Last Friday I had a conversation with a friend about our mothers.

“There were questions I never got to ask her,” she said.

“Me too,” I said. We had experienced the slow death of our mothers to dementia. I had no idea that Mama would lose her ability to communicate. She really enjoyed conversations with her “Scotch-Irish gift of gab” and that was one of the saddest things to watch.

“Mama used to tell me, “Connie, you do things the hard way.” She never told me what she meant. I just assumed she meant I didn’t do things her way.”

It didn’t occur to me to ask her to explain. Maybe I didn’t want to hear her perspective of how I went about whatever I was doing. I guess I assumed Mama would always be there for me to ask those questions, or to go to for advice, or to mend my clothes on her sewing machine. There are so many ways we never get over losing our mothers.

This week, I kept thinking about what it means to “do things the hard way.” When I explored the general meaning of that statement online, an AI overview described it as choosing a path that takes more effort, time, or pain than needed.

I contrasted Mama and me — our generation and our personalities/temperament. She was born in 1923 and was glad to leave rural Harnett county when she was 19. She was an asset as a Civil Servant in the WWII effort because she knew hard physical labor from being raised on a farm. Her twenties were filled with hands-on experience before she married at 26. Over the years she was a stay-at-home mom with her 3 daughters. Once we were all in school, she did part-time work during the day but was always at home with us in the afternoon and evening. She was industrious in taking care of our home and farm. Mama patiently completed her tasks and was good at figuring out how things worked. She definitely had mechanical ability that I saw in how she could problem solve with her Singer sewing machine.

I was born in 1955 and by middle school saw myself on a college-bound track, knowing I wanted life beyond a farm. My twenties were challenging with becoming a nurse and assuming those responsibilities in a professional environment. My generation seemed to want to “do it all” and that included having a career and a family, navigating both parents working. Eventually I also wanted to branch out and do creative things, which for me was primarily writing. Now when I look back at old schedule books I wonder how I got through those years with putting so many expectations on myself. Was that some of me “doing things the hard way”? Mama had expressed her creativity through her home life in her sewing and cooking; mine had been added to my demanding career and taking care of my home.

My personality had always been more driven, more perfectionistic like Daddy’s family. Mama was more relaxed and “took life as it came.” Her goals were tied to the practical needs of our farm: seasons of planting and harvesting, setting aside every Saturday for her business of selling Rawleigh products, helping in the activities of our church. I’d always been a goal setter with my work and my personal life, often relying on my list of New Year’s resolutions and weekly plans.

All these are things that Mama could have observed. What she didn’t see were the ways I struggled over the years with technology. Some of the reason I got lost on my Solo Journeys was I was late in using GPS systems, preferring the paper maps, which others would say was “doing it the hard way.”

I wish I’d asked Mama what she meant.

Last Friday I struggled with writing a blog post. I was exhausted from traveling and could not summon the energy, or the creativity. It occurred to me that maybe I should let go of the perfectionistic standard of posting every week. I’ve missed very few over the years and maybe it was time to “not do this the hard way.”

So, that’s what I did and it felt like giving myself a break. I didn’t need to check back and respond to comments– which I always look forward to but that gave me more time to relax. It occurred to me that whatever Mama meant, I could assume her advice would be to make things easier for myself. And if I were to give my Younger Self advice, it would be to ask your mother those questions before it’s too late.

Best to you all,

Connie