duty: doo de

Do you know this poem by Louisa May Alcott?

I slept and dreamed that life was beauty;

I woke and found that life was duty,

The first time I heard this poem I was an eager, idealistic 21-year-old sitting in a pew at Eastside Christian church in Fullerton, CA. I was sitting next to my then boyfriend who is my now husband and the preacher, Wayne Smith, decided to read the first half of the poem, omit the second half, and use Louisa's words about duty as a launch pad for a half hour sermon about what the Christian life, according to Wayne, was all about.

Duty.

  Wayne Smith was a very funny man.

                                 I think that's why I was so surprised where he went with his message..

Those words and his sermon completely devastated me that night. I simply did not want to believe them to be true but Wayne sealed the deal with some scripture verses, I believe mostly from Proverbs, and my sweet, trusting, but extremely disappointed 21-year-old self believed Wayne, put my head down, and ingested his words as truth. I mean he was the pastor and he was quoting the Bible so surely he was telling the truth. Pastors don't lie do they?

Do they?

We will leave that one alone for now and fast forward 30 or so years to a recent, sleepless 2:00am moment when out of nowhere those words appear like a completely famished brain worm gnawing around and around and around and around in my mind, not letting go. Well, since it's 2:00am, I'm wide awake, and I've got nothing else to do, I reach for my phone and google. What do I find? The rest of the story!

Toil on sad heart courageously

And thou shall find they dreams to be,

A noonday light and truth to thee.

Wayne cut the poem short! Louisa's poem was not only about duty. Her words held hope and were sprinkled, in my opinion, with adventure and romance.

Let's dive a little deeper for just a moment and see where it takes us.

First, is my heart sad? When you dream of beauty and wake to duty how can there not be sadness? Who doesn't want life to be more than chores and lists and ordinary things constantly beckoning? Perhaps it is why I'm such a fan of reading?

I read and I'm swept up in adventure and romance but when the book ends, when the story is over, and I determine to set out looking for more adventure, more romance, I'm not exactly sure what I'm looking for. Those two things don't come with specifics. Adventure? Where? When? How? What? No idea. Romance?

Romance is a lovely idea but in my experience it is fleeting and what starts as the tingly excitement of new love ends in duty, like a lot of it. Yes. Love, commitment and devotion are lovely things, invaluable things, but do you think they convey the same feels as romance? How about dirty diapers? Romantic? What about puke, mud, poop and all the lovely things children leave behind that you are responsible for? When you felt the fresh breeze of romance did you honestly believe it would end in duty? It did, it does and it will do.

Oh wait. Is my lack of sleep making be a tad bitter? I hope not. I'm not going for self-pity. Dear reader, I truly don't want your sympathy or for you to compose a few words you might share with me next time we meet about gratitude, or blooming where I'm planted, or realistic expectations or even about adulting. I know. I know. Grow up? Life is what you make it ? It's all in how you look at things? Or how about - God can take everything and make it beautiful? Oh and let's not forget, adventure and romance are two things not becoming for a 54 year old woman. We must be careful must we not? We might fall, break a hip or strain something. Yes. Adventure and romance are not for women of a certain age.

Or are they?

I keep a gratitude journal. I go on daily hunts for five lovely things. I dance around my house imagining myself a gorgeous young thing who holds nothing in her hands but possibility. And then when the song ends or my AirPods die, I finish washing up the supper dishes or fold the laundry, vacuum, or sit at the supper table with my recipe books and make up a menu plan for the week. Or maybe it's time to change the sheets because a clean, happy bed may actually help me get actual sleep so in the morning when I get up to go to work I can face my daily duties with clarity instead of a cloud of menopausal fatigue circling around my head like some weirdo version of Pigpen from the Peanuts comic strip.

Whoa. Bitter? I'll try to get some sleep tonight but even when I start a paragraph trying to focus on gratitude and other things lovely and possible, where do I end up? Duty. It always seems to be about duty.

I slept and dreamed that life was beauty;

I woke and found that life was duty.

Indeed Wayne. Indeed.

Although it may seem life is duty I am not giving up on romance or adventure even if I don't sleep again tonight. I'm just not going to. Honestly, how could I? Dancing would be a lot less fun without those two things don't you think? Are books really just for facts and all things realistic? Why would the sight of trees ready to burst forth their green loveliness or shed their autumn display be anything noteworthy? Why bother travelling to the ocean or smelling the head of a newborn baby? And come on, am I the only one who feels as if duty has failed them? Duty hasn't fulfilled me or left behind hope as some type of a job well done residue. Sure, I love a good menu plan and a clean house, I absolutely I do but a job well done isn't what I want to wrap myself around at night.

I want to be wooed.

I want to be the beauty who walks in the room and who no can stop staring at.

I want the exhilaration that comes at the end of doing something I was terrified to do but did anyway.

I want to walk on roads completely enveloped in the beauty of a moment and allow it to take me to the next moment even if it's not planned for or expected.

I want sunsets over oceans complete with the rhythm of the waves on the sand.

I want the sunrise over a misty field with the symphony of birds in the background composing the song of the day while the first light filters through fleeting leaves on sturdy trees.

I want to help.

I want to hold the hand. I don't want to recoil when my hand needs held.

I want to make a difference.

I want to be kind and loving and open-hearted.

I want to throw my head all the way back as I completely and totally surrender to a full-on belly laugh.

Yes. Even at 54 I want those things but guess what?

Duty calls - it is time for me to leave for work - of course. But maybe these words, these thoughts in this time and this space were the water my seeds of adventure and romance needed for today?

Who knows.

I absolutely don't, but here's what's true - I'm holding out hope like a noonday light.

Thanks Louisa.

Wayne. I'm sure you meant well.