steady as she goes

Sunshine!

Apparently I gave it the old thumbs up, because Pandora keeps playing The Raconteurs' catchy tune, "Steady As She Goes." And I've been listening to music constantly over the last weeks, because I'm painting, which means I have heard that song approximately eleventy-billion times, give or take. And I'm painting because I'm no longer homeschooling.  Which was not the plan.

The plan was for son 2.o to transition to full-time status at the community college over this year. US history at home was the plan, our last class together. After the first week, I realized the textbook was The Suck. So one day we were sitting at the dining table together, and I was thinking out loud about various alternatives, and trying rull, rull hard not to panic. Thinking out loud, trying out ideas, and getting zero response from the student.

An hour later we were hopping in the van so I could drop off my son for the one class that didn't have an enormous wait list, biology. This young man is laconic, sarcastic, and only just coming out of the maximum uselessness period of the teen years. So it took me by surprise when I realized he was just downright giddy about going to class. Before I turned the engine, I looked at him and heard myself say, "You really love going to TCC, don't you?"

He practically shouted, "YES!" Then he paused, wrinkled his brow, and said, "But I was a little bit afraid to tell you."

So that was it, then. I checked it out with my friend Gwynne, because I didn't quite trust myself, and could hardly believe it. And Gwynne confirmed, gently, with so much kindness, affirmation, and reassurance, what I knew. I knew we were done.

I was sad for one day. I let myself think about all the things we didn't get around to doing over the years—an unopened beeswax candle-dipping kit surfaced last summer, for instance. I let myself grieve. I let myself have all the mixed feelings.  

And then I went for a run, got a full night's sleep, ate well for a change, and felt fine. We plotted a new course of study for my son, so he'll will be able to satisfy all his requirements. Onward!

One month later: HOLY THE COW. So much less anxiety. I don't feel like I have more time, really, but the time I have is less anxious, more focused, more relaxed. Maybe too relaxed. This painting project could have been finished weeks ago, but the progress is slow. Steady and slow, because I can afford the time, and because I like to think my thinking-thoughts while I work. Repetitive tasks open up that kind of thinking space, if we are not rushed.

The other night when I got to that very last patch of of the old cantaloupe color — that was a little ouch-y, in a gives-one-pause kind of way. It seemed very final, covering that last square. It was hard in the same way that taking down the cursive handwriting poster was hard. But once that was down, once the last bit of cantaloupe was covered, ONWARD.

Today the final coat went up. I'll have to touch up around the sliding glass door, where there are water stains. But once this dries, I can start moving furniture and settling in for the holidays, my older son's last Christmas at home before he heads off for his two-year stint with the Peace Corps.

Steady as she goes.

That Raconteurs song is about settling down. Which is not the same as settling. What strikes me most of all in this pause while I wait for the paint to dry is that it takes courage to settle down. We are so addicted to change and a particular kind of risk, one that involves everything new, a willingness to give it all up. A year ago it was impossible for me to imagine this transition in my life, this emptying-of-the-nest, in *this* place. I wanted, desperately wanted, to move. A new house, new job, new climate, new city, new life. Starting fresh seems so much easier than freshening. 

Steady as she goes is how we fight stagnation. And that courage to stay requires energy, faithfulness, stamina, attention to detail. To reinvent yourself, your life, your home, within a very contained space on a small budget, to remain hopeful — wow, it's hard work. But it is possible. And satisfying.