My mind is always racing with all I need to do to get from A to B. It reels and rams itself over and over into more and more to-dos and lists and whats and whys. I often cause more anxiety than there actually is because I am so afraid to miss something that is seemingly important but in the vastness of life, is nothing of note.
Right now my mind is sifting from one moment to the next, preparing for a summer vacation that is on our horizon. My list of items to accomplish grows longer by the second and more intimidating than facing a firing squad.
Writing is a way to slow all of it down. To stop it all, leave life hanging in midair, and move into a realm where anxiety does not exist for me. There are times when anxiety in my writing comes out. When I think of timelines of how long it will take to do something, or when I want to set my "deadline" and I cannot make it. That is when I realize that I am squeezing out the creation and inspiration, and inflate my writing with superfluity. It's all hot air.
And when it is filled with hot air, it is time to let it go: let it rise up and away into the sky while you watch from below. And when it is hidden in the clouds shaped like Donald Duck or a rhino in a bath, you turn your attention back to what it has always been meant to be. Your sanity, your worlds, your dreams and hopes. And lay out the story once more and continue onward.
If only I could apply this to my actual life. Now there is an idea.
Sunday, May 27, 2018
Saturday, May 26, 2018
Post-School Year Races
Making it to the end of a school year with children feels much like trying to run a marathon with kids strapped to your back, front, and lagging behind you in a wagon while you carry all necessary school supplies. Somewhere along the line, you wonder if all this crap is worth it. And you begin to wonder why in the world everything has to be left to the end: the recitals, the awards ceremonies, the events in which everyone MUST be there.
This chaos did little to allow me the freedom to express myself. Instead, I was up late cramming for spelling tests, washing laundry for much needed said events, making dinner, planning for Summer fun, and on and on. This didn't even involve the normal life that inevitably occurs between all this.
When exactly am I supposed to find time to write? Oh, that's right. Somewhere in between the hours of never and ever. And this pulls me off the rails.
At least my runs aren't for nothing, that is, when I can get them in. My brain just fills with my world and off I go. Why have they not invented a DragonSpeak bluetooth for runners that downloads automatically to a phone? Not that I could afford it anyhow, but it's sure fun to dream.
And now, a few days after it has all finally washed over us: the end of another school year, I sit peacefully at the foot of my sleeping children and write. What bliss I feel as my hands stream across the keyboard and fill a white space with words.
Words not of pure imagination, but words to charge the spirit and warm the blood. That is the spark and the page is the kindling. Off I go to warm myself by the fire inside.
This chaos did little to allow me the freedom to express myself. Instead, I was up late cramming for spelling tests, washing laundry for much needed said events, making dinner, planning for Summer fun, and on and on. This didn't even involve the normal life that inevitably occurs between all this.
When exactly am I supposed to find time to write? Oh, that's right. Somewhere in between the hours of never and ever. And this pulls me off the rails.
At least my runs aren't for nothing, that is, when I can get them in. My brain just fills with my world and off I go. Why have they not invented a DragonSpeak bluetooth for runners that downloads automatically to a phone? Not that I could afford it anyhow, but it's sure fun to dream.
And now, a few days after it has all finally washed over us: the end of another school year, I sit peacefully at the foot of my sleeping children and write. What bliss I feel as my hands stream across the keyboard and fill a white space with words.
Words not of pure imagination, but words to charge the spirit and warm the blood. That is the spark and the page is the kindling. Off I go to warm myself by the fire inside.
Tuesday, May 8, 2018
Jumping from Draft 2 to 3.5
Combining drafts is more difficult than I thought. Merging thoughts sometimes don't merge as smoothly as you would think, particularly when they are from the same person on the same subject, but delivered at different points in a timeline.
And so the inner struggle continues to weave together, ever stronger, the lines between the lines within the lines. Sometimes I wonder if I am giving too much or too little all the time and all at once.
This is forever a struggle in all I do, and when it occurs in my work, I wonder where I am going to land.
I have felt so ahead and so behind in everything. I know this cannot make sense to the vast majority of you, but truly I am pushing and I am pulling simultaneously. And somehow, while I do this, I see my reflection working backward. This is a fun house of thoughts. I feel trapped and enlightened. I only hope I can remain this positive in the end.
And so it goes. And so it goes.
And so the inner struggle continues to weave together, ever stronger, the lines between the lines within the lines. Sometimes I wonder if I am giving too much or too little all the time and all at once.
This is forever a struggle in all I do, and when it occurs in my work, I wonder where I am going to land.
I have felt so ahead and so behind in everything. I know this cannot make sense to the vast majority of you, but truly I am pushing and I am pulling simultaneously. And somehow, while I do this, I see my reflection working backward. This is a fun house of thoughts. I feel trapped and enlightened. I only hope I can remain this positive in the end.
And so it goes. And so it goes.
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