I finished reading Jennifer Egan’s “The Candy House” last weekend, my first read of the new year.
It was a wonderful book, featuring interlinked stories of characters who grapple with a brave new world where people can upload their unconscious onto “memory cubes” for all to see.
Yeah, at times it was a bit strange. But there was a part of the book that’s stayed with me. It’s towards the end of the novel, when an aging mother, Susan, is reflecting on her role in the lives of her now adult children. Here goes:
“Susan was haunted by the gap between the sensation of three boys climbing her torso like a tree, combing sticky fingers through her hair, muttering into her ears—and the constraint of adulthood: How are you, honey? You look a little tired. Is there anything I can do? How about a hug for your old mom?
If she’d had an inkling, back then, of the ache this constraint would cause her, she would never—not once!—have said, “Let go of me, boys, I just need a minute,” and shaken them off. She would have held still and let them pick her clean, understanding that there would be nothing better to save herself for.”
I haven’t been able to get that last sentence out of my head. As a parent of young children, I feel that way all the time, constantly searching for an unoccupied moment. And I think it applies to other parts of my life, too. How many daily tasks and responsibilities do I see as burdensome now, only to find them later in life such scarce blessings?
The frantic morning rush, endless loads of laundry, smudged windows, dishes to wash, toys to pick up, grocery lists—how to appreciate, how to find joy, in these daily tasks?
Even as I write this in the early hours of the morning, I know the quiet will soon be interrupted. A little one will push open the door, sit on my lap and ask that I read a story. I’ll sigh — I’m not done yet — but Susan’s words return. “There would be nothing better to save herself for.”
The trick seems to be in letting these moments linger. There is nothing better than this. Nothing on the other side. Nothing more important.
And how does that apply to the rest of our lives? Parts of my job that I claim as frustrating, I realize I enjoy deeply. There is real pleasure in solving problems, working as a team and helping put together a newspaper. I like the challenge.
Family members whose trials weigh on me—how unmoored would I feel without those bonds?
Sure, Iola and Allen County face serious obstacles. But I find real value in trying to be a part of the solution in my community. How would it feel to simply wait for others to solve our problems? Remember how maddening it is for Truman in “The Truman Show” to live in the mirage promised by Seaside Island?
None of this serves to make light of one’s difficulties, or to attempt to find pleasure in pain. Life can be messy, hard and cruel. I’m not trying to whistle on the deck of the Titanic.
But I do believe Susan in “The Candy House” has it right: there is no better time to enjoy my children, my career, and my life than right now. Pick me clean.
