Lost. Reward if Found.

Where did my enthusiasm go? It’s been missing for a while, and in its place sarcasm and despair have made themselves welcome, nestling into my life like an unwelcome houseguest that I feel too small to throw out. And now I’m considering abandoning my home just to be rid of its ugly presence, but I have a nagging feeling that it might just follow me wherever I go.



Exuberance is mirrored to me everywhere, people who are engaged in and excited about their lives, and instead of inspired I am filled with shame and deep sadness. I should be like that, I tell myself. I used to be like that. What is wrong with me?

Tonight, like the night before and the nights before that, I couldn’t wait to put Jack to bed. Oh, thank God it’s seven o’clock. Just a half hour to go. Just a half hour before I can numb out, watch TV, smoke a cigarette, eat several platefuls of food, read email. Just a half hour left before I don’t have to be conscious anymore, or pretend to be. Just a half hour left of keeping him busy, keeping him safe, keeping him out of my hair.

But as I am laying him down I am aware that I have not looked at him in the eyes, have not savored him, have not enjoyed him, have not engaged or embraced him today. He has been a nuisance,a bother, a thing to feed and distract and do. I know that I am missing out on him, missing out on my life with him,

missing out on something very, very precious that I will never get back. I am missing out on my life.

Where did my enthusiasm go? I don’t want to play, don’t want to get down on the floor and wrestle, don’t want to look for snails or get wet in the

sprinkler. I want to watch this episode of The Real World instead. I want to numb out.

The kids try to engage me, look for signs of life. I disappoint them every day, annoyed that they won’t just go play by themselves. Just go play over there, I say. Let me be.

They eventually stop trying. I have become a disengaged adult.


Disinvested.



Enthusiasm is all around me, like in the John Denver tribute I watched on TV, or in the conviction in which the Supernanny coaches the parents that look like me, in my brother and sister-in-law as they follow their dreams to distant lands, in the voice of my friend who calls to tell me that he has passed his licensing exam. It’s in the newly engaged and energetic couple I met at the party I went to just to pass the time, to swallow up the hours of a long Saturday afternoon.

And it’s in Jack. Jack, my little mirror, reflecting back to me what it looks like to live and to love living. Jack, whom I am afraid, hasalready learned not to expect me to dance when he dances, to squeal with him as he squeals, to be delighted with him by the water in the bathtub as it pours out from the faucet.

I have become his unwelcome houseguest, living off of his energy, sucking it in like a gaping black hole.

Where did my enthusiasm go? Where are you, free spirit? Where are you, joy? Where are you, spontaneity, glee? Have you seen my positive outlook? Have you seen my good friend, laughter? She’s been missing for a while. If you see her, tell her I’d like her to
come back home.