A while back, I wrote about doing too much. Shortly after, I got an email from my sister, scolding me mildly for thinking that the world can’t go on without me. There are other people who can do music at church, she said, and without you, people will still find a way to learn NFP.
I never answered her, because I knew that to do so would require time and thought, and at that particular overwhelmed point, that amounted to yet another commitment. 
So I decided to let the ideas stew for a while. That kind of problem solving often develops best in the background, anyway. Of course, I was thinking of a week’s worth of slow cooking, not a month, but, um, life happened. So here I am.
Here’s what I’ve come up with. It is conventional wisdom among those who work with volunteers: everybody’s working with the same pot of people. Those who get involved, get involved in everything. It’s not because I think I’m that important; it’s just that the work has to be done, and nobody else is stepping up.
Everybody finds things to do to fill up the daylight hours (and some of the darkness, too). Some people follow their kids from one sport to the next, from dance class to soccer matches and music lessons. Others teach NFP and music lessons, lead a choir and write.
The only way to corral the madness is to quit something—to prioritize. A year ago, I quit working at the school. It was an uncomfortable decision, because I knew that what I did was important, and valued by the faculty, staff and students. But of all the commitments in my life, working at the school was the one that took the most out of me, and gave the least back. And so I let it go.
As for the rest, well, some of it is income; some of it we do because there is no one else. If we had a couple more NFP teachers in the area, we would gladly pass that burden to someone else. But for the moment, it’s ours. And music and writing sit at the intersection of who I am as a mother, who I was before I was a mother, and who I will be when my children grow up and leave. Gifts are given; I could sit on them, let them molder for a couple of decades, and then try to dig them up and dust them off. But the master didn’t think much of that solution, if you remember.
No, I just have to do the best I can, same as everyone else. It means that I have to evaluate and re-evaluate frequently. It means I will always be searching for an elusive perfect balance. I doubt I’ll ever achieve it; in fact, I’m sure I won’t. But that, at least, I view philosophically. It’s never going to be perfect, because we’re living on Earth, not in Heaven.
This all feels like a lot of navel-gazing, and perhaps not of very much interest to other people. But I think that, for better or for worse, this struggle to balance too many commitments is something that virtually all of us have in common. And if my navel-gazing offers needed perspective to someone else, well then, the day’s blogging is not wasted.
