I used to know my own mind. Honestly, I had an opinion about everything. And I charged forth boldly. But something happened along the way, and I entered a period of mostly not knowing. Or not caring. Yikes.
I think the something that happened was my allowing marriage and children to affect me in too great a way. Um, kind of like they were bowling balls and I was a pin. I mean, I spent day after day either helping other people figure out what they wanted and how to make that happen or wanting other people to be happy. I began not to care anymore about what I wanted. If everybody else could be happy, well that meant peace–which at some point became more important than anything else.
I was 23 when my daughter was born and 55 when my last child left for college.
Man, I got in such habits. Ordering in restaurants for the kids. And then one day, a child, completely capable of ordering for himself, looked across a bowl of chips at me as if I had lost my mind.
And I had.
These days, in a restaurant, I still sometimes want whatever my husband’s having. Or I often ask whatever teen-aged waitress is standing in front of me, who I’ve never seen before in my life, what she likes.