I’m sitting in my son’s nursery. Rocking back and forth, back and forth. He’s woken from his nap far too early. I have finished my online grocery order, made my five year old son lunch and just sat down to finalise a q&a I had done late last year when this nursery was not yet a nursery. It has taken me months to review and edit. I have been writing in tiny fragments of time for the past five years. The in-between which feels more borrowed than truly mine. Time does not belong to me. It’s simply on loan. That is what happened when I decided to have children. Like time, money holds even more value. Money is how I buy alone time. Forget gold, time is the real commodity. It is time parents are all chasing. Time together and time apart.
In moments when I plan to write, like naptime, I often find myself not only interrupted but in a state of overwhelm. Do I eat lunch or do I write? Do I make use of that fitness app I purchased for $29.99 a month or do I write? Do I make a…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Consider This to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.