New Beginnings...

I'm not pregnant.

Just in case anyone was wondering about that.

I suppose, technically, it is possible.  And, really, you can read about women much older than I having babies if you just pick up a copy of Star. Whatever. Possible or not, were I to turn up pregnant, I'd certainly have some 'splainin' to do.

Realizing this may be more information than anyone wants, I only bring it up because of a series of dreams I've been having. Dreams in which I have the starring role. Pregnant.

I believe in the power of dreams. It was through a series of recurring, evolving dreams which took place over more than 20 years, that I came to a point of forgiveness and reconciliation with my father after his suicide. Because of those nocturnal psychotherapy sessions, now when I dream, I rarely shrug it off. I almost always take the time to deeply consider and analyze the meaning. Which is why I have been paying attention to this latest round of dreams where I show up pregnant. Very pregnant. And old. Well, for a pregnant lady, anyway.

In these dreams I'm distressed. I don't really want to be pregnant, or at least I don't want to raise the child I'm about to give birth to. Not in an "Ohmygawd, I'm preggers," Snookie, Paris Hilton, Kardashian sort of way. A baby wouldn't disrupt my life of parties and shopping.

It's just....I've already done that.

For the past 24 years I have loved being a mom. It has been the primary focus of my life. Yes, I've worked off and on and earned a PhD during that time but, first and foremost, the focus of my time, identity, and resources has been in the raising of my children. I'm thankful that I've had the choice of working or staying home when it seemed best for both my family and me. I wouldn't change a thing.

But, I'm about to turn the page on this part of my life story and when I do I'll see, 'The End' in large script type. I know, in much the same way I feel when I finish a really good novel, there will be a sense of loss. A sense that I want just a little bit more. I will always be a mother, of course, but the time when my children live with me, depend on me, and need me for the day-to-day is nearing its end.

Then what?

In my dreams, I don't want to re-read that book. I don't want to raise any more children. But, at the same time, I feel anxious about what's coming. I'm about to give birth to a new future and I can't anticipate what that will be. If I'm being honest, that is exactly what I'm feeling on many days. Anxious for the future. Not because once my children are grown and gone I'll have no purpose but because I and my purpose are changing and evolving and I don't have a clear vision of what is next.

And then I remind myself that feeling anxious accomplishes exactly nothing. I am, in fact, between the parenthesis. Not quite in the past. Not quiet in the future. It is uncomfortable but I'm having to learn to relax with it.

I can't go back to the past and I don't have to know the future. All I have to know is the present. I can be thinking about the future, dreaming about the future, even exploring ideas about the future. But what matters is right now. And right now I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing.

When the time is right, my future purpose will show up. I'll know it when I see it. I suspect it will hand me a pretty bouquet of flowers and tell me it is happy to finally meet. I look forward to that day.

And mostly I'm glad I won't be wearing maternity clothes.