There is a bouncy restlessness in the air these days, a cosmic vibration that permeates the rhythm and flow of my days.
Perhaps it’s the changing seasons. Spring has finally arrived with flashes of color and a flurry of activity. Or perhaps life is just filled with transitions right now – if not for me, then for those around me. Several friends and family members are adjusting to a new family dynamic after the birth of a baby, while others are preparing for a new child with all of the accompanying excitement, anticipation, and trepidation.
Job changes are everywhere, whether recent, imminent, or on the horizon – everything from job searches and resumes and added responsibilities to retirements and new colleagues and career reevaluations.
The kids are especially restless and edgy lately. Unable to control their squirmy bodies and minds, they are boisterous and twitchy, carrying around little tornadoes of chaos everywhere they go.
And then there is my own restlessness, absorbed from the energy of those around me and created by my own impatience and enthusiasm.
The electricity is palpable, with all of these changes and opportunities swirling around. There are growing pains, of course, brought on by doubts and uncertainties and insecurities. There are sleepless nights and heated conversations and raised voices, pounding hearts and shaky hands and weeping eyes. There are moments of respite, too, as tender hugs and kind words and reassurances that everything will be alright are given and received.
It would be impossible for me to be unaffected by the nervous energy and transitions of so many people around me because our lives are so closely intertwined. Nor would I want to be resistant to their life changes because, really, that’s where Grace lives. And, of course, there are my own anxieties and histrionics that add fuel to the flame of restlessness. There is the daily madness that comes with parenting. There are uncertainties about the future, and general run-of-the-mill insecurity and self-doubt, all of which are exacerbated by my dramatic and overflowing heart.
As I write, a breeze blows through an open window, rustling the leaves and shuffling some papers. But when the wind eventually stops to catch its breath, the pulsating current has slowed ever so slightly. The jagged edges have smoothed and the focus has softened just a touch.
There is definitely a restlessness in the air. There is no escaping it, and it might be pointless to try to stop it. Maybe all I can do is breathe, hold out a hand, and float along for a while.
How do you handle periods of restlessness?