MUSE

She greets me every morning.

Without saying a word.

I first noticed her years ago on a frigid winter morning when I couldn’t bear to leave a soothing, steady shower of too warm water, and confront the day.

A masterpiece of lines etched in tile - curved, straight, or randomly connected to form intricate gray splotches and patterns – she instantly reminded me of Michelangelo's most famous quote: “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”

I cannot set my angel free.

But I dish with her daily.

Showerdrops dripping down her countenance, Marble Muse discreetly lowers her gaze; appraising conditioners, shampoos and soaps on the teak shower seat as I ponder:

Life.

Storylines.

Annoyances.

Crazy ideas.

Politics.

Characters.

Kids.

Worries.

Freakish inspirations.

Humbling heartaches.

Marble Muse never interrupts, challenges, disagrees, or tries to solve my problem.

She just shows up every morning and listens. Thought to thought, we emote, challenge, consider.

A month ago, I stepped beneath the showerhead, contemplating how to start a new religion.

Marble Muse considered it, too.  Considered it not one of my better ideas.

Last week I was adjusting cold versus hot, troubled by the outcome of a novel. Should I use plan A, or B?

Marble Muse was troubled, too. Plan A and B were awful. Like steam rising, she quickly filled my thoughts with Plans C, D, and E.

This morning I’m combing out conditioner, and thinking about a conversation I’d had recently.  A conversation that ended with a friend saying, “Women spend so many years being ‘mom’, that we often forget who we were before we became mothers. Once our kids are grown, it’s difficult, but necessary to find that woman, and our happiness again.”

Find that woman again.

The words are ringing in my ears as water pours down my face.  

I open my eyes and see Marble Muse, blurred. 

She is working her magic, and I am figuring out why that conversation bothered me so much.

Because no matter what the self-help books may say, it’s impossible find that woman again.

‘Pre-Mom’ no longer exists.   

She has rocked a toddler through fevers and nightmares. Held a child’s hand through shots and spinal taps. Disguised vegetables and confronted bullies. Handed over car keys, and the ability to breathe consistently, until car, keys and kid have returned home safely. 

Once our kids are grown, it’s difficult, but necessary to understand that motherhood has changed us. Forever. Happiness will be found by moving forward, not looking back.

The water cools. I reach for a towel and step out of the shower, remembering wise words shared by another friend months ago.

Her daughter had gone off to college, and she determined that she would awaken every morning with a plan to do one small thing that made today a bit better than yesterday; more interesting, enjoyable, exciting, or fun.

Walk to the coffee shop. Phone a friend.  Pull on roller blades. Sing.

Kid, teen, twenty-something, pre-parent, parent, grandparent, that’s the kind of idea that changes a mind-set and enriches a life.

I’m going to chat about it with my Marble Muse tomorrow morning.

We have lots of plans to make!    

QUING Hereby Decrees:  A Muse is a Must. Have you discovered yours?