“I know it might not feel like it now, but some of the best things that you’re doing now are the small, quiet things… those moments just taking in the trees in the park… Those are the muscles I want you to keep working. Those are the muscles that help you to hear the still small voice within, the still small voice of the Divine.” — Elul 4

~ Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg

As we embark on a new school year, I ask myself (again), what am I able to take on that is just mine? Not the school Parent Association, not the opportunity to schlep back and forth to tennis or dance lessons, but something that stirs excitement and renewal within me.

These last six years have brought with them countless blessings and moments of wonder. I’ve learned so much, both about myself and the world through the eyes of “mothering” and through the glimmering eyes of a growing child. And yet, while my child is arguably more independent now than ever, I find the process of carving out time for myself to cultivate and rebuild my own interests and passion projects to be extremely fraught and challenging.

Perhaps being an “older” mom plays a small role here. I had my daughter at 38. Now at 44, soon to be 45, I’m staring menopause in the face. I don’t have the energy I used to. I collapse at the idea of staying outside the house past 8pm. I have aches and pains that I don’t remember from even a few years back (hello arthritis and tendonitis). I’m tired most of the time, and running on a slow simmering fuel. How does everyone else do this?

I know I’m yearning for more to fill my “bucket,” but my eyes are “bigger” than my energy center these days, and I find myself “searching” and falling prey to FOMO again. I’m day dreaming about training for another marathon, taking a dance class, learning a new/old instrument. I’d like to take a French class and pretend that I will one day travel again. Heck, many days I dream about going back to school to pursue another degree.

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Alas, it seems like everyone else in my camp has this parenting puzzle figured out, but I know that’s an allusion. It’s a double edged sword, because on one hand, I think my body is trying to sound a small alarm bell… “Steph, you need to keep things as simple as possible. Don’t take on anything new. Just focus on what’s right in front you.”

On good days, however, I wonder to what degree fear may be driving the ship. Perhaps I need to sit with the fear, offer it a cup of tea and explore what’s really going on. If I turn inwards, I can sense that I’m looking for small joys amidst the obligatory roles in life AND the space to carve out new mysteries and adventures that are just mine.

How can I bridge connections with new friends, unexpected strangers and be open to what the universe is sending my way? How can I discern the difference between “too much” and “not enough?”

Bottom line, like most things in life, I believe we must learn to carve out a “both/and” way of thinking. I would like to see this new season as both a process of “letting go/shedding” and “building back up.” In this new year, and especially as we approach the Jewish High Holidays, I want to examine and explore this feeling of letting go. Letting go of pressures, expectations, and an external craving for validation, and instead a returning back to myself. Teshuvah, often translated as “returning,” epitomizes the Jewish month of Elul, the month prior to the start of the Jewish new year during which one is encouraged to create space for introspection and “preparing the heart” for a new year.

May this year (5787 on the Hebrew calendar) be a year of returning to Myself. Not a grasping to meet other’s expectations or even my own unreasonable expectations. Instead the simple act of “returning.” Returning and grounding in my own sense of creativity and wonder. May I take baby steps towards a life that lights me up outside of “mothering,” not for any larger reason or outcome, but “just because.” As those are the best gifts of all.