Conundrums

I am a conundrum.

Or perhaps my life is. Frankly, I'm not sure which perpetrator to blame.

To quote an old Abba song, "I'm nothing special...in fact, I'm a bit of a bore."

My life is ordinary: Wife of twenty years. Mother of five (years, that is!). Sister. Daughter. Neighbor.

My hobbies include music, reading, and tearing up anything that resembles grass in my yard.

I make sure my children are educated, bathed, fed, polite (mostly) and wear clean underwear. Just in case.

I eat fairly healthy. I work out (occasionally). I go to church. I pay my taxes.

See? B-O-R-I-N-G. 

Further proof is that a former childhood classmate sent me a scathing email upon friending me. Apparently, my Facebook posts needed drama, dirt or devilment. Preferably all three.

My life was -- in that individual's opinion -- too normal.

There are definite advantages to normal. Schedules are kept. Bills are paid. The house is neat...somewhat. Responsibilities are met.

And perhaps, for me, that's the real conundrum.

I do all that is asked of me in my normal life. Most of the time, I do it fairly well. I cook dinner, keep up with laundry, get the oil changed. I read to my kids, call my parents, play piano at church. I recycle, vacuum, moisturize.

Normal, normal, normal.

But who I really am is buried under layers of the dreaded...responsibility.

Who I am, and who I secretly wish to be, are hidden away -- at war with each other and my normal life.

I am:
     - the seventh child in a mixed family of Depression-era parents.
     - a kindergartener crying over a kitten crushed by a school bus.
     - an unsure eighth grader who disjointedly fits in...just.
     - the freshman who eschews competition after a teacher wields it for entertainment.
    - the junior who breaks off from her safety net to make new friends. 
     - the non-traditional college student who cannot fathom the allure of campus life. 
     - the newlywed looking out over the Smokies with so much hope
     - the dutiful employee working my way up the promotional payscale
     - a mother at thirty-eight and forty

I secretly wish to be:
     - a travel writer, criscrossing the globe with only deadlines and flight schedules as rulers
     - a daredevil who is unafraid to try anything...excluding skydiving
     - known deeply by the people that matter
     - a writer whose words matter beyond the words
     - financially independent so I could travel with my children 
     - the best friend my true friends could ever have
     - alone

That last one shocks me at times, too. The pull of solitude is strong, battling with everything my seemingly-normal life demands. Am I drawn to writing because I am a solitary figure? Or do I seek solitude because I so desperately need to write?

A mystery. An enigma.

The conundrum that is me.