Empty Nest

I am one very mixed-up human being. And I’m starting to get really fucking sick of my life falling apart every other month. Ok, that’s an exaggeration. Every third month, however, seems accurate. Just ask my therapist. Seriously. Things in my life have changed dramatically of late. I always thought about, and even joked about, how being an empty nester would be just for me. I couldn’t wait to have all the time in the world to do the things I want to do, and maybe to not worry about the kids quite so much.

My empty nest, however, is just that: empty. I imagine myself as a pie chart. 1/3 kids, 1/3 fiction, 1/3 wife, adventurer, poet. Well, now that I’m taking a hiatus from fiction, I’ve lost two thirds (or just about) of my meaning. At first, I marveled at the idea that I had SO much time now to research and dream and fill in those extraordinarily empty spaces with extraordinary experiences.

But the worry persists.

If we leave for a hiking trip, will the dogs accidentally push over Nana? If I continue down the path I’m on, will I lose my daughter’s faith and trust and love? Is there freedom to be had? Because it doesn’t feel like it.

I’ve taken to learning a skill, one which has made me grow even fatter than I already was. That skill (that fucking IMPOSSIBLE skill) is to make and fry donuts from scratch. (Yes, you read that right…) My best friend and I have been toying with the idea of opening a specialty donut shop in our town. Why? Because we’re both nuts and we both like donuts. Possibly, this isn’t the right reason to open a business. But it sure has been a sweet baking endeavor.

For a minute there, I thought that the business idea was going to fill in at least one of those pieces of missing pie. Alas, I’m not sure if I can do it… yet. The kids are attempting to fly, but they’re still learning. And grandma is needing a little more help than before. So, for now, I fry the donuts at home and trade them with my friend’s to see if either of us have gotten it right yet. We’ve come close… close, indeed. But starting a business like this takes like a hundred grand. And… um… well, that’s a bit of a stretch. My brother tells me I should work at a donut shop before opening one, a sentiment that makes me laugh. Why the hell would I want to do something logical like that? It still brings a smile to my face as I write this. I am a fool, and I do foolish things. That’s just the way it is. It is the secret to my failure and the secret to my success.

And on rainy days like today that are ill-suited for a walk or a hike, I find myself wishing I’d awakened with purpose (in this case, a properly-fried-double-dipped-chocolate-donut-extravaganza). But there is no one to feed, at least not until dinner, no one to drive around to doctors and rehearsals and practices, and most of the boxes from our move have been put away, some left unopened still and stashed where they will one day be discovered by our children.

But it’s too late to wait for the yeast to rise the cake. Today, I will miss the feeling of that soft dough in my hands as I stretch it out on the counter again and again. I will miss the satisfaction that may (or may not) come when I get that coveted white line that runs through the center of a perfectly fried donut. I will miss eating the chocolate frosting with a spoon.

But I will not miss my friend, the one with icing on her hands and face just like me, the one I’ll drink coffee with in a little while, the kind of friend who is just as crazy as I am… or, well, almost, and that really is something to be thankful for. My type of crazy makes her laugh, and how could I ask for anything more?  

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