self left to her own devices and feeling bored, what to do with my college degree at 21 years old. What to do when my young children were off to preschool and the baby was down for a nap - I could count on at least an hour of adult time. What to do once they all went to school full-time, and I wasn’t needed in the same minute to minute way?
The question looks different to me now. What if the “me” at the end of the phrase isn’t something to figure out or plan for as if I’m a a half head of cabbage in the crisper?
What if the question is about how I want to spend time with myself?
I notice how asked that way, the question feels like it invites possibilities and creativity. And perhaps this has always been the secret of this question. In years past, I allowed the question to hold a hidden expectation, an unsaid “should” as if there were only one or two right answers.
Today, I am allowing the question to be an invitation into what is possible. How do I want to spend my time today? What do I want the year 2021 to be about for me? What do I want the next decade to look like?
In these questions, the words "to do" have evaporated. Instead, I can lean into and appreciate the sense of being-ness present.
I suspect the doing will come along of its own accord.
How do you navigate the terrain of expectations and shoulds? How do you want to spend time with yourself?
 | Jessica Curtis is a professional life coach who helps people cultivate intention and live from a place of meaning and authenticity. If you think you could benefit from working with Jessica or want to invite her to work with your group, reach out to start a conversation. |
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