Sooner or later adulthood strikes. Ugh. I think coming to terms with this undeniable indicator of aging is different from a midlife crisis - certainly we're too young for that .

Women and men address this "growing up" differently. An article from Salon.com I read recently encapsulated the divergent ways men and women deal with the problem of being the age of arriving, but having gotten virtually nowhere. This article is an interesting observation on how thirty-something men have begun to devote all their free time to video games. The author describes well the angst of those who have an addiction to Wii,  XBox or other activity that turns usually passive men  into raging warriors. 

The article is "How Rock Band saved my marriage" from Salon.com 5/27/08 written by Rachel Shukert. She writes of her husband's addiction:

"I want to scream: "You're not killing anything! You are pointing a piece of plastic at another piece of plastic and pretending something happens! You are not a fearless teenage hero of the Warsaw ghetto uprising! You are a copywriter on the Upper East Side and you are over 30 years old!" "

Women, on the other hand, turn philosophical. The next two paragraphs by Shukert that really hit home for me. 

The most depressing thing about getting older isn't really the reminders of inevitable physical decay -- the gray hairs that pop up in unexpected places, the faint lines beginning to etch themselves permanently in the corner of each eye, the mornings when you wake up with a hangover, even though you haven't been drinking -- but the gradual winnowing of options, as your personal limitations become more and more obvious and eventually start beating you about the head and neck with brutal force. The chasm between who you planned to be and who you are grows wider and impossible to traverse. (italics mine)

We try to make ourselves more interesting. We might take up salsa dancing, or become obsessed with cheeses, or begin to wear a fez in public. When this fails, we begin to take out our hostility on the person [or situation? sg] we feel trapped us in our inescapable little shell of mediocrity. Whether this hostility is expressed by retreat into a fantasy world in which one is a gunslinging super-fighter saving the world from totalitarian evil (him) or a plunge into unforeseen depths of pathetic, whining neediness (me), the result is the same.

While I completely agree with the reasons, I don't think that I fall into whining neediness, but something altogether different. I feel a claustrophobic itchiness because of the permanence of my current state: the lack of options my current life affords me for transforming into the person I want to be. This itchiness makes me sure that I'm stuck in the wrong life, having chosen the wrong things, being in the wrong places at the wrong times.

I'm struggling with reframing my idea of "having arrived" to include XBox addictions, minivans, boring nights, potty training and sweet perfect-cheek kisses. Oh I'd have never imagined the life I live currently.  But who knew how endlessly beautiful my children would be? Or how I'd have a partner with whom I can become a master at witty repartee? That my friendships would be richer and deeper than younger friendships afforded?

Reframing takes leaving the dreams behind and taking hold of reality.  It takes trusting that God has rescued me from the really awful decisions and arranged the other decisions. It means knowing that with age comes wisdom, and I just wasn't wise enough to want the right things in my younger years.

While in process of quitting my job (during the no-man's land of the two week's notice), two different childless people asked me what I was going to do with all my free time once I wasn't working anymore.  When I laughed at each out loud, both (individually) looked at me incredulously & said "no, really, what will you do with your extra time?" 
My response was "attempt to not always have 14 loads of laundry to do. attempt to mop my floor at least once a month.  attempt to make dinner most nights each week." Well, one out of three ain't bad, I say. 

I have, however managed to slip a few things into my free time that weren't part of my existance while working:
1.) I am in love with crossword puzzles. In an attempt to keep my mind agile, I attempt one daily.  I have a few times tried to do crosswords with a very smart friend who has baffled me in her techniques that were not related to the actual clue.  I am now able to use contextual assistance from the puzzle ala Gala, who helps me even when she doesn't know it.
2.) I get to enjoy my friends more. I am having regular coffee dates. I am calling far-flung friends more often. And I'm getting out more in the evenings.
I don't feel like a stressed out freak constantly, which enables me to 3.) Actually enjoy the time i have with my kids.  We have done things like walk to the donut store -factory, if you're Elliott, popped fireless snap-pops* (*not their actual name) on the front porch, written letters to friends and family, and in general enjoyed the little things much more.
4.) go to the library more often.  (not to say I haven't paid close to $40 in fines, but we're going none-the-less)

Sheepishly I admit that those "delusional" childless folk may actually have known what I did not. Once I quit doing what i was supposed to be doing and started doing what I knew I needed to do, free time did appear. It doesn't seem like free time because it's all done with three people who prefer to be touching me at all times.

 
For a long time I haven't been doing what was important to me because I was on auto-pilot. Once I turned auto-pilot off, life improved greatly. I have been able to do those things that are important to me.  I thought that I had to figure out the important things so that I could then do them; instead, it was time itself that gave me an avenue to find those things I value most.

Who knew? It isn't cleaning.