So it's been a almost a month since I went to London on my own. Those four days were absolutely life-changing. I traversed the ocean on my own, set foot on foreign soil on my own. I toured the city without a map, and didn't get lost. I ate alone in restaurants, I went to the theatre by myself. I shopped. I rode the subway. I walked in the rain without an umbrella. I did all of this on my own, yet I wasn't lonely. I was in my city--London. I felt so at ease over those four days. I was my own person. Not someone's wife, not someone's mother. Not a daughter, not a sister, not a nurse. Just...myself. So how can I come home and be the same person I was before I left?
I have struggled with that question everyday since I returned. The minute I got off the plane, I was thrust right back into all those roles. I had responsibilities, a job, chores that I had to attend to. I was no longer my own person, but the person that had to be there for others. I am a wife, a mother, a daughter, sister, nurse. There's no way around that life. I spend a great deal of time meeting the needs of others--it is an inherent part of the role I play. Caretaker, problem solver, healer. I love that part of my life, but that's the point. It's only a "part" of my life. But what about the other part? The part that loves culture and books, and British television and sci-fi, and fine art and the ballet. How do I feed that part of my soul? It's not as easy as it probably should be.