But Not Anymore

When my husband was first learning English, he really liked the verb tense “I used to…but not anymore.”

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about identity and the tremendous amount of change and upheaval my own has endured the past few years. I blame autumn. This time of year always turns me into a big ol’ nostalgic sap. It’s a time to reflect on all that I’ve gained and all that I wish I could get back – a harvest of memories, if you will.

I used to…

But not anymore.

I used to be a college student. I used to sit in classes and prowl through libraries, absorbing interesting facts and beginning to catch glimpses of the shape of the world. But not anymore. Now the best I can manage is listening to snippets of podcasts in the car or while I’m pumping – anytime I have 10 consecutives minutes without anyone calling my name.

I went to see a play on the campus of a local university and looking at the classrooms and dorms I felt strange. I honestly couldn’t tell you if I felt relieved that no one makes me write 12 page essays anymore or homesick for the structure and security of school. I used to know exactly where to go, what to do and how to succeed.

But not anymore. Now I know nothing.

I used to be an artist. I used to pull out my brushes and paints and revel in juicy, vibrant creation. Anytime I walk past the art section of a store, I cast my eyes longingly on my old friends, cadmium, ocher, and cerulean. Is there anything more spectacularly filled with possibility than a brand new sheet of thick, high-quality watercolor paper?

But

I don’t paint anymore. The only art projects I’m involved in these days involve 7th grade social studies or posters of the human respiratory system. Still, I know the art in me will lay quiet, waiting for the chaos years to pass until I again have the opportunity to say with my fingers what my mouth never could.

I used to have my own name. Now I am Mrs. Troy’s Mom. I used to wear perfumes called Indian Gardenia, or that pink one by Ralph Lauren that smells awesome but I have no idea what its name is. Now, I’m rocking Eau de Baby Vomit (slightly sweet with just a hint of cheese!).

I used to be a musician (or not, depending on your view of drummers). I actually picked up some sticks last night and jammed with my husband on guitar for a few minutes. It felt great! Sure, my fills are terrible after nearly three years of rust collecting but it’s nice to know I can still count to four while hitting things. Maybe someday I can return to providing the masses with a truly mediocre percussion experience.

I used to be restless and discontented with my life.

But not anymore!

My life no longer includes sufficient amounts of sleep but a sense of purpose? That I have in heaps! I feel most like myself these days. Maybe I don’t know what I’m doing but I know who I am. And I know that what I chose to spend my life on is as it should be. It’s not perfect (it’s sleepy and covered in vomit, remember?) but it is real and it’s good.

Those things I used to be, sometimes I miss them. But I’ve packed them up and put them away for now. 

They just aren’t relevant to my life.

Not anymore.