Susan Straight was helping her mother move when she found an old painting thrown in the trash can. Sensing that this wasn’t something that her mother had bought, she asked her about it. “I took a painting class at the YMCA,” Straight recalled her mother explaining. “Then I found a book— teach yourself to paint.” Straight recalls: “My mother was an artist. She made beautiful sketches of our garden and our house in Switzerland.”
Surprised and moved, they began to talk about the painting. Was this a secret hobby that Susan hadn’t known about? Did her mother have a creative side she never shared? Were there other paintings? Sadly, no. “Just after I finished this,” her mom stated matter-of-factly, “I had you, and then I never painted anything again. My life was over.”
Ouch.
Yet there is a part of us that understands this sentiment, right? A part of us that felt, when our house was suddenly flooded with babies and diapers and our routines were disrupted by carpools and soccer practices, like life was over. Or at least the fun, free, good life. No more time for hobbies. No energy for self-exploration, let alone self-actualization.
Certainly, we have been taxed and burdened in a way we never expected. But we can’t throw in the towel. We can’t use being a parent as an excuse. On the contrary, because our kids are watching us, we have to keep pushing ourselves. We have to transcend the bitter math. We have to keep growing. We can’t give up on ourselves or our interests.
Our lives are not over. Not even close. In a way they’re just beginning. Beginning anew.