Cold Breaths & Gray Spots

A Morning's Reflection

Starting today's writing is a bit tricky, and I want to be upfront about any potential spelling errors or inconsistencies—they might be due to the early hour, as it’s around six in the morning.

The window, which I forgot to close before falling asleep, is still cracked open, letting in light gusts of wind that send a few cold chills down my spine; and it seems I’ve forgotten to switch my heat from low to high.

Weekends, ideally, are for a bit of extra sleep, a plan I was fully committed to. However, a small vibration from my phone disrupted those intentions. Now, I'm here, contemplating whether the vanilla caramel tea I've been enjoying all week would suffice or if another two hours of sleep might be the better option.

by Peggy Kuiper

I drifted into sleep after a spontaneous virtual call with an old friend. Our conversation was casual, revolving around catching up on each other's lives. The most noteworthy topic was our expectations for the year. In alignment with my previous entry, I shared that I didn't have any grandiose or specific plans in mind. As the year began, I discovered myself engrossed in novels about love, films addressing loss, and music exploring that enigmatic gray area—the focal point of our discussion.

When introducing this notion of the "gray area" to them, I made it clear that I wasn't at a standstill but also not decisively heading towards anything at the moment. Usually, such a disclosure might prompt a motivational response, assuring that everything will fall into place. However, all they could manage was a simple, "same" followed by a quick laugh and comfortable silence—and I found appreciation in that.

I've observed that during moments of uncertainty, it's common for people to hesitate in acknowledging it, as it can be accompanied by feelings of personal failure or even shame. Societal expectations often create pressure to have everything figured out, to know the next step, and when you find yourself unable to do so, there's a reluctance to openly express that. 

Reflecting on the past three weeks of this year, I find myself in a unique space where, amidst the numerous matters requiring attention and insight, I've encountered this gray area more than a few times, making it challenging to make a clear choice about anything– and yet there’s sense of calm I remain in that, while possibly influenced by privilege, may also stem from a sincere sense of inner peace.

There’s a book I started on the first of the month, and finished on the tenth called “How To Love Your Daughter” and I kind of doubt it had anything to do with this current state of mind, but it might.

There’s an entire review I posted earlier in the week if you want to read an in-depth analysis, but if you don’t, the book unravels as personal reflections of a mother in question as to why her relationship with her daughter has certain… complexities? There are moments she’s a bit sullen, but never a moment where she’s defeated, and that was the more admirable thing for me to witness.

Whilst reading, I found myself understanding parenthood through a different lens – the sigh of relief when things fall into place, followed by moments of deep introspection, and eventually, a gradual ache for the moments lost, spent in contemplation – and that is the real essence of this book, “How To Love Your Daughter” by Hila Blum.

Full book review, here.

I’ve had my own thoughts about parenthood, especially when it comes to me becoming a mother (also explained in the analysis), but what I’ve gathered about parenthood in general is that you kind of live in this gray area with your child(ren), even when you don’t want to be.

An impactful realization during my reading was that, within the parent-child relationship, we often take on the main character role in our parents' lives, while they assume supporting roles in ours. More significantly, it is they who must accept this reality, a revelation that reflects the unavoidable ambiguity and constant navigation of the unknown, akin to the gray areas I've been pondering in my own life.

In a specific chapter, the narrator reflects on the recurring cycle of yearning for the past in every stage of motherhood. The mother finds herself reminiscing about earlier moments: when her daughter was a newborn, she longed for the time when she learned about the pregnancy; during the elementary years, she yearned to relive the infancy phase, and as her daughter transitioned into a young adult, she spent nights crying, wishing to revisit the teenage crises and other significant moments. She longs for the times when she was still a main character in her child’s life, while admitting that in those moments, she may not have fully appreciated the role she played. 

In a somewhat skewed way, this perfectly captures the mixed feelings of the current uncertain phase I'm in. I'm conscious that in embracing this gray area, rather than figuring out how to navigate it, there are experiences I might be missing or aspects I'm overlooking. In the future, I may look back on these times and wish I had fully appreciated my days, led them with more conviction, did the best that I could, as uncertain as they felt, rather than merely sitting here. But… we’ll figure that out next week, or rather the week after.

Hopefully.

Best,

S