About the Hill

It’s spring break but you wouldn’t know it from the weather. Last year it was in the 70s and I didn’t feel so bad about not jetting to the Cayman Islands or Cabo, or any of the other tropical destinations my well-to-do students were visiting. It’s barely broken 40 this year. Everything still looks dead, but I’ve been itching to get outside. We didn’t even really have winter until February and March, but those two months were the longest winter I can remember.

Forty degrees seemed almost balmy and the ice has melted on the hill, so I bundled up, hooked the leash up to my little dog, and went to get my glutes in gear. They’ll be sore tomorrow. It’s been months since I’ve been on the hill. I’ll have the ibuprofen ready on my nightstand before I even get out of bed.

Barbara, my usual hiking partner is one of the masses fleeing the unpleasant North Shore for warmer climes, so Molly and I went alone. It’s a thinking hill, whether Barbara’s helping me think, or when I venture out on my own. And here's what I thought about:

See this beach? This cold, abandoned beach? From this beach I can’t see across the lake to the other side, but I know Michigan’s over there. I’ve been to Michigan and I can’t see Illinois from there either, but I know it’s there just the same.

I also noticed that from the bottom of the hill I can’t see the top, even though it takes only a few minutes to march my bones up to the green iron gate that I touch before turning and going back down.  I go up and down the hill about a dozen times and I never can see the top from the bottom. I still know it’s there.

I know there’s another side to the lake. I know the hill ends at the gate. I know there’s a terminal point to just about everything in life - including life. It takes a matter of minutes to climb the hill. A few hours to cross the lake on a boat. A few years to speed through youth. A blink of an eye.

You see where I’m going with this, right?

What I want is at the top of the hill. I know it’s there.

I’ll keep walking.

Visit me on Twitter (@CeceliaHalbert)

The Secret Lives of Moms

When I say ‘moms,’ I’m not talking about new mommies with little ones in diapers, not yet in school. I’m not talking about those years of mom-dom where being a mom is all consuming and the secrets you have are that you don’t always change a diaper right away or that it takes you longer than you thought it would to bond with your baby or you do have a favorite child or that you maintain your sanity and drown your disappearing sense of self in a glass or two of wine every night.

I’m not talking about those moms.

I’m talking about moms who have older kids: kids that are now at a somewhat self-sufficient age. Once kids start to be in school all day, with friends in their free time, getting part-time jobs, and going off to college - once that all starts happening, women start remembering they are not only moms, but individuals with brains, intelligence, and passions and it’s like they’ve been on a starvation diet for a long time. They feel deprived of life and they want to experience everything the world has to offer.

Sometimes they look at their husbands or significant others for the first time in a really long time and wonder what they saw in them in the first place. Sometimes they’ll start remembering and their relationship gets a new fresh start. 

But not always.

Some of those moms find that they no longer have anything in common with their partners. They begin a search, innocently and tentatively at first, but with more tenacity once they get positive responses. The attention feels good and it’s addictive and before they know it, they’re living two lives: one life in which they’re a wife, a mother, a colleague, a friend, and another life in which they’re free to express themselves in ways they never dreamed they would, intellectually, artistically… sexually…

So why don’t they just leave their marriages? Some do, of course. I did. Others don’t. They stay because they love both lives. They stay because they need the stability. It anchors them - keeps them from going too far out.

Having a secret life isn’t easy. The drama that goes on in one life has the potential to spill over into the other. Maintaining a façade of calm when underneath lies a torrential sea of emotions is exhausting - yet worth the effort.

You’d be surprised how many moms have secret lives.

I wrote Up the Hill because I had a feeling I wasn't the only one going through life like this - having all this drama happening while pretending to be living a 'normal' life - going to work, being a teacher, a parent...  I wanted other women to know they're not the only ones and I think it's a big secret of middle age - the age of discovery. 

I don’t think I’ll ever let my children know about the other ‘me.’ I don’t think they really want to know. Nobody wants to know about their parents’ secret lives. Ick.

I’ll bet my mom had one though.

Visit me on Twitter (@CeceliaHalbert)