I sat in a restaurant at a highway rest stop.
A young couple was at a table a little in front of me.
Their baby was in a stroller beside them, and the mother had several small containers spread out on the table.
Oh, baby food containers are really well designed these days.
She opened one, added something from another container, and mixed it in.
What is that?
I kept watching.
When my children were babies, I usually carried homemade baby food in one small food jar.
This looked different.
The mother seemed to be finishing the food right there at the table, almost like she was preparing a tiny meal on the spot.
And she was so focused on it.
The father was just as attentive.
He lifted the baby from the stroller, but when the little boy looked as if he might fuss, he didn’t put him straight into the high chair. He held him for a little while and let him look around.
Once he settled, the father placed him in the chair.
The mother stirred the food again and said,
“Let’s eat. Ah—”
He opened his mouth. That little mouth began moving.
I smiled.
They were both so young and completely focused on taking care of their baby.
It took me back more than thirty years.
I Used to Know What I Wanted
I was quite good at knowing what I wanted.
I made decisions and moved toward the life that interested me.
I became a journalist.
I fell in love with a senior colleague at the newspaper.
We got married.
And I had a baby.
Then I had another baby.
And another.
I was raising three children while working as a journalist.
I learned to notice things quickly.
Often, I moved before anyone had to ask.
Around me, the women in my life did much the same.
My mother still put her family before herself.
My mother-in-law helped take care of my children while I worked. She put the family’s needs ahead of her own too.
No one sat me down and told me,
“This is how a woman should live.”
It was simply there.
And without thinking much about it, I moved that way too.
The years passed.
My three children became adults.
But I was still moving in much the same way.
What does someone need?
Should I make something?
Once I noticed something, I moved.
There was hardly any space between noticing and doing.
Somewhere along the way, one small question had almost disappeared.
What do I want?
It wasn’t that I had never known.
I had simply stopped asking.
Then I Started Writing My Blog
I wrote about small things.
A conversation at breakfast.
Something my husband said.
A meal I made.
A moment in the car.
A day when I didn’t feel like doing something.
At first, they were just scenes from my life.
As I kept writing, I looked more closely at what was happening inside those scenes.
Why did I move so quickly?
Why did I feel responsible for something no one had asked me to do?
What had I actually wanted at that moment?
Slowly, the attention I had spent so many years directing toward other people began turning toward me.
And the questions became very small.
Do I feel like doing this now?
I was beginning to notice myself again.
Recently, my daughter was helping me in the kitchen.
I didn’t have to tell her much.
She watched what I was doing and immediately knew what came next.
She even took out the containers for the vitamins I take, in the order I take them.
I had never asked her to memorize the order.
She had simply noticed.
“You have good observation skills,” I told her. “You understand things quickly.”
“Use those abilities for yourself too.”
“When you use them for other people and relationships, it can get tiring.”
“I use mine for writing now.”
These days, before I automatically move, there is sometimes a little space.
Enough for a question.
What do I want?
