I don’t know how Past Me did it in my twenties, but I suspect she took an advance on the koach of my thirties. She didn’t leave me much. And she was so smug about it, too! “Look at how much I’m juggling, and I still make dinner every night.” She never said it out loud, but I know she felt pretty good about herself.

I look around at my friends now, also in their thirties; we’re all in a similar boat. There’s the constant juggling and prioritizing and re-prioritizing; running to babysitters, carpools, and school plays; approaching the stage of bar and bas mitzvah celebrations; holding responsible positions at our jobs; growing families; sifting through endless piles of homework and mitzvah notes.

I see us, bleary-eyed, as we simultaneously nurse large cups of coffee, crying babies, and dreams of moving out of town to an elusive simpler life. If koach is being doled out, we’d definitely line up for it. But we’re tired. At least, I’m tired. I dream of hours to do nothing. To just be. To exist. To breathe. Does that sound like a person with strength?

I wonder at the definition of koach.

Maybe the koach is the slowing down. Maybe koach is what it takes to realize that we aren’t frozen in time forever. To keep in mind that children who keep us up at night and still require endless patience and energy will soon be off to seminary and yeshivah, off to build their own homes.

Maybe koach is making supper for the neighbor who had a baby, even though she insulted me the other day. Or maybe it’s deciding not to make supper for the neighbor, because it would come at the cost of my own children’s needs.

Maybe it’s realizing that skipping lunch (again!) is not a mitzvah, but stealing out for a quick walk with my husband might be.

Maybe koach is seeing my limitations. I thought I could work full-time and be a loving and patient mother, but I need more sleep than expected, and there aren’t enough hours in the day.

Maybe koach is choosing to swallow a comment to my husband about the three jackets that aren’t going to hang themselves up. Maybe it’s the koach of being able to appreciate my own childhood while considering how I want to build the home my children will grow up in.

I don’t claim to know what the Mishnah means. If I had time to learn Pirkei Avos, I would open a sefer and try to learn its wisdom.

Instead, I’m using the koach I do have to try to commit to the life that makes sense for me. I am developing the strength it takes to see the truth of my reality, and to know that I am where Hashem wants me to be. In my twenties, I only wanted to write under a pen name. In my thirties, I’m more comfortable with my humanity.

I think my 20-year-old self would be proud. And a little less smug.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 957)